The Novels of Nora Roberts Volume 1 Page 12

He chuckled, but his mind was working on the possibilities. If he could lure her into a less crowded area, he could get his five back, and the rest of her take as well. “You took them smooth. What are you, twelve, thirteen?”

  “So?”

  “Hey, that’s a compliment, sweetheart.”

  He saw her preen, just a little. Whether it was in response to the compliment, or to the fact that a boy his age would call a twelve-year-old “sweetheart,” he wasn’t sure. Either way, it was working.

  “I was in New York a few months ago. There was a guy working a corner there, taking in five, six hundred a day. He wasn’t any better than you. How long you been on the grift?”

  “I’m not a grifter.” The idea that she could be mistaken for a common con artist had Roxanne bristling. “I’m a magician,” she informed him. “Working that crowd was a kind of rehearsal.” She smiled to herself. “A paying rehearsal.”

  “A magician.” Sam noted that the pedestrian traffic was thinner here. He could see no one who would give him any real trouble when he snatched the kid’s bag and ran. “Why don’t you show me a trick?” He put a hand on her arm and prepared to shove her to the ground.

  “Roxanne.” Scowling, Luke loped across the street. “What the hell are you doing? You’re supposed to be at rehearsal.”

  “I’m going.” She scowled right back, furious that he’d come along just when she was going to try her hand at flirting. “You’re not there either.”

  “That’s beside the point.” He’d noted the table and bag and guessed what she’d been up to. It annoyed the hell out of him that she hadn’t cut him in. Pushing that aside for now, he sized up Sam. In the way of the male animal, his hackles rose.

  “Who’s this?”

  “A friend of mine,” Roxanne decided on the spot. “Sam, this is Luke.”

  Sam flashed an easygoing smile. “How’s it going?”

  “Okay. You’re not from around here.”

  “Just got into town a couple days ago. I’m traveling around, you know?”

  “Right.” Luke didn’t like him. The greedy look in Sam’s eyes didn’t match the generous smile. “We’re late, Roxy. Let’s go.”

  “In a minute.” If Luke was going to treat her like a baby, she’d damn well show him she was her own woman. “Maybe you’d like to hang out, Sam. Watch the rehearsal. We’re right down there at the Magic Door.”

  It didn’t look like he was going to get his hand on the bag, but Sam wasn’t one to give up. The encounter with Roxanne had to be worth something. “That’d be great. If you’re sure it’s okay.”

  “It’s fine.” She took his hand and led him to her father.

  Sam knew how to be charming. The veneer of affability, manners and deprecating good humor was as much a part of the game as a marked deck. Sam sat in the Magic Door and applauded, expressed astonished disbelief and laughed at all the right places.

  When Lily extended an invitation to dinner, he accepted with shy gratitude.

  He found LeClerc old and stupid, Mouse slow and stupid, and went out of his way to make a good impression on both.

  Afterward, he made himself scarce for a day so as not to seem too forward. When he showed up at the Magic Door to watch a show, he was greeted warmly. He made certain Lily saw him carefully counting out enough change to buy a soft drink.

  “Max.” She tugged on his arm when he came backstage, leaving Luke in front to do his five-minute sleight of hand. “That boy’s in trouble.”

  “Luke?”

  “No, no. Sam.”

  “He’s hardly a boy, Lily. He’s nearly a man.”

  “He’s barely older than Luke.” She peeked out, spotted Sam at the bar and noted that he was nursing the same watered-down Coke. “I don’t think he has any money, and nowhere to go.”

  “He doesn’t seem to be looking for work.” Max knew he was being harsh, and had no real clue as to why he felt so reluctant to offer this helping hand.

  “Honey, you know how hard it is to find any. Couldn’t you find something for him?”

  “Perhaps. Give me a day or two.”

  A day or two was all Sam needed. To cap his image, he curled up to sleep in the Nouvelle courtyard one night, making sure he was discovered in the morning.

  Fully awake, he kept his eyes closed, watching under his lashes as Roxanne darted out of the kitchen door. He groaned, shifted, then blinked his eyes open on a muffled cry of alarm when she spotted him.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Nothing.” He rolled up a tattered blanket and scrambled to his feet. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

  Brow puckered, she came closer. “Were you sleeping out here?”

