The Steal by M.J. Rose

Author:M.J. Rose [C. W. Gortner, MJ Rose]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: MJ Rose, C W Gortner, romantic caper, women sleuth, suspense
Publisher: Evil Eye Concepts, Inc
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

I wake to sunlight streaming through the window, feeling more refreshed than I have in years. And sore. As I rise and go to pee, it burns a bit. I look at my member and chuckle. You need to get out more often, my friend.

She’s not in the room, which plunges me into panic. But her bag is still by the bed where we toppled it in our rush to get at each other. After a quick shower and shave, just as I’m pulling on my turtleneck and jeans, wondering where in the hell she is and where the hell my comb disappeared to, she returns with a tray, laden with two big white mugs and a plate of croissants. Like a waitress. If waitresses wore slim blue slacks molded to their thighs, crisp white blouses, and expressions of utter disregard for my disbelief.

“Where did you go?”

She puts the tray on the bed. “To get our breakfast. It’s included in the price.”

“Christ.” I grab my wristwatch from the side table. “It’s already—oh. Only seven-twenty-five.”

“I didn’t want to wake you.” She hands me one of the mugs. “You looked so peaceful asleep. Not like you at all.”

The hot coffee scalds my mouth. “What time do banks open here?”

“Nine o’clock.” She uses a blunt butter knife on the tray to slice open the croissants and spread jam into their flaky insides. I wonder when she last had to fetch her own breakfast or serve it. I would bet it’s been a very long time—if ever. “I also used the reception phone. Henri can pick up Luke at any time. I didn’t call Luke,” she adds, as I eye her over the croissant. “I didn’t know what to say. Your plan, remember?”

I bite into the croissant. “We have to find a car. A rental. Can we do that?”

“I believe so.” She eats delicately, her croissant folded into a napkin. The rich girl who doesn’t want to stain her blouse. “You can rent cars in Paris. Not that I’ve ever found the need.”

“We rent a car and drive to the Ritz, but not up to the hotel,” I continue, ignoring her dry statement. “Then we call Luke. He’s to take the cases to the bank with Henri, and we have to know exactly when they leave so we can follow them. That exit we took from the hotel yesterday is a good place for Henri to pick Luke up. But…”

“But?” She sips her coffee. Almost unperturbed, as if I’m describing a day of sightseeing.

“We need a phone to call from. We can set a time in advance for Luke to leave the hotel, but there might be traffic on our way there. Paris has a lot of traffic, right?”

“Like any major city. We can call him from the Chanel boutique. All the salesgirls know me. I keep a standing account there.”

Of course, she does.

“Okay. I guess that’ll work.” I gulp my coffee, welcoming the warm burst in my belly.

“Another croissant?” She motions to the tray.

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