figurine before reaching inside. In the narrow beam of light she identified an unwise amount of cash stacked neatly, a long black jeweler’s case, a bound sheaf of negotiable bonds, and one chamois pouch about the size of her hand.
She removed the pouch, carefully untied the leather thong binding it, and examined the jade figurine exposed to her light. Bingo, Very old, very beautiful, and priceless.
Tucking the pouch securely in her tool belt, Troy quickly erased all evidence of her visit, closing the safe and placing the books back on their shelf. Then she headed for the window, unusually relieved to be virtually finished with this job.
That was when the light went on.
For several very good and quite logical reasons, Troy never carried a weapon while she was working. Even though, like Dallas, she was qualified as a sharpshooter with most handguns, she firmly believed that carrying a weapon bred a dependence on that rather than on her own wits. Also, and more importantly, her various law-enforcement supporters might not have been in favor of her efforts had they been worried by visions of guns going off through carelessness or panic. Besides, she didn’t approve of violence.
Except in certain situations.
She turned quickly back to the room, her eyes adjusting to the light, and her mind clicked suddenly, belatedly, into gear. She ripped off her ski mask and then very calmly unclipped a Handie-Talkie from her tool belt and thumbed it on. “Jamie.”
“Yes,” he answered immediately, his voice whispering through the technological marvel she held in one hand.
Troy spoke evenly, her words edged with evidence of a growing rage. “We have been royally set up.”
“Are you all right?” Jamie demanded quickly.
“Oh, I’m fine. You go on back; I’ll be along later.”
“But who—”
“Cameron,” she answered briefly, interrupting his question. Then she switched off the Handie-Talkie and returned it to her belt. With barely controlled violence, not caring for the first time in her life about valuable and lovely works of art, she threw the chamois bag across the room. “I assume this is yours,” she spit through gritted teeth. And it wasn’t a question.
SIX
D ALLAS CAUGHT THE pouch easily in one hand. He stepped from behind the reading chair in the corner and crossed to the desk, where he rested a hip on the edge and watched her gravely.
“I don’t believe it,” Troy said, her voice shaking with rage. “
I do not believe it.
It was all there, right under my nose and I didn’t see it.”
He waited silently, aware that she was, at the moment, more angry with herself than with him. The anger with him would come later.
Troy was pacing like a caged tigress. “A setup. And I walked right into it like a rank amateur. No
wonder
the security system was so lax: no
wonder
the house was conveniently empty.” Even in the midst of her tirade Troy realized that there were conflicting emotions feeding her anger. She was angry with herself for having been too preoccupied to read the signs of a setup and furious with Dallas for making her feel like a fool. And since the latter anger could be safely vented, she let it have its way.
“And
you
.” She whirled on him suddenly, her eyes glaring green fury. “How dare you do this to me! How
dare
you.”
“I was trying to make a point,” Dallas murmured, refusing to meet anger with anger.
“What point?” she demanded witheringly.
“That I could be conned like three kinds of a fool?”
He ignored that. “Tell me, Troy. When I told you before that I didn’t think what you do is wrong, did you believe me?”
“No,” she snapped.
“And now?” he asked softly.
Troy stared at him, completely missing the point for a moment because of her anger. Then, slowly, she understood what he meant. “The money,” she said dully. “The bonds, the jeweler’s case. It was all a—a test, wasn’t it?”
Dallas shook his head immediately. “No, it wasn’t a test; I
She removed the pouch, carefully untied the leather thong binding it, and examined the jade figurine exposed to her light. Bingo, Very old, very beautiful, and priceless.
Tucking the pouch securely in her tool belt, Troy quickly erased all evidence of her visit, closing the safe and placing the books back on their shelf. Then she headed for the window, unusually relieved to be virtually finished with this job.
That was when the light went on.
For several very good and quite logical reasons, Troy never carried a weapon while she was working. Even though, like Dallas, she was qualified as a sharpshooter with most handguns, she firmly believed that carrying a weapon bred a dependence on that rather than on her own wits. Also, and more importantly, her various law-enforcement supporters might not have been in favor of her efforts had they been worried by visions of guns going off through carelessness or panic. Besides, she didn’t approve of violence.
Except in certain situations.
She turned quickly back to the room, her eyes adjusting to the light, and her mind clicked suddenly, belatedly, into gear. She ripped off her ski mask and then very calmly unclipped a Handie-Talkie from her tool belt and thumbed it on. “Jamie.”
“Yes,” he answered immediately, his voice whispering through the technological marvel she held in one hand.
Troy spoke evenly, her words edged with evidence of a growing rage. “We have been royally set up.”
“Are you all right?” Jamie demanded quickly.
“Oh, I’m fine. You go on back; I’ll be along later.”
“But who—”
“Cameron,” she answered briefly, interrupting his question. Then she switched off the Handie-Talkie and returned it to her belt. With barely controlled violence, not caring for the first time in her life about valuable and lovely works of art, she threw the chamois bag across the room. “I assume this is yours,” she spit through gritted teeth. And it wasn’t a question.
SIX
D ALLAS CAUGHT THE pouch easily in one hand. He stepped from behind the reading chair in the corner and crossed to the desk, where he rested a hip on the edge and watched her gravely.
“I don’t believe it,” Troy said, her voice shaking with rage. “
I do not believe it.
It was all there, right under my nose and I didn’t see it.”
He waited silently, aware that she was, at the moment, more angry with herself than with him. The anger with him would come later.
Troy was pacing like a caged tigress. “A setup. And I walked right into it like a rank amateur. No
wonder
the security system was so lax: no
wonder
the house was conveniently empty.” Even in the midst of her tirade Troy realized that there were conflicting emotions feeding her anger. She was angry with herself for having been too preoccupied to read the signs of a setup and furious with Dallas for making her feel like a fool. And since the latter anger could be safely vented, she let it have its way.
“And
you
.” She whirled on him suddenly, her eyes glaring green fury. “How dare you do this to me! How
dare
you.”
“I was trying to make a point,” Dallas murmured, refusing to meet anger with anger.
“What point?” she demanded witheringly.
“That I could be conned like three kinds of a fool?”
He ignored that. “Tell me, Troy. When I told you before that I didn’t think what you do is wrong, did you believe me?”
“No,” she snapped.
“And now?” he asked softly.
Troy stared at him, completely missing the point for a moment because of her anger. Then, slowly, she understood what he meant. “The money,” she said dully. “The bonds, the jeweler’s case. It was all a—a test, wasn’t it?”
Dallas shook his head immediately. “No, it wasn’t a test; I
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