The Art of Stealing Kisses (Stealing Hearts Book 2) by Stella London Page A

St.
Clair’s
collection. I call Maisie, back in San Francisco, and ask for his
schedule so we can set up some viewing appointments. My spirits lift
just thinking about it.
    “You’re
all set,” she
says down the line. “I’ve
given you permissions on his calendar, everything should be in
there.”
    “Thank
you – and
good morning,” I
add, remembering the time difference.
    I
click open his calendar on my computer and pull up my spreadsheet of
the upcoming art openings and gallery galas, when artists are booked
in town or rumored to be giving private showings in a remote
location. It’s
been fun researching, making calls and being on the cutting edge of
the international art scene.
    I
click through, trying to figure out his complicated calendar. There
are different color codes for travel, business meetings, personal
appointments – and
it goes back for years, too.
    I
pause. All his past travel and appointments are right here in the
schedule. If Lennox is right, then those dates would match the other
heists. I could check right now, but somehow that feels like a
betrayal. Like I’m
saying the accusations could be true.
    I
sit there, torn. The information I need is right at my fingertips,
yet I just can’t
bring myself to check. What if Lennox is right?
    But
what if he’s
wrong – and
you can prove it ,
a voice argues. If St. Clair’s
schedule doesn’t
fit with the heists, then that’s
all the evidence I need to put Lennox’s
crazy theories aside and move on.
    I
can’t
go on like this, suspecting but not sure. I need an answer.
    My
heart racing, I click through to last year. Lennox mentioned a heist
in Belgium, and a quick Google search brings up the details of the
crime. May 18 th ,
Brussels. Gold bars stolen from a vault, no suspects, no witnesses.
    I
turn back to St. Clair’s
schedule, my fingers dancing over the keys, but I waver. Is this
crossing the line? What about trust, giving him the benefit of the
doubt?
    That’s
exactly why I need to do this—to
give him the benefit of the doubt and prove once and for all that he
couldn’t
possibly have done what Lennox thinks.
    My
pulse races. I check St. Clair’s
calendar.
    May
10 th to 20 th - Belgium. New investor meetings, touring a tech facility, meeting
local business leaders.
    Brussels .
    My
heart sinks, but I try to ignore it. This could be a coincidence.
    I
check the other dates. A diamond theft in Monaco. Rare art stolen in
Rio. And every time, St. Clair’s
travel plans match the heists. He was right there in the country when
they all went down, with the perfect cover every time.
    I
stare at the screen in disbelief. My heart is still telling me this
is wrong, some mistake, but the evidence doesn’t
lie.
    It
all matches up. St. Clair, and the heists. They’re
connected.
    I
feel a pain shoot through my chest.
    How
could I have been so naïve?
To think that I believed in St. Clair, and the whole time he was
lying to my face.
    It’s
all lies.
    I
don’t
know what to do. I reach into my purse and find Nick Lennox’s
card.
    My
hands are shaking as I dial his number. He answers on the first ring.
“Grace,
I was hoping you would call. What can I do for you?”
    I
swallow back my tears. “I
think we need to talk.”

 

CHAPTER 12
     
    I
don’t
sleep all night, tossing and turning for hours, and when I do manage
to catch a wink, I dream of St. Clair. But instead of my usual sexy
dreams, these are more like nightmares: chasing him down a long road,
calling out his name, but he never turns around. I wake up feeling
lost and full of dread. No amount of concealer can cover my under-eye
circles, but I have to go into the office and pretend that everything
is normal, at least until I figure out what the hell I can do next.
    I
set a meeting with Lennox at one, and the minutes tick by painfully
slow. I try to concentrate on my work as usual: setting St. Clair’s
schedule and making calls to arrange upcoming viewings, but all I can
think about is everything