Hot Ice (10 page)

If the thief had specifically stolen the disks, knowing what was on them, it would be that much harder to find them. Either the man was affiliated with another terrorist organization that would utilize the information for their own purposes, or the thief would sell the information to the highest bidder.

But if the thief had accidentally taken them when he'd stolen Maria's jewelry, then José knew he was still screwed. Because not knowing their value might cause him to discard the disks as worthless.

The hot hand of God fisted in his stomach.

The contents of the disks held the key to his legacy—the tool necessary for leaving his mark on the world—something for his children and their children and their children after them. Future generations would speak the name José Morales with reverence.

He let his eyes speak for him about retribution if the job was not done. The men surrounding him knew the expression. At one time or another all of them had witnessed firsthand what happened to anyone who crossed purposes with him. He depended on that. Traded on it. And he intended to make an example of this thief.

It would be graphic.

No. Epic.

"Find him. Find him now."

Chapter Nine

October 8

Houston

She moved with stealth and surety. Clearly, she'd recovered her sight. Good, Hunt thought savagely. He wanted her to see his face when he caught her. Looked forward to those unforgettable blue eyes widening as she realized that
this
time, God help her, she wasn't going to get away from him.

He watched her on his small wrist monitor as she drifted like black smoke through the midnight-dark halls of the Houston museum. "Damn, she's good." If he hadn't been here specifically to find her, if he wasn't scanning every inch of the wide hallways, he wouldn't have even known she was there.

Liquid motion, footsteps silent, she moved swiftly toward the gem exhibit at the end of the south corridor.

Where he patiently waited.

It had taken him—and the extensive resources of T-FLAC—almost a month to find her. Again. Once more they'd had to pull people off other assignments to locate this woman.

One bloody woman had eluded the best trackers in the world.

He'd thought he'd had her in Chicago three weeks ago.
Knew
, damn it, that he had her. But when he'd stormed into her hotel room, she was gone. And for the next fortnight her tracks had gone cold. Ice cold. It was as though she'd vanished into thin air.

Hunt enjoyed a challenge. But not this one. Time was running out. He not only despised wasting time, he didn't have any more to spare. And he hated like hell acknowledging that this woman had managed to best him.

Even thinking about what she'd done to him in San Cristóbal irked him. As he'd suspected at the time, there'd been no time-locked safe at the
Banco Central de San Cristóbal
. And he had to live down being handcuffed to the bed. Jesus.

Now, he observed her as she moved about the exhibit hall in this small, obscure museum in Houston, Texas.
Got you now
. As she appeared, framed by the wide doors opposite his hiding place, Hunt pulled down his nvg's. Her face was covered by a dark mask, but he didn't need to see her face to ID her. He'd recognize that sinuous body anywhere.

He was surprised—and more than a little annoyed—to find his heart rate elevated with her this close. Anticipation. Annoyance. And, damn it,
arousal
. He hadn't felt any of the three in months, and experiencing
any
of them
now
seriously pissed him off.

She'd had a busy, and highly profitable, month. Heists in Paris, Edinburgh, Madrid. She'd pocketed several mil in gems.

Hunt had followed her trail like a damn bloodhound, made a few guesses, followed his gut, and finally caught up with her here in Houston. Out of five possible jobs she could have pulled that week, Mick the Greek's collection of jewelry, on loan to the Houston Museum, was one. Hell, it had been a long shot. But a long shot was better than no shot at all.

It had paid off.

He was going to keep his eyes fixed on her for the duration. She wasn't going to be slipping by him.
Not this time, sweetheart
.

She played a dangerous game, targeting only those with questionable backgrounds. She didn't rob the Trumps or the glitterati of the entertainment industry, heads of state, or financial titans. She robbed people who had something to hide. People who didn't want a bright light shone under their rocks.

In fact, some of the very individuals Homeland Security, and T-FLAC themselves, targeted. Coincidental? Not bloody likely.

Very clever.

The gems and jewelry in this exhibit were on loan from one Michael B. Corda. Corda, or Mick the Greek, a midlevel mob boss who'd done very well for himself in arms sales to the Middle East. Mick was smooth and sophisticated, and very, very wealthy. This display of his wife's jewels was a taunt to the authorities who hadn't managed to catch him.
Yet
.

Precisely the kind of setup his girl liked, Hunt thought, watching her uncanny stillness through narrowed eyes. No, damn it, not
his
girl. He frowned. But
not
precisely the overpriced, oversecured venues she usually robbed. The Houston museum's security systems were basic, and no frills. Typical of most tightly budgeted small museums. Even with the few high-tech additions installed for this exhibit, hardly a challenge to someone with her skill and talent. And it was more than likely she didn't know that anything had been added.

