Three Fates

in the far reaches of the small vault, behind an impressive stack of fifties, leather files and numerous jewelry cases.
    When the safe was closed again, they changed places, with Cleo reshelving the books and Jack stowing all the gear. They both jumped like rabbits when the phone rang.
    He gave her the hurry-up sign, then bolted to the door to unlock it, crack it open. Cleo was breathing down his neck when light flooded the hallway. With one bag clutched at her breast like a baby, Cleo dived behind a hunter-green leather winged-back chair. With another bag slung over his shoulder, Jack angled himself behind the door and tried not to breathe as the footsteps came briskly down the hall.
    “One thing then another,” an irritated female voice uttered. “As if I’ve got nothing better to do this time of night than take messages.”
    She shoved open the door. Jack caught the knob with his hand before it slammed into his crotch and held it there as he pressed himself into the shielding triangle.
    Light poured into the room when the woman hit the switch for the overheads.
    Rebecca spoke into his ear, warning him they were going overtime.
    He heard the housekeeper march to the desk, slap something on the polished wood. “Hope she stays away for a month. Give us some breathing room.”
    Footsteps, shuffling now, headed back to the door. There was a pause, a soft snort that might have been approval or derision, then the lights went out.
    Jack stayed just as he was, willed Cleo to do the same, as the footsteps retreated. He didn’t move an inch until he heard the quick slam of a door from down the hallway.
    Gently, very gently, he nudged the door open. In the shadowy light he saw Cleo, still huddled behind the chair. Her eyes gleamed in the dark as they met his. She rolled them wildly, then eased to her feet.
    They crept out of the library, slipped silently down the hall to the foyer. And walked right out the front door.
     
     
    “SO I’M PLAYING rabbit behind this chair, and there’s Jack doing his Claude Rains impression behind the door, and all I can see are her feet. She’s got on fuzzy slippers. Pink ones, and all I can think is I’m gonna get busted by some woman wearing fuzzy pink slippers. It’s mortifying.”
    Because she’d wanted to get horizontal as soon as possible, Cleo had given Rebecca back the shotgun position and was stretched out, as best as possible, on the floor of the van.
    “Man. Man. I need to take some alcohol internally really soon.”
    “You were great.” Jack glanced in the rearview mirror. “Nerves of steel.”
    “Yeah, nerves of jelly for a moment there. Oh hey!” She rolled herself over, eased up to a crouched position. “I got you a present, Tia.”
    “A present?”
    “Yeah.” She dug into her bag and pulled out the balled-up suit. “Great color for you. Sorta eggplant, I think. Good texture. Cashmere.”
    “Is this . . . is this hers?”
    “So what? Have it cleaned, fumigated, whatever.” Cleo shrugged as she dug in the bag again. “It’ll look better on you anyway. Just like these shoes are gonna look better on me.” She set them aside, dug in again. “Snagged you this little evening purse, Rebecca. Judith Leiber. It’s not bad.”
    “How the hell did you get all that stuff?” Jack demanded.
    “Leftover skill from my shoplifting days. I’m not proud of it, but I was sixteen and rebellious. It’s a cry for attention, right, Tia?”
    “Well . . . don’t you think she’ll notice this is missing?”
    “Hell, she’s got half the stock from Bergdorf’s in there.
    What’s one outfit? Besides, she’s going to be too busy to do a wardrobe check once she gets back and our shit hits her fan.”
    “You’ve got such a way with words.” Malachi reached down, patted her head.
    “Tell me.” And she felt the last of the residual tension fade when they drove into the garage and she saw Jack’s SUV. Gideon was back, and all was right with her world. “So, we can order pizza now, right?”

Twenty-seven
     
     
     
     
    “T HERE they are.” Tia circled the table again. On it, the three silver Fates, linked at their bases, glinted in the late-morning sunlight.
    “It almost seemed like a dream,” she said quietly. “Like a dream, last night and everything that led up to it. Or a play I somehow stumbled into. But there they are.”
    “You never stumbled, Tia.” Standing behind her, Malachi laid his hands on her shoulders. “You’ve been rock-steady, through