Free The Lady Is a Thief by Heather Long Page A

inside. She stood at the counter, ordering
a triple foam nightmare creation. From a distance, the color of her hair seemed
similar, but up close looked too brassy. The way she moved, hard and jerky,
appearing too defensive. She stalked forward as though hoping to intimidate
others into leaving her alone; all brash and flash without the natural
sensuality or smooth seduction.
          He traced the wrong woman. Slipping back
outside he checked the car, Kit's. Her bag and purse sat on the passenger seat
in bold statement. Checking his phone, the GPS tracker told him he was right on
top of the tracker. Thumbing it off, he slid the phone into his pocket and
leaned back against the car to wait.
          The redhead emerged with a tall cup in her
hand. She saw him immediately. Her relaxed expression stiffened, becoming
almost predatory. He stared at her as she strode toward him. “You must be
Jarod.”
          Surprise flared in his gut, like a match
being struck against wood, burning away doubt. “And you are?”
          “I'm Georgia.” She grinned. The faint
yellowing of her teeth didn't detract from the warmth the expression added to
her face.
          “Good evening, Georgia.” He infused the
words with a patience he didn't really feel. “This isn't your car, is it?”
          “Well, not exactly. But, I do have a slip
that's been signed over to me and legal permission to drive it for as long as I
wish.” She took a long swallow of coffee. The lines around her eyes were tight
with worry and despite her smile, the corners of her
mouth seemed strained.
          “Well, if I were to call the police…”
          “Look, I don't want any trouble. You're
Jarod, so I can answer your questions. If you were the other guy, I wouldn't
have even come back out of the coffee shop.”
          The other guy. duMonde ? His eyes narrowed as
she juggled her coffee cup and reached into her purse to pull out—Kit's cell
phone. He recognized the case. Hell, he recognized her whole ensemble. Georgia
wore a two thousand dollar pantsuit and four thousand dollar shoes. She thumbed
the screen on and flipped from text messages to photos and held it up.
          “See, this is you.” Clearly
a photo of him sitting across from Kit on the plane. When did the little
vixen snap that shot? “And this is the other guy.”
          The other, indeed duMonde ,
but the photo came from a distance and looked saved from the Internet.
          “All right, so you can talk to me. Talk.”
          “First let me say that I am just the
messenger. She promised me you wouldn't shoot me for saying this.”
          The corner of his mouth turned up. “She's
right. I won't.”
          “She said to tell you, 'make that three to
three, now we're tied.'“ Georgia punctuated the sentence with a pair of kissing
sounds.
          His eyebrows climbed.
          “Hey, the kisses were from her. She made me
repeat it four times, until I had it down.”
          A headache gathered in the back of his
skull. “When did she do this?”
          Georgia swallowed another mouthful of coffee
before answering. “Last night. She cruised the
boulevard. Took her for a high roller. They like to
slum it, sometimes. Course, I don't do chicks.” She gave him the once over and
he ignored the speculative invitation in her eyes. Her smile dimmed. “Anyway,
she offered me a grand—cash— just had to swap clothes
and drive her car around until at least 6:00 p.m. tonight. She told me there
were two men who might be looking for her. You were okay but I should avoid the
other guy at all costs.”
          The pain in his head began to hammer. Twice
he underestimated Lady Hardwicke's resourcefulness. He wouldn't make that
mistake again. “And that's it?”
          “Pretty much. She
gave me her phone and there's a digital tablet in the car and some files.” She
shrugged. “She waved me off and that was the last I saw of