Sweet Revenge

she assumed was a Mexican pop star. There were a few chairs scattered here and there, but they didn’t look as though they offered much comfort. The overhead bulbs were bare.
    “You’d think he could funnel a bit of his profits into dragging the working conditions into the twentieth century.” She watched a lizard sidle up the wall and blink.
    “We’ll discuss the St. Johns’ debt to society later. Which way?” When she gestured, he moved through the room into an alcove that opened up into a large utility area. Here the water heater hummed along, doing its job. The huge air conditioner whirled, making him think of the frost on the windowpanes in his home in Oxfordshire, where Christmas would feel like Christmas. Frowning, he studied the ductwork. She’d been right when she’d spoken of a tight squeeze.
    “All right, give me a boost up, then I’ll pull you along.” He held out his hand for the light.
    Adrianne was thinking about the less than grand conditions in the room beyond. The Mexican economy was a mess, and its people were struggling. She could resell the St. John jewels and funnel the profits through Catholic Charities.
    “I don’t suppose you’d reconsider. I could put those stones to much better use than adorning Lauren’s neck. We’d split sixty-forty.”
    “Sixty-forty?”
    “I’ve done all the work,” she pointed out. “It’s a more than fair split.”
    He wished she hadn’t suggested it—he really did. It made it even more difficult for a man who’d been born to take to give back. It wasn’t the money, but the principle. Unfortunately, he’d developed other principles over the last few years. A lowering admission. He thought of Spencer sitting behind his desk puffing on his pipe.
    “The light,” he repeated.
    With a shrug she passed it to him. “It’s a much better deal than this one, but have it your way.”
    “You said the top floor, which room?”
    “It’s the last on the west side; it takes the corner of the building.”
    “You have a compass?”
    “No.” She grinned. “Don’t you know which way west is?”
    There was something to be said for British dignity. “I always used a compass.”
    Still grinning, she made a basket out of her hands. “Alley-oop, darling. I’ll get you there.”
    He ignored the taunt and put his foot in her hands. Almost before she felt the weight, he was up, wriggling agilely into the vent. After a few oaths he was able to shift and hold down his hands for her. She gripped them. Their fingers curled and held fast. For a moment their eyes locked just as truly. Then her feet were off the ground.
    On his hands and knees, Philip swung the light back and forth. It was like being inside a metal coffin. “From the looks of it, it’s fortunate I missed my Christmas pie.”
    “It’s narrow on the turns,” she told him with some pleasure. “Perhaps we should have brought some lard for you.”
    There wasn’t room to turn and scowl at her. “With a little time, I could come up with a much more sophisticated plan.”
    “I’ve all the time in the world.”
    Philip merely sucked in his breath. “Stay close, we’ve a long way to go.”
    It was a long trip, and an uncomfortable one. More than once the sheet-metal tunnel narrowed so that Philip had to wiggle and squirm his way through like a snake burrowing under a rock. Foot by foot they slid, belly down, distributing weight. The journey had to be made in near silence. Whenthey passed over openings, they heard voices, laughter, or occasionally water running out of a tap or shower.
    Once Adrianne had no choice but to lay prone as the guest on the fourth floor came into the bathroom to gargle. If Number 422 had opened his eyes when he’d tilted his head back and swished peppermint mouthwash, he’d have gotten quite a surprise.
    She stifled giggles as they bellied their way to the next floor. Whenever the ducts forked or spread out, she tugged on Philip’s foot to give him direction. In her mind she’d made the trip a dozen times. Thirty exhausting minutes later they were over the vent, looking down at the St. Johns’ pastel pink john.
    “You’re sure?” Philip hissed.
    “Of course I’m sure.”
    “It would be very unprofessional to put the jewelry into someone else’s safe.”
    “I said I’m sure,” she whispered back. “Do you see that hideous peacock print robe on the back of the door?”
    He had to bend his knees into his chest to get a look. “So?”
    “I gave it to