The anger is hot in my veins. I turn and go find St. Clair in the crowd, dragging him away from his friends and over to a quiet corner away from all the noise.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Did something happen?”
I nod, forcing myself to stay composed. “We need to make Crawford pay.”
“How?” he asks.
“You know how,” I say, steel in my voice.
St. Clair looks surprised, and he’s momentarily speechless. “But Grace—”
“I know what I asked of you, but I can’t stand it. The way he treats people, it’s not right. He deserves to pay for what he’s done. And you’re the only one who can hit him where it hurts.”
St. Clair studies me, still uncertain. “I agree with what you’re saying. But Grace, you know, I’ve given all that up now. I really have.”
“So we do it together.” I look at him, determined. “We steal that Armande painting back. That’s one less thing he’ll have to lord over someone.”
CHAPTER 6
The next morning, I wake up still determined to make Crawford pay for his wrongs, but St. Clair isn’t next to me in bed. I smell coffee and delicious bacon so I wander downstairs and find him in the kitchen, cooking me a feast.
“What should we do today?” he asks as he pulls crisp waffles from a waffle iron and sets them on plates next to bacon and fresh fruit. “I was thinking a picnic in St. James Park, by the lake. We can relax in the sun, watch them feed the pelicans…what do you say?” He tops the waffles with sliced berries and whipped cream and hands me a plate. “It’ll be lovely, just like you.”
I smile. He’s so sweet. “Mmm, that smells heavenly.” I take the plate from him and sip the coffee he’d already set out for me just the way I like it. “You’re spoiling me.”
He grins. “Exactly my goal. Then you’ll never want to leave.”
I take a bite and am awed again by how good a cook he is. “Maybe you should have gone into culinary arts,” I say and he laughs. We eat for a few minutes until I work up the courage to ask, “Have you thought any more about what I suggested last night?”
He gives me a look. “I was hoping you would sleep that off.”
I shake my head. “I just can’t stand to watch him take advantage of everyone else and get away with it.” I tell St. Clair about Crawford kicking the dog, shipping the horse off to be put down. “He’s a truly horrible person, Charles.”
“Oh believe me, I know that better than most,” he sighs. “And I agree that he deserves to pay, but I promised you I’d give up that life, remember? You didn’t want me to take those risks.”
I bite my lip. “I know.”
He smiles playfully and nudges me with his elbow. “Have you changed your mind about how much you’d miss me?”
“Of course not.” I smile, but it’s full of mixed emotions. “I still don’t want to lose you, or get arrested myself, but…if the law isn’t going to deliver justice, how will it ever happen?”
St. Clair gives me a rueful smile. “This is exactly what I’ve been dealing with. It’s tempting to take the law into your own hands, but Grace, I made you a promise. I’m committed to being a better man.”
“I know, and it means the world to me. But I can’t just sit back and let him get away with this.” I feel my frustration boil up all over again. “He betrayed your family, he’s destroyed countless others…I know one painting isn’t going to right those wrongs, but at least this way we can take something he cares about, so he knows how it feels to lose, to be betrayed like he’s done to so many others.”
St. Clair hesitates. “Are you sure?”
His gaze is so intent, I have to consider for a second, but yes, I’m sure. I want to do this. “He deserves it.”
St. Clair slowly nods. He leans over and kisses me, full of heat. “Can I just say how sexy you are right now, all pumped up with righteous passion?”
I bat him away, laughing, realizing I’m excited. I’m starting to understand St. Clair’s and Paige’s love of the chase, and we’ve barely just begun. “Where do we start? What’s first?” I take a big gulp of coffee. I want to be alert for this.
“First, we need to make a plan,” St. Clair says, and already, I can see the gears of his mind working behind those intelligent eyes. “Crawford keeps the painting in a safe deposit vault in London, so the first step is reconnaissance. I’ll make an appointment at the vault, pretend I’m looking for storage for some of my valuable pieces. We can take a tour, and check out what we’re up against.” He smiles at me, and I can feel us both buzzing with energy and ready to go. “Sound good?”
I nod, feeling a weird mix of excitement and nerves. “Can’t wait.”
A few hours later, picnic plans abandoned, we stand in front of the vault facility. It’s a high-end yet nondescript brick structure that could be a warehouse except for the intense security: cameras posted on the exterior walls, security keypads and buzzers everywhere, and a set of guards at the front door.
“Ready?” St. Clair asks, squeezing my hand.
My heart is racing. I think that’s what they call an adrenaline rush, Grace. Right. I take a deep breath, and remind myself that nothing we’re doing right now is breaking the law. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” I square my shoulders, try to look the part in my designer dress. Casual, but elegant.
Guards posted at the doors check our IDs and once we’re past the front checkpoint, suddenly the warehouse vibe disappears and it’s all luxury inside. A posh lobby with marble flooring and gold trim on the fixtures greets us, a chandelier hangs from the high ceiling, and there’s a hush like a bank even though several employees are milling about.
St. Clair gives the receptionist our name and almost immediately, the head of the whole outfit, the president of the vault, appears. “Mr. St. Clair,” he says, shaking St. Clair’s hand enthusiastically. “So nice to meet you. And you, Ms. Bennett,” he says shaking my hand as well. “I’m Mr. Potts. Shall we get started?”
He leads us down a long hallway and through a nearly invisible door that has a keypad mounted to the side. He punches in a few numbers and I see St. Clair follow the movement of his fingers on the keypad. Potts isn’t even trying to hide the numbers!
“I’m assuming there are cameras at all access points to support the keypad security?” St. Clair says. “I can’t take any risks with my assets, you understand.”
Mr. Potts chuckles. “Of course, sir. This is simply the first measure.” The door clicks open and we walk into another hallway, this one lined with steel doors on each side, dozens of them. We stop at the first.
Mr. Potts says, “This is the sample vault; it’s always empty so we can show prospective clients like yourself the incredibly secure measures we have in place to protect your valuables. First, there is a fingerprint scanner to open the door. You’ll see there are no handles or locks on the outside and the door is hermetically sealed.” He presses his thumb to a pad and what looks like a piece of the wall slides aside.
“Fingerprints can be forged,” St. Clair points out.
“Absolutely, which is why we move on to phase three.” Potts looks almost gleeful as he proudly displays the next step in their security. Once the door is open, another panel slides out.
“Next, there are dual key locks and another keypad with a thirteen digit code—with only one allowed entry before it locks you out.” Potts enters the codes, turns a key, and we step into the vault. It’s a white, blank space with more doors along the wall. “Inside you can see there are high-tech safes available upon request for the utmost in protection.” He points out, “Cameras line all the hallways as well as the vaults themselves. If any alarm is tripped, all doors automatically close and seal shut, and both our security and the local police are alerted.” Mr. Potts smiles at us proudly. “As you can see, we take security very seriously.”