and provided cover in case he had to go unnoticed during either an approach or escape. Tall palms lined the circular drive leading to the main entrance where various guards and staff manned the doors, vigilant for trouble and attentive to the needs of the patrons arriving at the hotel. He was staying just a short distance away at a quaint little place he had visited on more than one occasion. He had found that establishing some kind of pattern and relationship, especially a well-paying one, lessened the kinds of questions some people might want to ask.
The right explanation for his eccentricities also did the trick. He always posed as a college professor who was also an aspiring mystery writer. It explained his many notes and the assorted gadgets, like the binoculars, that he brought with him.
Not that he normally stayed this close to the location of a heist. This was a first, but of course, it was also a last, he thought with a smile.
Between the monies he had been saving, the bankroll from Prince Sergei, and the sale of the bracelet from his last heist, he had enough money to retire in style.
Exchanging the binoculars for a camera with a telephoto lens, he snapped off picture after picture of the areas surrounding the Ivanov property, all the time comparing the physical layout to the escape routes he had planned out. He wanted to make sure they were flexible enough to allow for detours. Monaco was a small country, but easily accessible. They had to travel only a little more than a mile to the heliport. He could have a helicopter waiting there in addition to the vehicles Mouse would bring in and place at various locations close by.
Once he had finalized the plans, of course.
He turned the camera toward the Ivanovs’ Jewel of Russia building once again, and caught sight of a woman exiting from the French doors of the penthouse suite. She wore a deep sapphire-colored dressing gown over light blue pajamas as she walked to the edge of the balcony and raised her face to the morning rays. Her cheeks had the flush of sleep-warmed skin. A tumble of thick, wavy, ebony hair fell to her shoulders.
She opened her eyes, and thanks to the telephoto lens, he could see that her exotic almond-shaped eyes were a color as pure as the ocean.
Stunning. He had seen photos of Princess Tatiana while doing his research, but none had done her justice.
He snapped off a photo or two before she whirled and hurried back into the building, possibly afraid of lingering for too long. Or sensing his intrusion.
Maybe a good thing. If the paparazzi were aware of her presence, they’d certainly be doing much the same thing as him, only their photos would be splashed across the front pages of one tabloid or another, and all over the Internet.
Satisfied for the moment, he headed inside his small boutique hotel. This innkeeper always provided a rather nice breakfast and it was time to fuel up and reconnoiter the various locations. They did not have much time left until the fashion show and the short period of time when the jewels were most vulnerable.
To pull off this job, there could be no error in his timing, so he must have a full understanding of the lay of the land and be familiar with those involved in the security detail for the event.
He didn’t want his last job to turn into a major fuck-up.
It needed to go smooth as ice.
…
Tatiana closed the door to the suite, combed her hair away from her face, and walked to the end of the dining room table that held the blueprints. She set aside the brandy snifter and examined the many color-coded notes Peter had made on them. Very thorough and thoughtful, but then again, she expected no less. It had been her initial impression of him, and he hadn’t failed her. With that much, at any rate.
She felt guilty at all the work he was doing on her behalf, but reminded herself that Alexander had offered to pay him and he’d refused. Perhaps he felt obligated as her supposed fiancé, and might want to do
The right explanation for his eccentricities also did the trick. He always posed as a college professor who was also an aspiring mystery writer. It explained his many notes and the assorted gadgets, like the binoculars, that he brought with him.
Not that he normally stayed this close to the location of a heist. This was a first, but of course, it was also a last, he thought with a smile.
Between the monies he had been saving, the bankroll from Prince Sergei, and the sale of the bracelet from his last heist, he had enough money to retire in style.
Exchanging the binoculars for a camera with a telephoto lens, he snapped off picture after picture of the areas surrounding the Ivanov property, all the time comparing the physical layout to the escape routes he had planned out. He wanted to make sure they were flexible enough to allow for detours. Monaco was a small country, but easily accessible. They had to travel only a little more than a mile to the heliport. He could have a helicopter waiting there in addition to the vehicles Mouse would bring in and place at various locations close by.
Once he had finalized the plans, of course.
He turned the camera toward the Ivanovs’ Jewel of Russia building once again, and caught sight of a woman exiting from the French doors of the penthouse suite. She wore a deep sapphire-colored dressing gown over light blue pajamas as she walked to the edge of the balcony and raised her face to the morning rays. Her cheeks had the flush of sleep-warmed skin. A tumble of thick, wavy, ebony hair fell to her shoulders.
She opened her eyes, and thanks to the telephoto lens, he could see that her exotic almond-shaped eyes were a color as pure as the ocean.
Stunning. He had seen photos of Princess Tatiana while doing his research, but none had done her justice.
He snapped off a photo or two before she whirled and hurried back into the building, possibly afraid of lingering for too long. Or sensing his intrusion.
Maybe a good thing. If the paparazzi were aware of her presence, they’d certainly be doing much the same thing as him, only their photos would be splashed across the front pages of one tabloid or another, and all over the Internet.
Satisfied for the moment, he headed inside his small boutique hotel. This innkeeper always provided a rather nice breakfast and it was time to fuel up and reconnoiter the various locations. They did not have much time left until the fashion show and the short period of time when the jewels were most vulnerable.
To pull off this job, there could be no error in his timing, so he must have a full understanding of the lay of the land and be familiar with those involved in the security detail for the event.
He didn’t want his last job to turn into a major fuck-up.
It needed to go smooth as ice.
…
Tatiana closed the door to the suite, combed her hair away from her face, and walked to the end of the dining room table that held the blueprints. She set aside the brandy snifter and examined the many color-coded notes Peter had made on them. Very thorough and thoughtful, but then again, she expected no less. It had been her initial impression of him, and he hadn’t failed her. With that much, at any rate.
She felt guilty at all the work he was doing on her behalf, but reminded herself that Alexander had offered to pay him and he’d refused. Perhaps he felt obligated as her supposed fiancé, and might want to do
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