  Sam moistened his lips. “Listen, it’s no big deal, okay. Don’t say anything.”

  “Don’t you have a room?”

  “I lost it.” He shrugged, managing to look brave and hopeless at the same time. “Hey, something’ll turn up. I just didn’t want to be out on the street all night. I didn’t figure I’d bother anybody here.”

  She had her father’s heart. “Come on in.” She held out a hand. “LeClerc’s fixing breakfast.”

  “I don’t need a handout.”

  Because she understood pride, she softened further. “Daddy can give you a job. I’ll ask him.”

  “You would?” He slipped a hand into hers. “Man, I’d really owe you, Rox. I’d owe you big.”

  9

  There was very little Max denied Roxanne. It was because of her that he hired Sam Wyatt, despite an odd reluctance to add the boy to his entourage. He gave Sam a job hauling props, an occupation Sam knew was beneath his dignity and abilities.

  But Sam had instincts as well. His told him that joining the Nouvelle troupe could be the gateway to much bigger and much better things. They were saps, all of them. Even as he derided them he detested them for taking him in off the street like some lost mongrel dog. But for Sam the long con had more appeal than the short shuffle. He could be patient.

  He spent hours loading and unloading equipment, polishing the boxes and hinges Max used for various routines. He vowed to pay the old man back one day for offering him such demeaning work but he was unflaggingly kind and attentive to Roxanne and shyly flattering to Lily. Sam had long ago decided that the real power in any group was held by the women.

  He didn’t make the mistake of competing with Luke. He doubted it would be wise to openly antagonize the person Max considered a son, but the enmity Sam nursed for Luke saw him through the menial, boring days. The fact that the antagonism was shared made it all the better. Neither could have said why, but they had detested each other on sight. One let his feelings bubble to the surface, the other secreted his away, hoarding hate like a miser hoards gold.

  Sam looked for the day when he made that gold pay.

  In the meantime he was satisfied with his toehold, and with the fact that they were about to spend a week in L.A.

  Max was pleased with the upcoming trip as well. They would have the opportunity to perform at the Magic Castle, attend a dinner party hosted by Brent Taylor, movie star and amateur magician, and Max would have the pleasure of showing his family some of the glitter of Hollywood.

  He also intended to take some of the more expensive glitter back east with him. Beverly Hills, and its mansions filled with treasures, was going to add to an already lucrative gig.

  He had two houses targeted, and would choose between them after he had arrived in Los Angeles and had cased the areas firsthand.

  They took over several rooms at the Beverly Hills Hotel. It amused Max to watch Luke charm the bellman and the chambermaid with a few pocket tricks. The boy had learned, he thought. And learned well.

  He arranged an elaborate lunch at Maxim’s, treating his family and all the members of his troupe down to the lowliest back-door boy. Afterward he sent Lily and Roxanne shopping.

  “Now then.” Max lit a post-meal cigar. “Mouse and I have some business to attend to, but the rest of you have the day free to ex
plore, sightsee, whatever strikes your fancy. I’ll need everyone bright-eyed for rehearsals at nine A.M. tomorrow.”

  While the others left, Luke shifted chairs to sit next to Max. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Of course.” Recognizing both nerves and determination, Max lifted a brow. “Is there a problem?”

  “I don’t think it’s a problem.” Luke took a deep breath and dived. “I want to go with you.” He shook his head before Max could speak. He’d been preparing this speech for days. “I know the routine, Max. You and Mouse are going out to case a couple of houses. You’ll already have most of the important stuff. A copy of the insurance lists, blueprints, the schematics of the security systems, an idea of the basic household routine. Now you’ll do some checking firsthand and decide when and where to hit.”

  Max brushed at his moustache. He wasn’t certain if he was annoyed or impressed. “You’ve been keeping up.”

  “I’ve had four years to study the routine while I’ve waited for you to let me in.”

