Chapter 47

Three weeks later

Beautiful, masked people in expensive clothes and more expensive jewelry moved slowly through the gallery, some stopping to study the paintings. There was haunting, mysterious music floating through the air, courtesy of a duo of musicians, one playing the cello, the other the upright bass.

The gala was being held in the Rijks Museum, a must-visit when in Amsterdam, which was saying a lot, given the plethora of world-class museums in the city.

It was evening, but not yet late, and though the museum had closed hours ago, those with the very hard to come by tickets to the event had the privilege of milling through the museum's two most famous galleries—the Gallery of Honour and Night Watch—after hours.

The Gallery of Honour was in itself a work of art. Long and airy, the art displayed here—sixteenth and seventeenth century paintings by Dutch masters—was hung in a series of large alcoves that branched off the long central gallery. It felt like she was standing in the nave of a medieval church, except instead of small alcoves holding statues of saints, here the alcoves were room-sized with glass ceilings designed to let in natural light that would show the paintings to their best advantage.

Above each alcove entrance was an arch with a mural representing the skills and trades each Dutch province had been famous for when construction began in 1876.

Though Colette had been to this museum several times, the meanings of the large murals, and the construction start date, weren't something she remembered.

Sofie had reminded her.

Sofie was very excited.

Colette raised her champagne glass to her mouth, hiding her smile and tipping her head, one hand sliding under her carefully arranged hair which was pulled to one side and fell in waves to her shoulder, to fiddle with her ear piece.

"Did you know that they did an in-depth study of The Night Watch, and built a glass chamber right here in the gallery so researchers could work, but the public could watch?" Sofie's voice was clear in her ear, her excitement infectious. Normally she was more reserved, so seeing—or rather hearing—her excited was fun. The Night Watch was one of Rembrandt's seminal paintings, and the namesake of the second smaller gallery room open as part of the gala.

"Remember, try not to look like you're talking to yourself," Colette replied, knowing the communication piece in her ear would carry her voice to Sofie.

"Oh, right. I'm sorry." Sofie made a sad little noise. "I should have just stayed in my studio."

"No, I'm glad to have you."

In the weeks since Colette had walked away from Landon, she'd tried something she hadn't ever done before—she'd deliberately tried to make a friend. Friendship required honesty and trust, and besides Landon, there was only one other person in the world who she both trusted, and who knew at least a little bit about her.

Her forger, Sophie.

The benches Colette remembered lining the "nave" of the gallery of honor were gone, replaced with round cocktail tables and a long narrow oval bar with two bartenders in the middle moving briskly to serve expensive alcohol to guests.

The theme of the evening was "Hidden Masterpieces." A pedestal in the center of each alcove held a "hidden masterpiece" that had been loaned to the museum specifically for this event.

The optional mask option for the black-tie dress code, was a nod to the "hidden" part of the theme, and most of the elegantly dressed people who milled around her either wore masks, or carried masks on sticks.

Sofie had designed Colette's mask—a simple half-mask hand painted with black and white diamond checks, two black diamonds carefully positioned around the eye holes. The white diamonds had been painted with a special reflective white paint that looked fine under normal lighting, but on video and in photos would blind the camera. It was similar to the fabric used to foil paparazzi, except this was Sophie's own custom blend.

Colette's gown was black and white to complement the mask. In a nod to traditional Venetian Carnival attire—which usually mimicked the fashions of the late sixteenth century—the bodice of the dress was stiff, fitted black velvet in a tapered V-shape with an arched neckline. The bottom luckily wasn't a farthingale, but draped white satin. The skirt was gathered at the front of her right hip, exposing most of her right leg and the delicate black heels she'd purchased during a trip to P.C. Hooftstraat—Amsterdam's luxury shopping street.

The most striking part of her outfit was the large brooch pinned to the top center of the bodice. From the waist up, her look was reminiscent of portraits of Elizabeth the First when she was still the illegitimate princess, and Eleonore of Habsburg. Made of white-gold, and shaped like a Maltese Cross, the brooch had a large white pearl in the middle.

Strung pearls looped from the brooch to the edges of the bodice, and then over her arms and around her back. She'd had a bad moment looking at the long strand of pearls. Sofie had noticed, and with pins in her mouth asked Colette what was wrong. As Sofie finished pinning the decorative pearls in place Colette told her an abbreviated tale of what had happened with Damien.

