Sweet Revenge

Shadow?”
    “They will romanticize.”
    “The Shadow’s getting along in years apparently, and has a touch of arthritis.” Philip flexed his fingers. “That’s one of the greatest fears of artists of all kinds. Musicians, painters, thieves. Dexterity is an invaluable tool.”
    “I have a difficult time sympathizing.”
    “Have another cake, Captain. Rumor is, The Shadow’s going into retirement.”
    Spencer paused with the cake halfway to his lips. His eyes widened and glazed. Philip was reminded of a bulldog who’d just discovered the juicy bone he’d been about to sink his teeth into was nothing but plastic. “What do you mean, retire? I’m damned if he can retire. We almost had our hands on him in Paris two days ago.”
    “It’s only a rumor.”
    “Bloody hell.” Spencer let the cake drop and sucked on his fingers.
    “Maybe he’ll only take a vacation.”
    “And you suggest?”
    “Until he moves again, if he does, we wait.”
    Spencer worried the information like a bit between his teeth. “It may pay to focus on the woman.”
    “It may.” With a shrug Philip discounted it. “If you’ve time to corral all the redheaded tarts on two continents.” Leaning forward, he picked up his cup. “I know it’s frustrating, Stuart, but the close call in Paris might have been the last straw for him.” He’d have to remember to send a check, a generous one, to his old friend Andre, who’d made certain the Paris agents had had something to report. “I have some business, personal business, to see to over the next few weeks. If I hear anything that can be of use to you, I’ll pass it along.”
    “I want this man, Philip.”
    A ghost of a smile touched Philip’s mouth. “No more than I, I promise you.”
    It was after two A.M . when Adrianne let herself into her apartment. The New Year’s Eve party she’d slipped out of would probably last until dawn. She’d left Celeste flirting with an old flame and bottles of champagne unopened. Adrianne’s escort had certainly noticed her absence by now, but she was sure he could find something, or someone, to entertain him.
    It had been difficult not to look at the jewelry with an eye toward a job. For so many years she’d admired a necklace, studied a bracelet while calculating its return in dollars and cents. That was a habit she was trying to break. There was only one more job for her, and those jewels she could envision anytime of the day or night. She could see them in the portrait she’d had painted of her mother from an old photograph. She could feel them, ice and fire, in her hands.
    When she returned from Jaquir, she would be the woman everyone already believed she was. Her life would be parties, and benefits and trips to the spots a woman of her means was supposed to frequent. She would learn to enjoy it the way a woman enjoyed success when her life’s work was done. And she would enjoy it alone.
    She wouldn’t regret that. Success had a price; no matter how steep, it had to be paid. She’d burned her bridges when she’d boarded that plane out of Cozumel. Perhaps she’d lit the match years before.
    He’d forget her. In all likelihood he’d already begun to. She was just another woman, after all. She hadn’t been his first, nor did she have any illusions that she would be his last. He was both for her, and that she accepted.
    She draped her coat over her arm as she climbed the stairs that curved to the second floor. She couldn’t afford to think about Philip. She certainly couldn’t afford to regret having loved him, or having closed the door on what that love might have led to. Dead ends, she thought. When a woman loved a man, it always led to a dead end.
    What she wanted now was sleep, a long, deep sleep. Shewould need all her energy, all her skill and wit over the days to come. Her flight to Jaquir was already booked.
    She didn’t turn on the light in the bedroom, but tossed her coat over a chair, then began to unbraid her hair in the dark. Outside, the noise of traffic rose in waves, reminding her of the sea. She could almost smell it—that and the edge of tobacco, the tang of soap that brought Philip so clearly to mind.
    She froze, her arms lifted, her hands caught in her hair when the light by the bed flashed on.
    She looked like something carved out of alabaster and amber, with her skin glowing gold against a white beaded gown. It fell like a tube down her body, straight and snug and glittering. But as Philip lifted a glass