  Max tapped away cigar ash before taking a considering drag. “My dear boy—”

  “I’m not a boy anymore.” Luke’s eyes flashed as he leaned closer. “You either trust me or you don’t. I have to know.”

  Max puffed out a breath and held his silence while the waiter cleared the dishes. “It’s not a matter of trust, Luke, but of timing.”

  “You’re not going to tell me you’re trying to save me from a life of crime.”

  Max’s lips twitched. “Certainly not. I’ve never been a hypocrite, and I’m as egocentric as any father, hoping his son will follow in his footsteps. But . . .”

  Luke laid a hand on Max’s wrist. “But?”

  “You are still young. I’m not sure you’re ready. To be a successful thief takes maturity, experience.”

  “It takes balls,” Luke put in and made Max throw back his head and laugh.

  “Oh, indeed it does. But besides that, a certain amount of skill, finesse, coolheadedness. In a few more years you may ripen, but for now—”

  “What time is it?”

  Distracted, Max blinked, then glanced down at his watch. Or where his watch should have been. “I always said you had good hands,” he murmured.

  “Don’t have the time?” Luke turned his wrist. The sunlight glinted off the gold of Max’s Rolex. “It’s nearly three. I guess you’d better pay the check and get going.” Luke signaled for the waiter himself. Absently, Max reached inside his jacket for his wallet. And came up empty.

  “A little short?” Luke smiled and took Max’s wallet out of his own pocket. “This one’s on me. I happen to have come into some money recently.”

  Point taken, Max thought and smiled at Mouse. “Why don’t you take the afternoon off as well? Luke can drive me.”

  “Sure, Max. I can go over and see those footprints at the Chinese place.”

  “Enjoy yourself.” With a sigh, Max held out his hand for his wallet. “Ready to go?” he asked Luke.

  “I’ve been ready for years.”

  • • •

  Beverly Hills appealed to Luke. Not like New Orleans with its party streets and decaying glamour. That was the only place he would ever consider home. But the wide, palm-lined avenues and fantasy aura of houses tucked onto hilltops in the smog-misted distance was like a movie. He supposed that was why so many movie stars chose that section of real estate to live.

  He tooled along, following Max’s directions. He noted the occasional police cruiser. No scratched and dusty cars for the cops here. Each one was glittering clean in the afternoon sun.

  Most of the estates were tucked behind high walls and hedges. Twice as they circled around they passed one of the buses that toured movie stars’ homes. Luke wondered why anyone would pay for the ride when all they would really see would be stone walls and the tops of trees.

  “Why,” Max asked as he opened his briefcase, “do you want to steal?”

  “Because it’s fun,” Luke answered without thinking. “And I’m good at it.”

  “Mmmm.” Max could only agree that it was best to spend your life doing something you enjoyed and were skilled at. “The bellman who brought up our bags and was so entertained by your pocket tricks. He had a watch and a wallet. Did you take them?”

  “No.” Surprised, Luke turned his head to stare. “Why would I?”

  “Why wouldn’t you is more to the point.” Max loosened his tie and folded it inside the case.

  “Well, hell, it’s no fun if it’s that easy. Besides he was just some guy trying to make a living.”

  “One could argue that a thief is also just some guy trying to make a living.”

  “If that’s all I wanted, I could knock over some convenience store.”

  “Ah, so you’d consider such an enterprise out of the question.”

  “It’s low-class.”

  “Luke.” Max sighed as he folded his crisp white shirt into the case. “You do make me proud.”

  “It’s like magic,” Luke said after a moment. “You want to do the best you’re capable of. If you’re going to dupe somebody, then you ought to do it with some flair. Right?”

  “Precisely right.” Max slipped into a short-sleeved polyester shirt in screaming checks of green and orange.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just donning the appropriate costume.” Max added a Phillies baseball cap and a pair of mirrored sunglasses. “I do hope I look like a tourist.”

  Luke pulled up at a stop sign and took the time to study Max. “You look like an idiot.”

  “Close enough. See the tour bus halfway down the block. Pull up behind it.”

  Obeying orders, Luke parked the car, but he scowled down at the fielder’s cap Max held out to him. “Pittsburgh. You know I’m not a National League fan.”