Colette had nearly cried when Sofie said, "I wondered why you hadn't contacted me!"

It turns out that even before Landon, there would have been someone in the world who'd miss her.

"I think you're wrong. This isn't going to work," Sofie whispered with typical Dutch bluntness.

Colette looked over to see a beautiful woman in white studying one of the loaned hidden treasure pieces. Inside the glass case atop the pedestal was a massive pearl, set in filigreed gold.

Colette had already looked at it, and the replica integrated into the brooch on her dress was a good approximation—impressive given they'd only had one poor-quality photo to work off of.

Sofie had helped craft it, but Colette had done a good amount of the gold-work to create the replica herself, silently pretending she was the famous jeweler she'd once dreamed she'd be.

"It will work," Colette assured her. "Why don't you get a drink?"

Colette watched as Sofie turned towards the bar, then casually made her way to that alcove. Instead of looking at the gem again, she studied the paintings, wondering, as she always did, what they'd looked like when they were first painted. How vibrant would the greens have been? Time, exposure, and chemical changes in the elements that made up the pigments had robbed them of much of their life and depth.

She took her time, examining the art in an unhurried way, making sure not to show too much interest or enthusiasm. Eventually she turned to the pedestal, casually admiring the necklace, which was displayed on black velvet. Since it was a temporary display, not as much effort had gone into hiding the security features. She could see the magnetic contact plates on the inner corner.

"If you steal that necklace, I will put you over my knee."

Colette froze. In the faint reflection on the glass, she could see the tall, dark form of a man behind her. The ambient noise from the gala—music and voices—had covered the sound of his approach.

"Landon," she breathed, relief and alarm and joy all fighting to be the dominant emotion.

"The Interpol agent who took you to live in a sex club and then you fell in love?" Sofie's voice rose with each word, turning into an alarmed squeak. "The one whose emails you have been ignoring for two weeks, but every time you read them you smile."

"Be quiet, Sofie." Colette still hadn't turned around, still watching Landon's barely-visible reflection in the glass.

"An accomplice? Interesting. Her name is Sofie. Find her."

It sounded like she wasn't the only one who hadn't come alone.

"Sofie, get out," she murmured. "Remember the exit plan." Colette steeled herself, curling her lips into a smile, and turned.

Landon. He was wearing all black—tux, shirt, and bowtie. With his dark hair and eyes, he looked like every wicked, sexy villain that had ever graced the pages of a book or a movie screen.

The urge to throw herself into his arms made her legs shake. Colette popped out a hip, one arm across her waist, the other bent, holding her still-full champagne glass near her mouth.

"Landon." She cocked her head. "Or is it Agent Malik?"

"Nope. No badge."

Colette looked at his tux again, realization making her breath catch. Given his size, he hadn't been able to just pick up a tuxedo in the store. It would have to be tailored to him. Maybe he'd already had a tux, but she didn't think so.

"You knew I'd be here," she breathed. "That's why you stopped emailing."

For twenty-four hours after she left, they'd exchanged a flurry of taunts over email. When she found herself eagerly holding her phone, waiting for his next message, she'd realized that as long as she was talking to him, even if it was only over email, she hadn't really walked away.

She'd vowed not to reply to any more of his emails, and had kept that promise.

But she'd read the ones he sent, and continued to send, even though he never got a reply. When he stopped emailing, she assumed he'd finally given up and cried herself to sleep, heart breaking all over again.

"I didn't know. Not until I saw you." His gaze raked down her—lingering on her very bare leg—then back up.

She shook her head ruefully. "I mentioned the gala, that morning in your father's kitchen."

"Yes."

"A stupid mistake."

"Can't say I'm upset about it."

"Why do you assume I'm here to steal something? With all these people, and security… It's impossible." It would have helped if her lips hadn't twitched.

With a smirk, he stepped closer, touching the brooch on her dress with one finger.

"Yes, I assume you're here to steal it. Not that anyone will ever know, because you'll replace the real one with this fake."

Colette let her eyes close, indulging herself in the pleasure of his nearness.

"Did you miss me?" he whispered, leaning in so his lips brushed her hair.

