His brow lifted. "They're that valuable?"
"Oh, probably more so by now—that's not even counting the aesthetic or intrigue value."
It changed the complexion of things for him entirely. "So what we've got is five women and two kids, who've been living alone in a house loaded with antiques, plus a fortune in jewels. And no security system."
She frowned a little. "It's not exactly loaded with antiques since we've had to sell off a lot over the years. And there's never been a problem. It's not as though any of us are helpless."
"I know. Calhoun women can take care of themselves. I'm beginning to think that besides being tough, they're stupid."
"Now, wait a minute—"
"No, you wait." To emphasize the point, he poked his fork at her. "First thing in the morning, we're going to see about an alarm system."
She'd already decided the same thing herself after yesterday's incident. But that didn't mean he could tell her to. "You're not going to start taking over my life."
"So, to be stubborn, you'll ignore the obvious, because I brought it up, and take a chance that someone might break in and hurt one of the kids."
"Don't put words in my mouth," she tossed back. "I've been checking into alarms for the past two weeks."
"Why didn't you just say so?"
"Because you were too busy handing out orders." She might have said more, but the horn on one of the tourist boats distracted her. "What time is it?"
"About one."
"One?" Her eyes went huge. "In the afternoon? That's not possible, we just got up."
"It's real possible when you don't get to sleep until morning."
"I've got a million things to do." She was already pushing back from the table. "All that mess from the wedding has to be cleaned up. Trent's father was coming for brunch two hours ago, and William's coming by at three."
"Hold it." That brought him out of his chair. "You're not still going to see him?"
"Mr. St. James? He'll be gone by now. I can't believe I was so rude."
"William," he corrected, snagging her arm. "The attractive, intelligent man you had dinner with the other night."
"William? Well, of course I'm going to see him." "No." He tugged her closer. "You're not."
The dangerous light in his eyes set off one in her own. "I just told you you weren't going to take over my life."
"I don't give a damn what you told me. There's no way in hell I'm going to let you waltz out of my bed and on to a date with another man."
With a little huff, she pulled her arm free. "You don't let me do anything. Get that straight. Next, it isn't a date. William Livingston is an antique dealer and I promised him I would show him through The Towers. He gets a busman's holiday, and I get a free assessment. Now move." She shoved past and headed for the shower. Muttering all the way, she slipped off the robe. She'd just finished adjusting the water temperature, stepping in and shutting the curtain when it was yanked open again.
"Damn it, Sloan!" She slicked the wet hair out of her eyes and glared. "He's an antique dealer?"
"That's what I said."
"And he wants to look at furniture?" "Exactly."
He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. "I'm going with you."
"Fine." With a careless shrug, she picked up the soap and began to lather her shoulders. "Be a possessive bubblehead."
"Okay."
Telling herself she wasn't amused, she glanced over to see him pulling off his shirt. “What are you doing?"
Grinning, he tossed it aside. "I'll give you three guesses. A sharp lady like you should get it in one."
She bit back a chuckle as he unsnapped his jeans. "I don't have time for water games right now."
"Oh, I think we can sneak it in just under the wire."
"Maybe." She squeezed the wet soap between her hands and shot it at him, nodding approval when he caught it, chest high. "If you wash my back first."
Before stepping from his car, Livingston checked his microrecorder and the tiny camera in his pocket. He was very fond of technology and felt that the sophisticated equipment lent an air of elegance to the job. Since the moment he'd read about the Calhoun emeralds, he'd been obsessed by them, more than any other jewels he'd stolen in his long career. He was considered by Interpol, and indeed by himself, to be one of the most clever and elusive thieves on two continents.
The emeralds presented a challenge he couldn't resist. They weren't tucked in a vault or displayed in a museum. They weren't adoring some rich matron's neck. They were lying in wait somewhere in the odd old house, daring someone to find them. He intended to be that someone.
Though he wasn't opposed to employing violence in his work, he used it sparingly. He was sorry he'd had to use it on Amanda the day before, but he was much sorrier that she'd interrupted his search.
His own fault, he chided himself as he walked to the front door of The Towers. He'd been impatient and had decided that the wedding would be the perfect diversion, giving him the time and the privacy he required to case the interior of the house. Today, however, he would wander those rooms as a guest.
He might have been a thief from the South Side of Chicago, but when he put on a two-thousand-dollar suit, a trace of a British accent and polished manners, even the most discriminating invited him into their parlors.
He knocked and waited. The barking of the dog answered first, and Livingston's eyes hardened. He detested dogs, and the little bugger inside had nearly nipped him before he'd managed to give it a dose of phenobarbital.
When Coco answered the door, Livingston's eyes were clear and his charming smile already in place.
"Mr. Livingston, how nice to see you again." Coco started to offer a hand, then found it more judicious to grasp Fred's collar before the dog could leap at the man's calf. "Fred, stop that now. Mind your manners." Holding the snarling dog at bay, Coco offered a weak smile. "He really is a very gentle animal. He never acts like this, but he had an incident yesterday and isn't himself." After gathering Fred into her arms, she called for Lilah. "Let's go into the parlor, shall we?"
"I hope I'm not intruding on your Sunday, Mrs. McPike. I couldn't resist persuading Amanda to show me through your fascinating house."
"We're delighted to have you." Though she was becoming more disconcerted by the moment as Fred continued to snarl and snap. "Amanda's not here yet, though I can't think what's keeping her. She's always so prompt."
Lilah gave a half laugh as she came down the steps. "I can think exactly what's keeping her." There was no humor in her eyes as she studied their guest. "Hello again, Mr. Livingston."
"Miss Calhoun." He didn't care for the way she looked at him, as though she could see straight through the slick outer trappings to the ruthlessness inside.
"Fred's a bit high-strung today." With a quick pleading look, Coco passed the growling pup to Lilah. "Why don't you take him in the kitchen?" Her hands fluttered before she patted her hair. "Perhaps some herbal tea would soothe him."
"I'll take care of him." Lilah started down the hall, murmuring to the puppy, "I don't like him, either, Fred. Why do you suppose that is?"
"Well then." Relieved, Coco smiled again. "How about some sherry? You can enjoy it while I show you a particularly nice japanned cabinet. It's Charles II, I believe."
"I'd be delighted." He was also delighted to note that she was wearing an excellent set of pearls with matching earrings.
When Amanda arrived twenty minutes later, with Sloan stubbornly at her side, she found her aunt telling Livingston the family history while they admired an eighteenth-century credenza.
"William, I'm so sorry I'm late."
"Don't be." Livingston took one look at Sloan and. concluded his entryway to The Towers wouldn't be Amanda after all. "Your aunt has been the most charming and informative of hostesses."