My attention naturally swung left. The chaos-puppy again, far more interested in that squirrel gamboling in plain sight than an old rabbit trail. I gave in to the impulse, already ninety percent convinced that whatever I’d felt had been a chaos-memory.
3
I looked around, then slipped past the sign reminding guests that this area wasn’t part of the gala. In other words: keep out, worded nicely to avoid insulting current and future museum benefactors.
As the sounds of the party faded behind me, the clicking of my heels grew louder. I stopped, backed into a recessed doorway, and removed them. Then, with the shoe straps threaded through my purse strap, I leaned out of the doorway, looked both ways, crept out, and padded down the hall.
I’d nearly made it to the end when a flashlight beam bounced off the walls. I backpedaled, heart tripping. A security guard’s shoes clomped through the next room, then receded. I started out again.
At the end of the hall, I peeked into the next room. The chaos signal was stronger now, a siren’s call luring me in. It came from down yet another darkened hallway. As I stepped into the room, a red light blinked. A surveillance camera. Shit!
Again I scooted into the hall. I crouched nearly to the floor, then shuffled forward, too low for the camera to pick up. I craned my head back to look for that light. There it was, on a video camera lens fixed on the display cases.
Squinting, I visually charted a safe path around the perimeter. Still crouched, face turned from the camera, I started forward. It wasn’t easy, moving in the near darkness, through an unfamiliar room dotted with obstacles—priceless obstacles. But I reveled in every terrified heart thump. Part of me wanted to rise above that, to dismiss this as an inconvenient—even silly—part of my job, skulking about dark corridors, avoiding security guards. I blame my upbringing in a world that prized detachment and emotional control. But that only made the thrill that much more precious, the glittering allure of the forbidden…or at least, the unseemly.
I made it to the next hall. This time, I had the foresight to look before I strolled in. I needed more practice at this sort of thing. My bounty hunting missions often required some degree of stealth and spying. Another skill I didn’t mind having an excuse to hone.
As I peered around the corner, I saw another corridor, this one wide and inviting, with a carpeted floor and benches. Paintings and prints decorated the left wall. The right needed no adornment—it was a sloping sheet of glass overlooking the special exhibit gallery below. I had seen Tutankhamen in that gallery, relics from the Titanic, peat bog mummies, and most recently, feathered dinosaurs. Now, if I remembered correctly, it displayed a traveling collection of jewelry.
This second-story viewing hall stretched along two sides of the gallery below. Through the glass, I saw something move on the adjoining side. The pale circle of a face. I eased back, but the face stayed where it was, bobbing only slightly, as if the owner were cleaning the glass. A janitor? Was my trouble alert on the fritz again? I really needed more practice.
A shard of light reflected off the glass on the other side. Again I moved back, expecting the guard with his bouncing flashlight. But by then, my eyes had adjusted enough for me to see a dark figure beneath that pale face, and the light had reflected off a sheet of glass…in his dark-gloved hands.
I bit back a laugh. So that’s what I’d picked up, not a janitor or some bored partygoer wandering around off-limits areas, but a robbery-in-progress. My gaze still fixed on the would-be thief, I reached into my purse.
My fingers brushed two objects that Tristan insisted I carry at all times: a gun and a pair of handcuffs. Even tonight, he’d been so concerned for my safety that he’d had me meet someone from the security detail before I’d gone to dinner, pass my gun and cuffs to him, and pick them up again inside the gala, circumventing the security at the door. Overkill, but it was sweet of him to care.
I’d rolled my eyes as I’d gone through Tristan’s cloak-and-dagger routine with the gun and cuffs, but now I was actually in a position where they could come in handy. That would add some excitement to my night. But no. Apprehending a thief wasn’t my job, no matter how tempting. Instead, I pulled out my cell phone to call the police. An unexpected positive use for my powers.
Across the way, the thief was climbing over the edge, through the hole he’d cut in the glass. Now this would be interesting. How would he get down? Rappel or lower himself like Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible? Curiosity stayed my finger on the phone buttons. I’d just see this, then back out—
The man jumped.
I sucked in a gasp. My God, it was at least thirty feet down. Was he crazy? Surely he’d break—