  “Tough it out.” Max wound binocular and camera straps around his neck. “This here’s Elsa Langtree’s house,” Max said in a thick Midwestern twang as he pushed out of the car. He added a whistle before jockeying with the other tourists for a peek through the wrought-iron gate. “Man oh man, is she something!”

  Luke picked up on the tone and craned his neck. “Hell, Daddy, she’s old.”

  “She can retire in my neck of the woods anytime.”

  This brought a few chuckles from the rest of the crowd before the tour guide began his routine. Stepping back, Max circled the bus and climbed nimbly on its roof while the rest of the tour listened and snapped pictures. Max used the telescopic lens on his camera to take shots of the wall, the three-story colonial house, its outbuildings, the outdoor lighting.

  “Hey, buddy.” The bus driver squinted up from under the bill of his cap. “Get the hell down from there, will ya? Christ, there’s one in every crowd.”

  “I just wanted to see if I could catch a look at Elsa.”

  “Come on, Daddy. Jeez, you’re embarrassing me.”

  “Okay, okay. Oh, wait! I think I see her. Elsa!” he shouted, using the confusion as people scrabbled back to the gate to take the last of his pictures.

  While the driver cursed and threatened, Max climbed down. He offered a sheepish grin and an apology. “I’ve been a fan for twenty years. Even named my parakeet after her.”

  “Yeah, she’d be thrilled.”

  With obvious reluctance, Max let Luke drag him back to the car. “Wait till I tell the boys back in Omaha. Just wait.”

  “Did you get what you needed?” Luke asked.

  “Oh, I imagine so. We’ll take a look at one more. Lawrence Trent’s home isn’t on the tour, but he’s reputed to have an excellent collection of nineteenth-century snuff-boxes.”

  “What does Elsa have?”

  “Besides the obvious feminine charms?” Max adjusted the radio and found some Chopin. “Emeralds, my dear boy. The lady is particularly fond of emeralds. They match her eyes.”

  Max was fond of emeralds as well. Once LeClerc had arranged for the pictures to be developed, it was obvious that Trent’s estate would be the
easier mark. Max needed little else to decide him. He’d go for the stones.

  “Heels, Roxanne?”

  Roxanne stood proudly in the wings, teetering a bit on her new inch-high pumps. “I’m practically a teenager,” she told her father.

  “I believe we have several months yet before that momentous occasion.”

  “That’s hardly any time. And besides, they punch up the costume.” She turned, carefully, in her blue spangled leotard. “And the extra inch gives me more stage presence.” If her breasts were going to take forever to develop, at least she’d take advantage of her height. “Making a good impression here at the Magic Castle’s important, isn’t it?” She smiled winningly.

  “Naturally.” And they had thirty seconds to cue. “I don’t suppose you brought along any spare shoes.”

  Her smile widened before she kissed his cheek. “We’re going to knock them dead.”

  Perhaps it was a trick of those lights, or his own thoughts, but for a moment when the curtain went up he saw her as a woman grown, slim and lovely, glowing with confidence, her eyes glinting with secrets only the female heart ever truly understands.

  Then she was just his little girl again, wearing grown-up shoes and charming the audience with her skill with the silks. Moments later the silks were pooled at her feet, and she turned to her father, prepared to be put into a trance for his new levitation routine, a combination of the old broomstick illusion and the floating girl.

  The music cued. “Für Elise.” Slowly, gracefully, Max passed his hands in front of her face. Her head swayed. Her eyes drooped closed.

  He used brooms with sparkling brushes, wanting beauty as well as drama. The first he placed between her shoulder blades, then taking a step stage left, held out his arms, gesturing. As if weightless, her legs began to rise, straight and extended, until her body was parallel to the stage. He used the other broomstick to sweep, over and under. Her long, already dramatic mane of red hair tumbled downward. When he removed the only brace, passing both brooms to a waiting Lily, the crowd was already applauding.

  To the liquid strains of Beethoven, Roxanne began to revolve. The light changed to gold as her body turned, tilted, became vertical a foot above the stage. He brought her down gently, inch by inch, until her feet touched the stage.