"Yes, you did miss him," Sofie yelled excitedly.

Colette's eyes popped open. She didn't dare take the ear piece out, though he had to suspect it was there. Colette tried to take a step back, but Landon's arm hooked around her, his fingers tangling with the pearls draped across her back, pulling them tight against her arms. At least now his lips weren't close enough to her ear for Sofie to pick up what he said.

"You can't arrest me. I haven't committed a crime, and you're not law enforcement."

"True, I'm not. I opened a consulting firm."

That startled her enough that she made the mistake of looking up into his eyes. She could get lost in that warm darkness.

"Consulting?"

"Security consulting for museums and private collectors. I only have one client so far, because I'm waiting."

Colette knew her mouth was hanging open. "You're a security consultant for museums?"

"Yes."

"Ohhh, that's bad," Sofie moaned.

Why could Colette still hear her? Sofie should have been far enough away by now that the ear pieces wouldn't work.

"Is Rijks Museum your client?" Colette asked.

"No. Though I did offer my services." Landon ran the fingers of his free hand along the edge of her mask.

She couldn't stop the small, needy sound that escaped when one finger brushed the skin of her cheek.

"What is he doing? What is that sound?" Sofie demanded.

"Run, Sofie," Colette said, then reached up under her hair and took out the ear piece.

Landon smiled, his fingers tracing the stretchy mask ribbon around to the back of her head. One quick tug and the bow came undone.

She didn't move as he pulled the mask away from her face, removing that last little barrier between them. And exposing her face to all the security cameras. Not that the heist wasn't done the moment she heard his voice.

The arm around her back released her, the pearls going slack. His hand skimmed down her body to her bare thigh.

For one wild moment, she thought, hoped, that he'd slide his hand between her legs and touch her.

They were in the middle of a gala. Only luck had kept anyone else from coming up to examine the contents of this case, and it wasn't like this was a private or closed space to begin with.

"Did you tell the museum you thought someone was going to rob them tonight?"

"No, because you're not going to rob them."

"You can't arrest me."

He squeezed her bare thigh. "There are other options."

"Kidnapping?" She smiled and arched a brow. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline, I've done that before, and did not enjoy it."

She'd meant to throw him off, make him hesitate and rethink if his plan was to force her to go with him.

A terrible, stark expression crossed his face, and Landon bent, putting his forehead against hers.

"I was fucking terrified something horrible had happened to you when you stopped responding."

The raw vulnerability in his voice was heart wrenching.

"I'm sorry." She stroked his cheek. "I had to stop, otherwise I never would."

"Or you could have come back. You could have trusted me." He straightened, but there was still something haunted in his eyes.

"It's not about trust. I was trying to protect you."

"I know. You made that clear in your email."

"Then walk away, Landon." She didn't tell him that he'd have to walk away this time, because she was terribly afraid she wasn't strong enough to do it a second time.

"I'll walk out of here, as long as you're with me."

"Back to kidnapping?"

"No, you're going to come with me. Willingly."

"I am?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Landon grinned. "Because I'll fuck you as soon as I get you alone." His hand slid deeper under her skirt, now cupping the side and back of her thigh. "And I think you desperately want, and need, to be fucked. And not just fucked. You need me to play with you and tease you and maybe even hurt you, just the right way, before you finally get to come.

Colette sucked in a breath, her pussy throbbing, her whole body aware of his hand splayed over her bare flesh. "That's playing very dirty, Mr. Malik."

"I make the rules for this game." His gaze dipped to her breasts. "I make all the rules, don't I, love?"

She bit her tongue to stop a submissive reply from escaping.

"The second reason you're going to come with me is because without my business partner, the consulting firm will fall apart."

Who was his… Oh.

"You want me to be a security consultant for museums?" She blinked. "Are we going to rob them after? Once we know all their security protocols?"

"Colette…" he growled.

"It's actually a very good idea."

"We're not going to rob them."

"Ah, too bad."

"You are."

Colette pursed her lips. "Have you hit your head recently?"

"We'll offer to test their security, with legal frameworks in place ensuring that any actions that take place during the security test are not legally actionable."

"That sounds very…official."

"Mateus helped me with the client contracts. He says once we're established, there are a lot of people in the art restitution world who will want to hire us."

