LITMIR.BIZ

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would be other opportunities.

      He shifted into a squat and peered through the window. Dark and quiet inside. Marissa was sprawled on the bed, her white, long-haired cat a huddled lump on her chest. The feline’s eyes shone at Allard, freezing his hand on the windowsill. He hated pets, cats especially. They were unpredictable creatures. One loud meow at the wrong moment and the girl might be jarred out of her sleep.

      Allard tilted his head. There was the bag. He’d watched as a lethargic Marissa had lugged the suitcase into the bedroom and dropped it on the floor. He’d been prepared to intervene should she discover the treasure he’d hidden inside, but his luck had held. She hadn’t bothered to unpack. Instead she’d given the thing a kick to shove it under her bed.

      One corner stuck out, tempting him.

      The window was locked. He was certain that he could get in after a bit of jimmying. Hadn’t he already bypassed high-tech security systems in his quest for the White Star?

      But there was the cat.

      The damn cat. His nemesis. Allard’s father, a minor thief and total asshole, had taught him that the smallest detail, if overlooked, could ultimately exact the greatest cost. Yet when he’d seen his son’s irrational fear of cats, he’d sneeringly called Jean La Souri Noire—the dark mouse—on their midnight excursions. To this day, he believed cats were bad luck.

      The feline watched Allard, twitching its fluffy tail. After a moment of debate, he eased away from the window. For now, the White Star was safe.

      Unlike his drunken lout of a father, he was a patient man. He would watch and wait for his next chance and when it came, he would be ready.

      Not even the cat would prevent his fated reunion with the amulet.

      Someone was breaking in!

      Marissa bolted upright from a dense sleep, sending Harry shooting off the bed with his tail upright. The cat yowled and streaked away into the darkness—toward the sound of the front door closing. That was odd, but Marissa didn’t think it through. She was scrabbling over the nightstand to find her phone.

      Not there. Not freaking there.

      She heard a person moving around in the living room without even trying to be quiet. Marissa swallowed thickly as she slid out of bed. Fear was acrid; her mouth tasted like she’d been chewing on tin foil.

      Two crimes within hours. Shocking even for a New Yorker.

      A light went on in the other room. Marissa dropped down, crouching behind the far side of the bed. She felt around for a weapon, finding a silk scarf, a flimsy chain belt, a Chinese takeout container that had fallen beneath the bed. Maybe there were chopsticks? Why hadn’t she obeyed her mother, who’d said that the city was dangerous and Marissa must always sleep with a butcher knife under the mattress?

      Aha. A shoe. Her fingers closed on a four-inch heel that could serve as a dagger.

      She crept toward the door, shoe in hand. Would a spike heel through an eyeball work as a defense? Only in the movies, but maybe she’d gain time to run out the door.

      A thud sounded from the other room, a thud she could have sworn was the sound of feet dropping onto the wood coffee table. She’d heard that thud a hundred times when Jamie came over to watch TV.

      But he wasn’t out there. Unless…

      She remembered how they’d kissed on the street and suddenly her lips became plump and tingly. An

      absurd reaction under the circumstances. Granted, Jamie had a key, but he wouldn’t come back—would he?—hoping for…

      An early morning booty break-in? Not likely.

      Marissa edged out the door, ready to strike even though her confused instincts had taken the fear down a few notches. She knew something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t tell what.

      One small lamp was on, leaving the room filled with dusky shadows. She narrowed her eyes. There was a person on the couch. Bent over. Making shuffling noises.

      Going through my stuff. Insulted by the invasion of privacy, Marissa raised the shoe above her head.

      Silently she stepped within striking distance. Harry sat on the arm of the sofa with his tail curved around his body, blinking at Marissa as if wondering what had taken her so long.

       What the…?

      The person on the couch was straightening.

      “Freeze!” Changing tactics in an instant, Marissa pressed the sharp heel of the shoe to the intruder’s back. “Feel that? That’s a gun that’ll blow a hole straight through your spine.”

      3

      THE INTRUDER LET OUT a high-pitched yelp. Either his balls had crawled up into his body cavity or he was a woman.

      “I said not to move.” Marissa dug the heel deeper.

      She looked at Harry, who was calmly washing his face with a paw. Simultaneously, Marissa recognized the thief’s curly blond head. Her remaining fear drained away.

      She dropped the shoe. “Shandi?”

      The woman corkscrewed around to gape at Marissa, then flopped over on the cushions facedown. “Chh’yah, girl! You scared me to death!”

      “I scared you?” Marissa stared down at her former roommate, wondering why she even bothered to be surprised. Shandi Lee was the proverbial bad penny. “I thought I was being burgled.”

      Shandi rose up on her elbows. “What are you doing here? You said you were going on vacation for a week.” She was a pretty girl under the glitz, but beginning to look run down from not taking care of herself. A heavy application of lipstick, mascara and eyeliner had melted and smeared, giving her the look of a sad-eyed clown.

      “I’m back early. Man troubles.” Marissa crossed her arms. “And you?”

      Shandi attempted a chagrined grin, which wasn’t very convincing. Her misdeeds were too frequent to be excused as momentary lapses or bad judgment. “You caught me. Since I knew your apartment was empty, I crashed here after Ming kicked me out.”

      “Ming kicked you out?” Oh, hell. Another roommate bites the dust. But Marissa wouldn’t be persuaded to provide shelter. Not again. “What did you do this time?”

      “Spent my rent on a Fendi purse. Look at it.” Shandi pointed at the coffee table, where a pink leather pouch perched atop the stack of fashion magazines, newspapers and junk mail. “It’s adorable. So worth it.”

      “The purse is cute,” Marissa conceded, adding quickly, “but you can’t stay.” The roommate before Ming had given Shandi the boot after a raucous New Year’s Eve party had resulted in three arrests, two infidelities and one hole punched in the wall. That time, Shandi had bunked on Marissa’s couch for a week.

      “Aw, c’mon. Don’t make me pack up.” A pair of Chinese silk pajamas spilled from the open tote bag on the floor. “I’m ready to pass out.”

      Harry tightroped the back of the couch to press against Marissa’s arm. She rubbed the cat’s head, weakening. Shandi was like an alley cat—superannoying when yowling at night, but scruffily irresistible when she meowed on the doorstep in the rain. “Okay, you can stay until morning. But you have to find another place tomorrow, okay?”

      Shandi flopped again. “I could ask Jamie to lend me a corner.”

      Marissa stiffened, but she kept her voice casual. “You could.”

      Shandi’s visible eye opened. “If I can get past you.”

      “I’m not his bodyguard.”

      Snort. “You’re each other’s bodyguards. I wish you two would get over yourselves and just do it already.”

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