Sweet Revenge

her apartment, he became businesslike. “You have blueprints of the palace?”
    “Of course.”
    “Specs of security, timetables, alternate routes?”
    She shrugged out of the mink. Her sweatshirt bagged at her hips. “I know my job.”
    “Show them to me.”
    After removing the hat, she shook out her hair. “What for? I don’t need a consultant.”
    “I don’t go into a job until I know all there is to know. We’ll use the dining room table.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “That should be obvious.” He brushed melting snow from his coat. “I’m going with you.”
    “No.” She grabbed his arm before he could walk into the next room. Her fingers, long and delicate, dug in like spokes. “No, you’re not.”
    “I assure you, you can afford my fee.”
    “This isn’t a joke. I work alone. I always work alone.”
    He removed her hand from his arm and brushed it with his lips. “Your ego’s showing, darling.”
    “Stop it.” Swinging away, she hurtled up the steps. When he reached her, she was pacing the bedroom. “I’ve spent half of my life planning this. I know the country, the culture, and the risks. This is
my
vision, Philip,
my
life on the line. I won’t have you there, I won’t have your blood on my hands.”
    He stretched out on the bed, much as he had the night before. “My dear girl, I was picking locks while you were still playing with dolls. I’d stolen my first million before you were out of a training bra. You may be good, Addy, you may be very good, but you’ll never be half the thief I am.”
    “You conceited, self-centered son of a bitch.” She whirled on him, to his delight. “I’m as good as you ever were, and probably better. And I haven’t spent the last five years on my duff pruning roses.”
    He only smiled. “I was never caught.”
    “Neither was I.” When his smile widened, she swore and swung away again. “That was entirely different. You only suspected until I decided to tell you.”
    “You were sloppy when you broke into my room to get your necklace back—because you were angry. Because you let your emotions take over. Revenge might be your purpose now, but revenge is among the strongest of emotions. You’re not going to Jaquir alone.”
    “You’re retired.”
    He picked up a small jar of hand cream from her nightstand, unscrewed the lid, and sniffed. “I’m temporarily back in the game. You asked me once if I didn’t long to do one last job, one last, incredible job.” After replacing the jar, he tucked his hands behind his head. “I’ve decided this is it.”
    “This is my job. Find your own.”
    “You go to Jaquir with me or not at all. I have only to pick up the phone. There’s a man in London who’d be very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
    “You’d do that?” Torn between fury and betrayal, she sat at the foot of the bed. “After everything I’ve told you?”
    “I’ll do whatever I have to do.” He was quick. She’d almost forgotten how quick. His arms snaked out and pulledher against him. “I’m in love with you. That’s a first for me. I have no intention of losing you. I’ve got a home in the country that might have been built with you in mind. Whatever it takes, you’ll be there with me in the spring.”
    “Then I’ll come in the spring.” Too desperate to think clearly, she grabbed his sweater. “I’ll give you my word, but I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you.”
    His eyes narrowed. His grip tightened. “Why?”
    She shook her head and started to move away.
    He started to demand, then forced himself to settle back. “All right, that can wait. Just listen. I’m not giving you a choice, not in this. With me or not at all. I’m trying to understand why this is so important to you, why you can’t turn away from it. You’ll have to understand why that makes it just as important to me.”
    When he released her, she sat back. He looked so much as he had that first night she’d seen him in the fog—dressed in black, his hair dragged back from his face, his eyes intense. She reached out, for the first time without his urging, to touch his face.
    “You are a romantic, Philip.”
    “Apparently.”
    “I’ll get the plans.”
    They spread all of Adrianne’s research on the dining room table. She’d chosen the traditional here, Chippendale, Waterford, Irish linen. On one salmon-colored wall was a Maxfield Parrish sea nymph. Noting it, Philip had affirmed that Adrianne was more of a