"You expect people I may have robbed to pay us to give them security advice?"

"Yes. But back to the museums. We offer to test their security for free to start. You rob them."

"I rob museums."

"Yes."

"…and I won't get arrested if I'm caught because they signed contracts?"

He arched a brow. "I thought you never got caught."

"Are you offering me legally sanctioned heists?" Her voice was a little too high, too excited.

"Yes. Because I know you love it." He growled a little, clearly still mildly unhappy with her criminal ways.

"Can we keep whatever I steal?"

"No," he said, exasperated. "We show them we have it, then make them pay us to tell them how you did it. Then I figure out what they need to ensure you, or anyone else, can't do it again."

The idea was utter madness. And the most wonderfully perfect thing she'd ever heard. She wrestled down her excitement, thinking it through.

"The only way it would work would be if you tell people I'm a thief. It doesn't make sense unless you say you're going to send in a real thief for the test."

"Of course. That will be the selling point, part of our marketing. A reformed thief turned consultant."

"I'm reformed?"

"As of right now, yes."

"And why is it that they'll believe I'm reformed?" she asked with mock casualness.

"We'll tell them you fell in love with me." His dark eyes twinkled.

"And the love of a good man cured me of my criminal ways?"

He leaned in. "Or we tell them that you're my sub and you do what I say because you're my very good girl."

Colette nearly melted into a puddle of sexual and emotional need at his feet.

"Batard."

"Yes, I am. Do you want to hear the other reason you're going to walk out of here with me?"

"More than you creating the perfect business, building something that will satisfy both of us?" She said it out loud, in part because she still couldn't believe it. It felt like a fairytale. If she ever saw Mateus again, she'd have to tell him.

"I want you to be happy, love." Landon's expression was soft but serious. He meant every word.

"I want you to be happy too. It's why I left."

"We'll address that behavior later. Do you want to know the third reason you're going to walk out of here with me?"

Colette finally gave in to the desire that had been eating at her since she saw him. She leaned into his chest, fitting against him. Her head was a little higher than normal thanks to the heels, but it didn't matter. She fit in his arms, now and always. "Because I love you desperately?" she said.

Landon hugged her to him, kissing her hair, then her temple.

She expected him to answer with his own, "I love you."

Instead his hand once more found her bare thigh. "You're going to walk out here with me because you. Are. Mine."

Her breath caught at the raw, almost dangerous possessiveness in his words. But she wasn't afraid.

"The same as I am yours," he said in the same dangerous tone.

And that was why she wasn't afraid. Because his possessiveness was rooted in a need to protect her, his dominance a facet of his desire to take care of her and give her the safety she needed.

"But I don't do stupid fucking shit like running away to Amsterdam."

"That was a lovely romantic moment. Until you added that." She hid her smile against his shirt.

"Just wanted to remind you of my feelings on the subject."

"I got that. From your emails. Especially the one in all caps."

"Don't ever run from me again, Colette."

She'd been teasing, but he was serious. She nodded against his chest, but he gripped her chin, forcing her face up.

In that moment she saw the true depth of his fear and worry. Saw the hell she'd put him through.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

His lips brushed hers. "So am I. Because I should have made you believe we'd find a way."

"I should have trusted you."

His lips closed on hers, the kiss a promise.

When Landon pulled back, she laid her head on his chest once more, feeling safe and utterly at peace.

This was home.

He held her for a long time, until a boisterous group wandered into the alcove, one of them loudly announcing who'd painted each canvas while pointing. He was wrong about every single one.

"Ready, love?"

She was. She was ready to stop running, to stop being afraid.

"Yes."

He led her out of the museum, draping the black opera cape they'd picked up from coat check over her shoulders, as the cool night air whipped over them. She hadn't brought a phone—just in case—so once they got to wherever they were going to spend the night, she'd have to call Sofie.

She hoped Landon had a hotel room, because she'd given up hers several days ago, and had been staying with Sofie the past few nights as they finished prepping for tonight.

Fingers laced with his, Colette looked over at the man she loved.

"Where are we going?"

He turned to her, and the slow, possessive way he raked his gaze down her made Colette's body heat with both arousal and mild alarm.

"We're going to Club Alibi."