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She looked over his shoulder, and he followed her gaze. The weasel was still standing on the edge of the dance floor, next to an older man with shaggy gray hair. “Please don’t let me keep you if you need to return to your boyfriend.”
She couldn’t quite suppress the shudder. He didn’t blame her. The thought of the weasel as her boyfriend made him want to throw up too. It must be the gray-haired man next to the weasel that was keeping her from returning the keycard, he realized. She didn’t want to get closer to him.
Ignoring his last comment, she pointed to the two glasses in his hands. “Is one of those for me or do you just like to carry around a spare?”
He handed one over, waited for her to take a large sip. Let’s see how she handled a direct approach. “Would you like me to return the stolen keycard for you?”
She didn’t choke on the champagne. In fact, she barely stiffened. He found himself just the tiniest bit impressed. For an amateur, she was remarkably composed. “Pardon?”
He just smirked. “You know, the keycard in your bra strap? The one I helped you to get by knocking over its owner?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said primly, but her eyes had widened at his admission of assistance.
That high-class accent just tickled him. He winked at her. “Blondie, you do realize that most current Brits don’t actually sound like Lady Mary when they talk, right? Did you practice the accent by watching a lot of Downton Abbey?”
Now she did freeze, eyes wide, and he fully expected her to walk away.
She shocked him by laughing. Hard. It was a throaty rumble that made parts of him suddenly stand at attention. Her shoulders shook and her eyes watered. “Yes,” she gasped. And kept on laughing.
When she got control of herself, she just continued right on in the English accent, despite the fact that she knew she was busted. “I actually started with Mary Poppins,” she confided, “but the songs kept getting stuck in my head and drove me insane.”
“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious?” he guessed, grinning down at her.
“Actually, it was ‘A Spoonful of Sugar’ that made me want to throw myself out a window,” she answered, suddenly sounding a lot like Julie Andrews.
He chuckled. Even if she was a newbie, Adam couldn’t remember the last time he’d met such a funny—or beautiful—woman in his line of work. As he watched, her clever fingers delved into the side of her dress and retrieved the keycard. “Ta da,” she said, with a rueful twist on her lips.
He thought about the surrounding buildings. Across the street, the University’s art museum housed a large collection of religious paintings and artifacts. He didn’t do art, himself, but he happened to know the security in that particular building was not as tight as most museums. Perhaps because there wasn’t anything of really high value on premises. But maybe this woman didn’t know that...or maybe she was cutting her teeth on easier jobs. Smart, actually. Beyond the keycard, she would have needed a set of tools. She wasn’t carrying a purse and there was no space in that dress to hide even the smallest of kits. More likely, she’d stashed her necessities near her intended target.
He inclined his head at the keycard. He was just too curious not to ask. “What did you take?”
Her expression went from amused to furious in one blink of those brown eyes. “I did not steal anything,” she said, enunciating each word crisply. Without the English accent.
She just kept surprising him. Lifting her chin, she threw back her shoulders, giving him the distinct impression she was about to storm away. But then she looked over his shoulder again. “Oh no,” she said, her words urgent. “He’s leaving.” He turned to see the weasel and the gray-haired man walking out of the ballroom together, headed for the coat check next to the elevators.
Accompanied by Maurice Knoll.
The three men walked casually, but Adam’s instincts told him something important was happening. Even if the woman in the wig hadn’t been in the ballroom tonight, tiny alarm bells would have gone off at the sight of these three unlikely men walking together. Something about the way Knoll was speaking out of the side of his mouth and glancing around. Something about the way the gray-haired man was nodding deferentially. Something about the way the weasel simpered at them before looking down at his Staff Member of the Year trophy.
Well, well, well. Something about his business and the woman in white’s business was overlapping. Maybe she knew the answer to his question about Knoll. This night just kept getting more interesting.
She looked up at him with the keycard between her fingers and a pleading expression in those black-fringed eyes. “Can you please put this back in his pocket?” Without the fake British changing its pitch and inflection, her voice was low and melodic. A good thing, because he planned to hear a lot more of it tonight.
He took the card in his left hand. “Wait here,” he demanded.
Knoll, the gray-haired man, and the weasel were waiting in the coat check line. He cut behind them and tapped the weasel on the shoulder.
When he turned, Adam held out his right hand to shake. “Just wanted to apologize again for the dust-up earlier.”
The weasel looked surprised, but held out his hand. “No worries,” he mumbled. Adam shook his hand firmly with his right hand, while using his left to slide the card back in the weasel’s pocket. Classic redirection—give someone one large, tangible experience to focus on so they don’t notice the other. It wasn’t the same pocket the card was in earlier, but he didn’t think the weasel was sober enough to notice.
Turning, he strode back into the ballroom. This was fascinating. What did the woman need the keycard for, if she wasn’t stealing? And how did it relate to her not wanting to be seen by the gray-haired man, who had surreptitious dealings with Knoll?
Adrenaline flooded through his veins as he headed back to her pillar hiding place. Even though he executed his projects with OCD-like focus, there was absolutely nothing like the rush of surprises.
He didn’t much care for the surprise that waited for him behind the pillar, however. The woman was gone.
* * *
