Chapter 71

 

Frank cursed the doorman under his breath. Stupid rule about black tie attire, he thought as he walked away. Although the bigger obstacle had been that his Tiffany credentials carried no weight here. Everyone on the premises was in the jewelry business, the man had said. What mattered were the names on the invitation list. If your name wasn’t there, you weren’t getting in.

He stalked away, trying not to let his body language reveal his disgust. There was always more than one way to skin a cat, his dad used to say. Out of the doorman’s sight, Frank found a pathway leading to other entrances to the building. The west side one was locked down tight, draperies over the glass doors obscuring all signs of the activity inside. Circling to the north, the rear of the building, he saw a plain steel door swing open.

Out stepped a woman in a white dress with a dark wrap of some kind around her shoulders. Her blond chin-length hair caught his attention. Penelope Fitzpatrick. He felt sure of it. Her presence at the gem show could not be a coincidence. And Frank Morrell didn’t believe in coincidences anyway. He shrank back into the leafy folds of a giant oleander bush and watched her stroll in the opposite direction. A man approached her but they were now too far away to identify Frank, so he casually walked away.

His mind raced—stay here and try to gain access to the building, or get a taxi and leave this city as soon as possible? He couldn’t keep lugging around this briefcase full of cash without taking a big chance on losing it, but the pull of that building full of riches still tugged at him. He’d give anything to know what the Golden Tigers had planned, how they would manage to rob a big place like this with such tight security. The more these thoughts ran through his mind the more he realized he was tired. Between dodging the Fitzpatrick woman and keeping up with Anton, he’d not had a decent night’s sleep in ages. He wasn’t thinking clearly and that was always dangerous. He spotted a stone bench a little farther down the pathway and he sat, just for a moment, to sort things out.

Not even the success of his recent con would ever be enough for him, Frank knew. The lure of the massive haul inside tugged at him. Anton and Lubnic had seen that Frank operated in good faith. With a robbery this big, the more hands, the better, he reasoned. They would surely let him join the gang for this one.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Penelope Fitzpatrick was gone. The man she’d been talking to was heading toward Frank so quickly he would have to jog to outpace him, and that would most certainly look suspicious. The guy had the look of law enforcement and the last thing Frank wanted was to answer questions about the briefcase and its contents. He tucked it out of sight beside the solid legs of the bench, rose and walked with his back to the man, keeping a leisurely pace. With luck, the guy would rush past him and Frank would switch directions, grab his case, and get the hell out of there.

His first clue that the plan wouldn’t work was when he felt a yank at the back of his collar. He spun around.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Frank Morrell. Or should I say Richard Stone?”

Frank turned to find himself face to face with the cop from Phoenix.