Once a Thief by Kay Hooper Read Free Book Online

tool belt. Then a sudden memory made her say, “Ed said I’d be locked in until morning; how’re you going to get out?”
    “The same way I got in.” His voice was his again, careless and somewhat mocking.
    “Which is?”
    His eyes gleamed, catlike, as he looked down at her. “Which is my little secret. After all—I may use the same trick to get at your exhibit.”
    Her momentary softening vanished as if an arctic wind had blasted it. “I swear to God, Quinn, if you lay so much as a single finger on any part of Bannister’s collection . . .”
    “I know,” he said sympathetically when her choked voice trailed off. “It’s so hard to rise to glorious heights a second time. The first threat was so marvelously phrased. Let’s see—ah, yes. If I tamper with
Mysteries Past,
you mean to hunt me to the ends of the earth and roast my gentleman’s carcass over perdition’s flames. That was it, I believe?”
    She made a strangled sound of sheer rage.
    He chuckled. “I must go now,
chérie.
Are you quite comfortable?”
    Pride told her to ignore the mockingly solicitous question; the hard coldness of the floor beneath her thin skirt told her to speak up before he disappeared. Common sense won out, but her Cherokee pride made her voice sulky. “No, dammit. The floor’s hard. And cold.”
    “My apologies,” he said gravely. “I will try to remedy that.” He vanished into the shadows toward another of the rooms.
    Morgan had to fight a craven impulse to cry out his name. Museums were unnerving places at night, she decided firmly, squashing the impulse. So . . . so
quiet.
With big, dark things looming in shadows, and the faint, musty smell of age and inexorable decay. She shivered, seeing the remnants of history from a new perspective and not liking it much.
    Quinn returned in just a few minutes, carrying a colorful, tasseled pillow he’d gotten from God knew where. Still sulky but curious, she waited to see how he’d manage; her position on the floor was awkward and she couldn’t raise herself much. He stepped around behind her, bent, and slid one arm around her waist (again with no exploratory fumbles). Then he lifted her a few inches and neatly slid the pillow underneath her.
    “How’s that?” he asked briskly.
    She looked up at him as he came into sight again. “Better,” she said grudgingly. “But the police are not going to believe a ruthless thief took the time and trouble to put a pillow under my ass.”
    He laughed with genuine amusement. “They will believe it. Trust me. Just tell them you asked for the pillow.” The laughter fading, he stood looking down at her for a moment. “And tell them I was here. Don’t forget that.”
    Morgan had the sudden realization that her story was going to sound awfully improbable. She found herself mentally editing Quinn out of the story completely and was so astonished at herself she could only stare up at him bemusedly. “I—I don’t—That is, I haven’t decided what I’ll tell the police.”
    He was silent for a few beats, then said softly, “Will you lie for me, sweet Morgana?”
    “No,” she snapped. “For me. In case you haven’t realized, any story I tell is going to sound fishy as hell. Running from a group of organized thieves and caught by an internationally famous cat burglar who just happened to be burgling the same museum on the same night? After which, said thief tied me to the leg of a display case and put a pillow under my ass before stealing a lone dagger and making good his escape? Don’t forget that Peter and I got in with a key. What’s to stop the police from suspecting I was in league with—with you or the other ones?”
    “If you know how to play dumb,” Quinn said dryly, “the idea will never cross their minds.”
    “I’ll play hysterical,” she snarled. “God, the messes I get into. Just because Peter had to show me his etchings. Stop laughing, you monster! Go on—get out of here, why can’t you? Fade away into the