Hunt leaned a shoulder against the wall and settled in to be entertained. "
Okay, sweetheart. Let's see you do your thing
." But he knew this time she'd bitten off more than she could chew. The traveling gem and jewelry exhibit was valued upward of $25 million. Most of the gems were big and flashy—like Mick. Obviously, the guy believed size mattered.

Infrared was passive, not the clearly visible red lines portrayed by the movie industry, and therefore invisible to even the most sensitive equipment. Hunt had an addition to his nvg's to see the lines surrounding the display cases quite clearly.

The grid was basic. But basic or complex, since
she
couldn't see it, she was about to set off the silent alarms. And he was quite content to hang back and wait. "Let
her
feel handcuffs for a change." And a fat lot of good that would do, he thought wryly, since apparently she could quite easily slip out of them.

He had to think like her. So, to see just how hard it would be to stay in the museum after closing, he'd paid his six bucks and entered with the rest of the crowds. He could've, of course, gone the official route. But she wouldn't have had that advantage.

Blending with the crowds, he kept an eye out for a slender woman with brilliant blue eyes. Yeah, right. As if she wouldn't hide such a distinctive feature. Still, he'd looked at everyone. Twice. Hell, it was like looking for a needle in a stack of needles. Just before closing, he found an excellent hiding place in the exhibit hall and settled in to wait. It was now 8:00 P.M.

No alarms had gone off, which meant she hadn't breached the perimeter security system to enter the building. He deduced she too had paid admission, then hidden until the guards had slipped out for dinner and the cleaning people were done and gone.

She'd go for the sapphires, he knew instinctively. There were seven cases containing the entire sapphire collection. They weren't the biggest or flashiest gems in the exhibit, but they wouldn't draw unwanted scrutiny once they were recut, and they'd turn her a very nice profit on the secondary market. Somewhere around the two-million mark if she got them all.

Her task was impossible. Hunt knew it. She had apparently failed to notice. First of all, because the cases were intentionally spread the full length of the exhibit hall. The logistics alone would prohibit her from successfully breaking into seven secured display cases set fifty feet apart.

Second, in addition to the extra security of alarms, sensors, and infrared, there were pressure-sensitive pads surrounding each polycarbon column containing the jewelry and loose stones. If the polycarbon was touched, an alarm went off. If the stones or jewelry were lifted from their own pressure-sensitive pads deep inside one of the clear poly tubes, the alarms would sound.

No, she wasn't going to be able to pull this one off. But it would be interesting to watch her try.

And then he'd have her.

He couldn't fault her on her timing. He glanced off to the left. The security guards inside the vast room were as far from her now as they were going to get. She had a grand total of five minutes fourteen seconds to get in and get out.

Wasn't going to happen.

He turned his gaze back to the doorway.

She was gone.

Taylor drew in a cleansing breath as she rapidly walked toward exhibit number seventeen, hugging the wall. It was always so much more interesting when the guards' routine wasn't carefully timed. The good thing about these two was that they were pals, and one had recently returned from his two-week vacation. They had a lot to talk about. And they walked slowly. The hum of their low voices was a nice counterpoint to the steady beat of her heart.

She'd given herself four minutes to get the necklace and earrings and be gone. The gems had been reset but, fortunately, not recut. And the collection she wanted was conveniently all in the same display case. Number seventeen.

Taylor had retrieved their original exquisite and very distinctive platinum setting from the fence in Holland a year ago, before it could be melted or sold.

By tomorrow the sapphires, in their original setting, would be reunited, and back where they belonged.

Her slippered feet moved soundlessly as she started running lightly across the marble floor. She'd counted the steps from the wall to the pedestal as she'd polished the floor earlier.

She'd also managed to stick a piece of chewing gum directly over the eye of the motion detector on the pedestal holding her target. She couldn't see the invisible infrared grid, but she knew where it was
supposed
to be from the rough drawing she'd lifted from the guard's station two days ago.

Warm air from the un-air-conditioned room fanned her face as she ran, picking up speed. The slick black bodysuit hugged her every curve, covering her from head to toe. Only her eyes were exposed.

The marble floor had an intricate geometric design of alternating squares of black and cream, with a wide black band bordering the room. Inside that black band, and bisecting the three-foot-tall, black marble bases of the eight-foot-high, clear polycarbon tubes, was the infrared grid. All she had to do was go up and over it.
Up
three feet,
over
twelve.

When Taylor's toes touched the inner edge of that border she exhaled, then launched herself high in the air, like a trapeze artist, without the trapeze. A double tuck midair and she landed as light as thistledown on the outer edge of the square base supporting the number-seventeen polycarbon display tube. Three minutes eleven seconds to go, she counted off mentally. Plenty of time.