“Which side do you dress?” In tailor speak, it was a delicate way of asking which way his private parts hung—to the left or right of his zipper. Some men thought we asked the question to put a little extra room on that side of their pants. In fact, we asked it before taking the inseam measurement because we didn’t want to get too personal when working in that region. The few times I’d forgotten to ask, I’d had an unexpected surprise.
Something wicked flickered in his eyes. “I thought you’d know since we’ve already been intimately acquainted, or were you wiggling your ass against me in the bushes for another reason?”
“I wasn’t thinking about pants at the time.”
“Neither was I.” He licked his lips, his devilish grin drawing laughter up my throat.
“Behave,” I said, although I knew I’d be disappointed if he did. “Right or left?”
“I don’t give out that kind of information until we’ve had at least one kiss.”
I called his bluff with one of my own. “I’ll get Cristian to finish up.”
“Left.”
Without glancing up at him, I ran the tape up the inside of his right leg, and then low over his hips. There was a bulge that I hadn’t noticed before. Not that I’d been looking.
After I’d inputted all the data, I checked with the tailors. Only Cristian had time to help Jack after we were done.
“Cristian must be on a break,” I said. “He should just be a few minutes. Feel free to browse.”
“Maybe you could help me narrow things down while I’m waiting. What would you recommend?”
“It depends on the event. Cocktail party? Charity fundraiser? Bar mitzvah? Is it indoor or outdoor? Formal or casual? Is there a theme? A celebration of any particular culture? My summers are taken up with weddings, so there’s very little I don’t know on that front. I haven’t seen an original wedding idea since my cousin smuggled an elephant into Huntington Beach so he could ride it for his baraat. It’s a procession for the groom.”
Jack shrugged on his jacket. “Were you there?”
“It was an elephant. Of course I was there. After the baraat, I went to see him up close and the trainer let me ride him back to the truck.”
“Interesting.” He stroked his chin, considering.
“Why?”
“I wondered if you were the kind of woman who would run toward an elephant or run away from it. Now that I know you’re up for a little adventure, we may be able to help each other.”
After spending half an hour with my hands on his magnificent body, I was up for help of any kind. “Will we be naked?”
“Much as I would like to say yes, I was thinking about your other problem.” He leaned down and whispered in my ear. “I know who took the necklace.”
A wave of relief washed over me. Chloe was safe. The horrible ordeal was finally over. “Oh, thank God. I can call Detective Garcia and—”
“You can’t call the police,” he said quickly. “The thief no longer has the necklace. He gave it to a fence—that’s a middleman between a thief and the consumer of stolen goods.”
“I know what a fence is.” Rose was going to be so jealous when I told her I’d met a thief who knew a real-life fence. “Do you know who he is?”
“Yes, but he’s very well connected at all levels of government—mayor’s office, governor, a senator or two, maybe even the White House. If we gave his name to the police, the necklace would disappear before they could get to it, and we’d never see it again.”
“I don’t understand . . .” Hope disappeared under a tidal wave of disappointment.
“I know where he’s keeping the necklace,” he said. “But I can’t get to it on my own. I need help.”
My hand flew to my mouth. “You want me to help you steal the necklace from someone else?”
“I like to think of it as a retrieval, or better yet, a repossession,” Jack said. “It doesn’t belong to him. It needs to go back to the rightful owner.”
“Beta,” Dad called out. “I need you in the back. Cristian can take over if you’re done with the measurements.”
“I’m not a thief,” I said, turning back to Jack. “I don’t know the first thing about pulling off a—”
“Heist.” Jack smiled. “That’s what we call it in the business.”
“I’m not in the business.”
“Not even to save your friend?” He trailed an idle finger along my jaw, warming my skin. “Or yourself? If the necklace is found, say, in a corner of the museum where it might have been overlooked, there would have been no theft. I doubt the gallery director would want to press charges for the trespass if nothing was taken.”
I turned over the possibilities, the risks, and the rewards. “Altruism doesn’t suit you. Why wouldn’t you keep it for yourself?”
“I’d be willing to ensure it was returned to the museum so you and your friend would be cleared of all charges,” he said. “What happens to it after that would not be your concern.”
So he was going to steal it again. Not that it mattered. Chloe and I would be free. But the risk of going to jail was very real. This time we would be committing an actual crime.
“I don’t know you,” I said. “We met under suspicious circumstances and now you show up with a proposal that could get me into real trouble. My cousin is one of the best criminal lawyers in the city. I’m going to take my chances with him.”
“Think about it,” Jack said. “I’ll be at the Black Dog in the West Loop on Wednesday at eight p.m. if you change your mind. Bring your friend. If we go ahead with this, we’ll need her help. In fact, we’ll need a crew.”
Cristian still hadn’t returned, so I brought Jack to the waiting area. “Good luck with the suit. I hate to say it, but you’re in good hands. Cristian knows his stuff when it comes to tailoring.”
“There’s a reward,” Jack blurted out after I turned away.
“I don’t think even a few thousand dollars will change my mind.”
“What about five million?”
Eight
The Black Dog is a dimly lit, seriously sexy bar located in a basement beneath the Hobie Hotel. The bar’s interior is decidedly British, with red velvet banquettes, tufted couches, prints of London, and bookshelves filled with leather-bound books. But what makes the Black Dog unique is the seating configuration that gives every party a sense of privacy. It’s a great bet for a secret rendezvous, or when you’re meeting a thief to discuss a heist.
“This is just a fact-finding mission,” Chloe said for the third time. “We’re not agreeing to anything. We’re just assessing the risks.” She sipped her Negroni, one of sixty cocktails on the beautiful hand-drawn menu. We’d already worked our way through the daiquiris and margaritas. I was taking the sugar down a notch with a gin-based, floral-scented concoction that tasted like cherry liqueur, but Chloe was full steam ahead with her cocktail extravaganza.
Chloe rarely went out, so she took advantage of every opportunity. She’d blown out her hair into soft waves and dressed up in a gorgeous flowy mauve slip dress that had a boho crochet lace bralette top and a light and airy skirt with a tiered hem. I felt almost underdressed in my favorite shimmery silver camisole, big hoop earrings, and a pair of black jeans.