Free Once a Thief by Kay Hooper Page B

vivid green eyes, by that half smile that was more beguiling than it had any right to be.
    “Can you?” His voice was soft but insistent.
    “I . . . think I can. I don’t know how or why, but—but I think I can,” she answered finally.
    Unexpectedly, Quinn caught one of her hands and lifted it, bending quickly and gracefully so that his lips brushed across her knuckles. Then he released her and stepped back, already blending back into the shadows of the building.
    But that white smile flashed again, and he chuckled. “Not naive, sweet. But impractical. Stay away from one of the most priceless collections the world has ever known? What self-respecting thief could do that?”
    “Quinn—” But he was gone. She knew it.
    She felt it.
    Looking down at the hand he had kissed with such elegant charm, Morgan drew a deep breath and then muttered, “Oh, shit.”
     
    Carla could have kicked herself for having given in to the blackmailer that first time. Why hadn’t she just said no? Why hadn’t she said yes and then gone to her employers and confessed all? At that point, she’d only have been fired; the past crime was one she’d already paid for, after all.
    She knew why she hadn’t done the smart thing. Because she was scared.
    By giving in to the blackmailer, however, she had now committed a whole new set of crimes. And once she had started, there really was no going back.
    So she was even more scared now. Scared and trapped. One thing growing up on the streets taught you was what a villain really was. And her blackmailer was a villain, a man with so little conscience that he would cut her throat without a second thought.
    Carla knew that.
    She also knew that it would go on, that he’d demand more and more information from her until he could no longer use her. After that, she probably had the life expectancy of a fruit fly.
    She wasn’t yet thirty, and Carla Reeves wasn’t ready to die.
    So she did as she was ordered to do, went to work and did her job and collected information on the security systems designed to protect homes and valuables all across the city, waiting for him to call her to arrange another meeting. She behaved exactly as she should have at work, and all the time, behind her smiling face, her mind was working frantically.
    No way to fight him. She didn’t know who he was. In fact, he’d made certain that his face was largely in shadow when they met, so she couldn’t even have provided a decent description of his face. Just a man of medium height with a chillingly calm voice—and a lethal gun.
    She supposed she could go to the police, even now, but with no proof to offer, she doubted they could or would do anything, including protect her from the blackmailer’s wrath.
    Could she run? It was possible, but if she tried that Carla knew better than to make any obvious preparations to leave. Which meant she’d be able to take only what she could carry with her. Pretty much just pick up her purse, get in her car, and go. Far away.
    She decided that the best time to run would be just after she had given him a disk with information, so that he could expect at least several more days to pass before their next meeting. That made sense, she thought. And just as long as she made damned sure he
expected
another meeting and didn’t get the idea he no longer needed her, then it should work.
    At least, she hoped so.
    He called on Saturday night.
    “Carla, add one more security system to the list.”
    “Which one?” She didn’t have to try to make her voice sound shaky, fearful.
    “The Museum of Historical Art. Specifically, the schematics for the security system protecting the upcoming
Mysteries Past
exhibit.”
    Carla hesitated, her mind working. “That system isn’t even on line yet.”
    “I know that. I also know that the system has been designed, and that the design is on file with Ace. I want it.”
    She swallowed. “I’ve told you—museum security systems are harder to get at. There are