Sweet Revenge

tonight, but she can’t keep her locked up forever.”
    Concealing annoyance, Philip glanced over. And felt the punch. He caught only a glimpse of the young, fine-boned face. But there was a mass of straight, glorious black hair. And legs. Despite himself, Philip stared at them. Truly gorgeous legs. He snorted in self-disgust. The girl was so young, she made Marci look middle-aged. He stood abruptly and turned his back.
    “A bit young for my taste … old man. See you tonight.”
    Bastard, Philip thought of Eddie as he moved away from the tables. In a day or two he wouldn’t have to be his “pal” any longer and could go home. Back to London. It would be cool and green in London, and he could wash the smog of Los Angeles out of his eyes. He’d have to pick up some souvenirs for his mother. He knew Mary would adore a map of the stars’ homes.
    Let her have her romance with Hollywood. There wasno need to tell her that under the glitter was an ugly layer of scum. Drugs, sex, and betrayal. Not all of it, certainly, but enough to make him glad his mother had never pursued her dream of being an actress. Still, he should bring her here one day. Take her to lunch at Grauman’s Chinese Theater, let her slip her feet into Marilyn Monroe’s, footprints. He’d get a bang out of the town if his mother were along to be awed and excited.
    A tennis ball rolled in front of him and he bent down to retrieve it. The girl with great legs had put on huge concealing sunglasses. She smiled beneath them and he felt the same punch as he tossed the ball back to her.
    “Thanks.”
    “Sure.” Dipping his hands in his pockets, Philip relegated Phoebe Spring’s very young daughter to the back of his mind. He had a job to do.
    Twenty minutes later he was cruising into Bel Air in a white paneled van. The legend on the side boasted KARPETS KLEANED . Eddie’s mother was going to be very unhappy when she discovered her jewelry was going to be cleaned as well. For free.
    A brown wig covering his now sunstreaked hair, a natty mustache above his thin lips, Philip hopped out of the van. He still wore white, but it was overalls now, padded a bit to give the illusion of bulk. It had taken him two weeks to case the Treewalters’ house and learn the routines of family and servants. He had twenty-five minutes to get in and out before the housekeeper returned from her weekly trip to the market.
    It was almost too easy. A week before, he’d taken an impression of Eddie’s keys when Eddie had been too stoned to walk through his own front door. Once in, Philip turned off the alarm, then broke a window in the patio door to give the job the look of forced entry.
    Moving quickly, he went up to the master bedroom to go to work on the safe. It pleased him that it was the same model as the Mezzenis’ in Venice. It had taken him only twelve minutes to crack that and relieve the amorous Italian matron of one of the hottest suites of emeralds in Europe. But that had been six months before. Philip wasn’t a man to rest on his laurels.
    Concentration was everything. Though Philip was justshy of twenty-one, he knew how to concentrate fully, on a safe, on an alarm, on a woman. Each held its own fascination for cracking.
    He heard the first tumblers fall into place.
    He was as smooth here as he was over cocktails or between the sheets. He’d taught himself well. How to dress, how to speak, how to seduce a woman. His talents had opened doors for him, society’s as well as vaults’. He’d managed to move his mother into a spacious flat. She spent her afternoons now shopping or playing bridge rather than shivering or sweating in the ticket booth at Faraday’s. He was going to see that she continued to do so. There were other women in his life, but she was still his first love.
    He heard the tumblers fall into place through the stethoscope.
    He’d done just as well for himself, and intended to do even better. He had a small, elegant town house in London. Soon, very soon, he was going to start scouting the outlying districts for that home in the country. With a garden. He had a weakness for small, beautiful things that needed to be nurtured.
    He stood, one hand moving delicately on the dial, eyes half closed, like a man listening to soothing music, or appreciating the touch of a clever woman.
    The safe opened, smooth as butter.
    He unrolled the velvet pouch he found inside and took the time to examine the gems with his loupe. All that glittered, he knew, was