Chapter 12

Priscilla looked across the table at her best friend Judy Pangborn.

"What?" she asked.

Judy had been giving her what Priscilla called laden looks ever since they had sat down to lunch half an hour ago.

"You seem…giddy," Judy said. She was Priscilla's age, although when circumstances called for it, Priscilla enjoyed pointing out that Judy was actually eight months older. She had very blonde hair, was several inches shorter than Priscilla, and had the archetypal middle-aged rich woman's breasts—artificially inflated as soon as she hit forty, from the B-cups she'd had most of her life, and often shown off with a variety of tasteful but low-cut tops.

"Either you've gotten laid, or you just bought something spectacular," Judy went on.

Priscilla laughed.

"Is that so?" she prodded. "I didn't realize I was so obvious."

"Only with me," Judy replied. "Don't worry, to everyone else you're still a sphinx. Anyway, you acted this same way when you bought Thailand."

Priscilla sighed.

"It was an island off Thailand," she corrected her friend.

"Whatever," Judy said dismissively. She leaned forward, her elbows on the table. "So…who is it you just fucked? Or what is it you just bought?"

Priscilla couldn't help taking a look around. They were in one of the finer waterside restaurants in San Diego, at lunchtime…on a weekday. The place was packed with some of the top financial, legal, medical, and political professionals in the city—the mayor was two tables away—as well as wealthy old biddies who had nothing better to do each day than choose which expensive restaurant to meet their friends in for lunch. It was not a place to casually throw around the word fuck in its various forms.

But no one nearby had seemed to notice Judy's artlessly posed question.

"I'm not…sleeping with anyone," Priscilla answered. "As always, you would be among the first to know."

Judy's brow furrowed.

"Why not the first?" she asked.

Priscilla smirked.

"Well, there would be her," she pointed out. "And then anyone else that day I happen to like better than you."

"Bitch!" Judy said, chuckling and sitting back again.

"As for what I bought…nothing," Priscilla answered. "Let's just say that, um, I had a very exciting…plan work out for me, which got me exactly what I wanted."

"Hm, Daddy would be proud," Judy quipped, lifting her martini glass to take another sip.

Priscilla's father—from whom she had inherited the Kroyn empire—was the type of ruthless business baron who always got what he wanted, and impressed upon his daughter that she ought to do the same.

To a degree, Priscilla had done just that. She did get what she wanted, and had done so ever since taking over the family business, and making it even more successful than when her father had been in charge.

But she had also managed to do that by changing the atmosphere at Kroyn Enterprises…

Her father had been a hard man to work for, and rarely showed his human side. Characters like him were difficult to find outside of Shakespeare. As such, Kroyn Enterprises had always been an intense place to work—but a job there had also always been a sought-after commodity. But those jobs came with a cost…burnout, mainly. Not that her father cared.

Well, Kroyn Enterprises was still an intense place to work, and people still lusted after positions there, knowing how good it looked on their résumés. But Priscilla had managed to get rid of the burnout culture.

"Anyway," Judy said, "what did this exciting plan get you this time?"

Priscilla looked down at her own martini glass and swirled the cocktail in it.

"Nothing you'd be interested in," she answered.

This wasn't a lie. Judy had many fine qualities, but an appreciation for art was not among them—ironic, considering her family's collection.

In any case, even if Judy was fond of wearing I ? Art t-shirts, and had Picasso's name tattooed on her ass, Priscilla couldn't tell her what was now in her bedroom, hidden behind the bookshelf.

That was the paradox of what she had done…

She had something incredibly—almost spiritually—beautiful in her home, yet she couldn't show it to anyone.

"By the way, speaking about exciting things," Judy said…excitedly, "did you hear about the excitement at the art museum yesterday?"

Priscilla nodded.

"I was there," she stated.

Judy's eyes widened until Priscilla was afraid she was going to break them somehow.

"You were there?" Judy exclaimed, but still managing to keep her voice at a reasonable level. "Why didn't you call me the instant it happened to tell me about it? Wait…is that why you canceled our tennis date?"

