Sweet Revenge

very individual, Adrianne. Unmistakable. I smelled you the moment I opened the door.”
    “Really?” She shifted the sable back on her shoulders while her mind scrambled for the right answer. “One might ask what you were doing poking about.”
    “One might.”
    As the silence grew, she decided it would only make it more of a mystery if she did not answer. “As it happens, I’d gone up to fix a loose hem. Should I be flattered that I impressed you enough that you recognized my perfume?”
    “You should be flattered that I don’t call you a liar,” he said lightly. “But then, beautiful women are apt to lie about most anything.”
    He touched her face, not teasingly, not flirtatiously as he had before, but possessively. His palm curved over her chin,his fingers spread over her cheek so that between them and his thumb her mouth was framed. Incredibly soft, incredibly desirable was his first thought. Then he saw what surprised him. It wasn’t anger in her eyes, nor was it humor or aloofness. It was fear, just a flicker, just an instant, but very clear.
    “I choose my lies more discriminatory, Philip.” God, a touch shouldn’t make her feel this way, shaky, unsure, needy. Her back went rigid against the seat. She couldn’t control that. She barely managed to force her lips to curve into a cool smile. “It seems we’ve arrived.”
    “Why should you be afraid for me to kiss you, Adrianne?”
    Why should he see so clearly what she’d managed to hide from dozens of others? “You’re mistaken,” she said evenly. “I simply don’t want you to.”
    “Now I will call you a liar.”
    She let out her breath very slowly, very carefully. No one knew better than she how destructive her temper could be. “As you like. It was a lovely evening, Philip. Good night.”
    “I’ll see you to your suite.”
    “Don’t bother.”
    The driver was already holding her door open. Without glancing back, she slid out, then hurried into the hotel, the fur swirling around her.
    Adrianne waited until the stroke of midnight before she sneaked out of the service entrance of the hotel. She was still dressed in black, but now it was a wool turtleneck and snug leggings under a leather jacket. The stocking cap was pulled low, with her hair tucked beneath it. On her feet were soft-soled leather boots, and slung over her arm was an oversize shoulder bag.
    A half mile from the hotel she hailed a cab. She took three of them, by winding routes, to within a mile of Madeline’s flat. She was grateful for the fog, knee-high now. It was like wading through a shallow river so that even as the mist parted and swirled at her steps, it dampened her boots. Her steps were silent on the pavement. As she approached the building, she could see the streetlights beam down, then disappear as the fog swallowed them.
    The street was silent; the houses dark.
    With one quick look Adrianne scaled the low wall at the back of the building and crossed the postage-stamp lawn to the side feeing west. There was ivy here, dark and smelling of damp. Melting against it, she scanned right, then left.
    She could be seen if a neighbor with insomnia happened to glance her way, but she’d be hidden from any cars passing on the street. Competently, even mechanically, she uncoiled her rope.
    It took only a few minutes to scale the wall to the second level, and Madeline’s bedroom window. There was a low light burning on the dresser, allowing Adrianne to see the room clearly. From the mess, it appeared that Madeline had had trouble deciding on the proper dress for the evening.
    Poor Lucille, she thought as she took out her glass cutter. There was little doubt that the maid would bear the brunt of her mistress’s temper in the morning.
    She needed only a small hole. Her hand was narrow. She used the adhesive to draw the circle of glass out. With her gloves as protection, she reached inside to trip the lock. Eight minutes after her arrival, Adrianne was crawling through the window.
    She waited, listening. Around her the building settled, murmuring and creaking as old buildings do in the night. Her feet were silent over the antique Persian carpet at the foot of the bed.
    She crossed to the vanity and pushed the spring that controlled the false front. Making herself comfortable, Adrianne took out her stethoscope and went to work.
    It could be tedious work, and like most aspects of the job, it couldn’t be rushed. The first time she’d burgled a house it had been