The man landed on his feet as easily as if he’d hopped off a two-foot ledge.
I put my phone away. No human could make that leap, not like that. I knew now why I’d picked up the trouble signal so clearly from so far. A supernatural thief. This was my job after all.
The figure moved across the well-lit gallery. His back was to me as he started working on the security panel.
What was he? Knowing his supernatural race would help. The first time I’d followed a paranormal lead from True News without council backup, I’d ended up with second-degree burns from a very pissed-off fire half-demon. My own fault. He’d been torching abandoned buildings, what did I think his demonic power was?
I looked down at the man. No clues there. There never were. Half-demons, witches, sorcerers, werewolves, vampires…you couldn’t tell by looking. Or, with the vampires and werewolves, I’d heard you couldn’t tell. I’ve never met one of either race, both being rare.
He could be a vampire. Vampires had more than their share of thieves—natural stealth combined with invulnerability made it a good career choice.
As he continued working on the security panel, I ran through a few other possibilities, so I’d be prepared. My mental databanks were overflowing with supernatural facts, most for types I had never and maybe would never meet.
Sometimes, poring over my black market reference books, I felt like an overeager army recruit digesting ballistic tables for weapons he’d never fire, tactical manuals for situations he’d never encounter. Yep, I was a keener, devouring everything in an effort to “be all that I could be.” The council had taken a chance on me and turned my life around, and damned if I wasn’t going to give them all I had to give.
Security system disabled, the man walked to the display and, with a few adroit moves, scooped up three pieces of jewelry as easily as if he’d been swiping loose candy from a store shelf. As he moved, something about him looked familiar. When he did turn, face glowing in the display lights, I let out a silent oath. It was the man I’d crashed into at the buffet table.
The oath was for me—I’d been inches from a supernatural and hadn’t noticed. I could blame that silly “dead duck” vision, and the ensuing confusion, but I couldn’t rest on excuses. I needed to be better than that.
Jewelry stashed in an inside breast pocket, the man crossed the floor. I pulled the gun from my purse and crept forward, crouched to stay under the glass. When he came through that open window again, I’d—
Wait, how was he going to climb out of it? He hadn’t left a rope…meaning he didn’t plan to exit the way he’d come in. Shit!
I popped my head over the window ledge to see him at the door. It was barred on the inside—vertical metal bars—the extra security hidden from passersby who would see only a closed door.
The man reached one gloved hand through the bars, and pushed the handle. The door opened a crack, any electronic security having been overridden from the panel he’d disabled. Great, but that still left those metal bars—
He took hold of the nearest bar, flexed his hand, and pulled. As I stared, he pried open a space big enough to slip through and—
Wake up, girl! He’s going to get away.
I snapped my hanging jaw shut, and broke into a hunched-over jog. As I moved, I mentally ran through the layout of the museum. Take the first junction and there’d be back stairs to the main level. The stairs led to an emergency exit, but the stairwell itself could be used without tripping a fire alarm, a courtesy to museum-goers who knew their way around and didn’t care to cross to the main stairs and elevator.
But even if opening the door didn’t set off a fire alarm, did it trigger anything else? Maybe a signal in the security station? I couldn’t worry about that. When I hit the doorway, I quickly checked for security cameras, saw none, pushed open the door, and tore down the steps.
4
P ulse racing, I forced myself to slow enough to peek out the main level door first. It opened into a dark hallway. No security cameras in sight. I put on my shoes, stuffed my charm bracelet into my purse, and stepped out.
As I hurried down the hall, I put the finishing touches on my plan. Was it a good plan? Of course not. I needed time for that. The best I could do was concentrate on him, his situation, his certain desire to get the hell out of the museum before the theft was discovered.
Sure enough, I looked around the next corner to see the thief step into the well-lit main hall leading to the front door. Cheeky bastard, waltzing right out the front. He wasn’t even hurrying.
I did hurry. I raced down the hall, and called “Excuse me!”