"No, to the second," Priscilla answered. "And…" She shrugged. "I wanted to tell you in person first. It's more fun."

"I can't believe you were in the middle of an art robbery!" Judy went on.

Priscilla wanted to laugh at how spot-on Judy was.

"Was it exciting?" Judy asked. "Tell me everything!"

"See, the thing is, there's not much to tell…" Priscilla said.

Beyond me orchestrating a doomed-to-fail art heist, while I stole my favorite painting in the entire world, which is now in my bedroom.

"They evacuated us from the museum before the police even arrived," she continued. She took a sip of her martini. "Herded us out like cattle. I didn't really get to see anything."

"Did you get to see the robbers, at least?" Judy asked. "Were any of them good-looking?"

Priscilla sighed. If her friend would manage to stop marrying men only to divorce them, she might be getting laid herself more regularly.

"They were all very handsome, Jude," she said. "I gave the best-looking one your number. I told him to give you a call in twenty-five years when he gets out. You know…when you're almost seventy."

"Bitch!" Judy said. "Don't say that!" She groaned. "Remember when we were fifteen, and we thought thirty was old!" She pouted. "Aargh…I didn't appreciate thirty when I was thirty!"

"Instead, you threw a lavish birthday party in France, and required everyone to wear black," Priscilla reminded her.

"Yeah, but it was a great party," Judy said.

"Even the cake was black," Priscilla replied. "And the candles."

"But it was a great party!" Judy repeated.

Priscilla laughed.

"Well, be sure to appreciate your forties before you hit fifty," she warned. "Which is only eight years away for us both!" She paused and cocked her eyebrow. "Well…less for you, because you're eight months older."

Judy glared at her.

"Why am I friends with you again?" she asked.

***

Priscilla had taken today off, as she did most Fridays of the year—another suggestion from her therapist which was paying dividends to her self-care routine. Her company was a well-oiled and mainly self-sustaining machine, after all, which meant she really did not need to be hands-on all the time—just enough to satisfy her A-type personality.

After lunch, she had Gordon drive her back home. Her plans today were rather simple…

Short-term, she was going to work out soon after getting to her house. Then she would check her e-mails because taking the day off didn't mean she wasn't going to at least keep herself apprised of what was happening.

Then, Susan Worthington was coming over…

Priscilla had been incredibly horny since stealing The Young Shepherdess. In fact, she wondered if other criminals felt the same effects after pulling off a job. In any case, she knew her body well enough to know that masturbating herself silly—even with all of the toys she owned—was not going to cut it. She needed a woman. She needed a woman to do things to her, and she needed to do things to a woman. She wanted breasts other than her own to play with, and to feel her fingers slip into a vagina that wasn't hers.

She figured she and Susan would be done by five. Maybe they'd eat together afterwards. Eventually, however, Susan would go home. That was their arrangement, and Priscilla enforced it.

Once Susan was gone, Priscilla's night would be open…although, she imagined she would occupy part of it drinking wine while spending time with the Shepherdess.

Last night and this morning, Priscilla had read everything she could find online about the incident at the museum. Naturally, it was the kind of made-for-Hollywood news story the various media outlets craved, and so it was covered extensively…

A brazen robbery in daylight.

Expensive paintings worth millions.

A superstar artist…Rembrandt.

The capture of most of the thieves.

Finally, a lingering mystery centered around a culprit who had gotten away, and a missing work of art.

While scrolling through Google News, she had seen articles written about it for news sites out of Germany, Italy, Japan, even New Zealand.

So far, there was no mention of any leads the police were following with regards to finding The Young Shepherdess, but Priscilla knew that was standard operating procedure for them. What's more, a lot of details about the captured robbers and the logistics of how they had infiltrated the museum and rendered its security system useless were left out. Again, Priscilla knew the police were not releasing such information, because it could jeopardize their investigation.

Priscilla, however, was not worried. She had managed to pull off a perfect heist…one that hadn't been impulsive, one that she hadn't rushed into. She knew the authorities would be looking for someone…just not her.