Stealing His Heart Read online

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Excerpt from Coffeeshop Kisses

  Also by Marina Lander

  Chapter 1

  It's a Friday.

  "The mail is here!" says Detective Young. He's holding a stack of envelopes in his right hand, and a hot dog in his left. Detective Arelle follows behind in more or less an identical state, right down to the condiments on her hot dog. She's fitting in well.

  They make their way down the winding maze of cubicles, dispensing letters and packages as they go, a bite of a hot dog with each step they take.

  Antonio knows what's coming. It's a Friday. And just like he's done every Friday for the last two months, he grits his teeth and braces for the impact. His cubicle is at the far end of the room, but Arelle and Young are getting closer.

  It isn't long now.

  "A letter for Darling," says Arelle. "Wait, Darling? We don't have anyone n--"

  "Thank you," yells Antonio, as he leaps up and snatches the envelope from her hands.

  "Detective Antonio?" asks Arelle. "But your name isn't..."

  "Ah, today is Friday," says Young. "Really though, Antonio? You're already at darling? Young passion must run its course, but wow, talk about taking it too fast."

  "Shut up, Young," says Antonio, tearing into the envelope.

  "You're new," Young says to Arelle, "so let me explain something."

  "Go away," says Antonio.

  "Today is Friday," says Young. "Every Friday and every Monday, the best thief we've ever had the misfortune to deal with sends Detective Antonio here an envelope."

  "He's not the best," says Antonio. "He's just the luckiest."

  "Inside the envelope," says Young, "is a love letter."

  "No, there isn't," shouts Antonio.

  "Why is a thief sending Detective Antonio love letters?" asks Arelle.

  "Well, you know, he and Antonio are--" says Young, and does something very obscene with his hands.

  "No," says Antonio. "No, that's-- Arelle, don't listen to this asshole, that's not-- that's not even remotely true."

  "Deny it all you want," says Young. "But they are love letters. I know we've declared Eric the sworn enemy of this entire division, but I will not say a word against the strength and purity of his erection--"

  "Young," groans Antonio.

  "His love," says Young. "The strength and purity of his love."

  Chapter 2

  It has been a little over two months since the first envelope. Every Monday and Friday for two months, Antonio has been receiving envelopes in the mail from the most atrocious high-end thief in modern history.

  Eric.

  Damned, godforsaken, annoying, infuriating Eric.

  Antonio -- freelance private investigator extraordinaire -- is currently in the service of the city police, in the burglary and theft division. It was two months ago (though it seems like forever) that they started picking up rumors of a planned Sunday job on a private art collection. Police won't know what hit them, say the whispers. This will be the work of a virtuoso. First in a series.

  The police come to Antonio. He specializes in tracking down misplaced artwork, relocated jewels, anything and everything worth a handsome reward, for extremely wealthy clients. He has an excellent track record. The collection in question is particularly tasteful, and the owner - Saito, an energy mogul who made his fortune in wind turbines - is particularly wealthy. He leaves all security to Antonio and flies off to Germany on a business trip.

  "Are you serious?" demands Antonio. "You're just up and leaving when there's a theft threat against your property?"

  "Mr. Antonio," says Saito, placing a warm hand on Antonio's shoulder, "sometimes a man must continue living his life in the face of danger. Perhaps you too will understand, when you have become a man." Arthur bristles, but stays polite. He gets annoyed when rich men with seventeen bodyguards try to explain to him what the meaning of bravery is.

  Still, Antonio puts all his soul into guarding Saito's collection. He really does. He tapes off the entire building, positions the whole division around the block, and personally stands watch inside the house.

  At half past one, all the alarms go off at once.

  "Shit," exclaims Antonio. His head is ringing. Over the thunderous, relentless din, he thinks he hears footsteps heading south. The window egress route. He dashes after the sound. Skidding across a carpet, jumping over a doorsill, he chases the shadow with his heart in his throat.

  Chapter 3

  He hunts it down to the master bedroom, where a set of Venetian windows are thrown open and the night wind ripples through the curtains. There's someone on the balcony. Someone is slinging a leg over the railing. Antonio is about to pull his gun on the silhouette, but it turns and freezes, hanging halfway in midair-- and the clouds pass over the moon and the light streams across them.

  White male, early thirties, well-built. He has a framed painting under one arm. With a rage that sets his hair on edge, Antonio realizes that it's a Picasso, from his blue period. The thief has his grubby hands on a Picasso. The situation is simply unacceptable.

  But before Antonio can do anything about it, the thief grins. His smile is wide and bright, sharp as steel. There's stubble on his jaw. And then he winks--

  --and jumps.

  "No," says Antonio. "No, this is impossible."

  He rushes to the railing. There's no ledge below, only a drop of eight stories onto asphalt. There's nowhere to hide. It should have been impossible to survive the fall. But there's no trace of the thief on the ground or otherwise, and gone with him is the priceless Picasso.

  Antonio is speechless, bewildered, and absolutely furious. He broods at home for the rest of Sunday, and doesn't take any calls from the office. When he arrives at work on Monday, Young hands him an envelope with PRIVATE DETECTIVE Antonio scrawled across the back.

  Inside is a red rose with a small card attached to it.

  HELLO, it says. DO YOU BELEIVE IN LOVE AT FIRST SITE?

  It's signed Eric, and since that's no one he knows, Antonio considers the whole thing some sort of elaborate office prank. He blames himself for screwing up his first chance at victory. All in all, really, he's glad. If it hadn't been for the hints that the thief had other jobs lined up, Antonio would be out of a job with nothing to show for it but a tarnished reputation. So he suffers the mocking with dignity and doesn't mention the note to anyone.

  On Friday, Young hands him an envelope addressed to a DETECTIVE Antonio.

  "Did you get a pen pal?" asks Young. "Is this your way of dealing with grief?"

  "Shut up," says Antonio. "I know where your cat lives."

  "That is low," says Young.

  Inside is a yellow rose with a small heart-shaped post it note stuck to the stem

  .

  BE AT THE MUSEAM OF CONTEMPORRARY ART ON SUNDAY, it says. ILL BE THARE AT 2 OCLOCK.

  Antonio tries to crumple the envelope, but something inside won't give. He peers inside. It's a polaroid picture of the Picasso, resting on what appears to be bright purple bedsheets.

  Chapter 4

  At two in the morning on Monday, a beautiful Van Gogh is stolen from the Museum of Contemporary Art.

  At ten in the morning on Monday, Young drops an envelope off at Antonio's desk.

  "Antonio," he says. "You look like hell."

  "No, I don't," says Antonio.

  "Your collar is lopsided," says You
ng. "Did you even sleep?"

  Antonio tears open the envelope. Inside is a polaroid picture of the Van Gogh on bright purple bed sheets. The envelope is filled with rose petals, and there’s a note on Hello Kitty stationery inside. It reads U LOOKED MAD SEXY IN THE COAT. SHOWS OFF YER BOYISH FIGURE.

  "Oh, you can't arrest Mr. Eric now," pleads Young. "His spelling is getting so much better."

  "This asshole is going down," says Antonio, and crushes the envelope in his fist because this time he remembers to take out the polaroid first.

  *******

  Eventually Antonio comes to feel silently thankful that he didn't think to put a timeframe on his threat. Again and again, he misses Eric right before his eyes. Always the helter-skelter of shoes on marble, just a couple footsteps ahead of him. Eric steals jewels, statuettes, more paintings. Antonio seethes and watches as Eric escapes, safe on a helicopter rope ladder with a Rembrandt in his free hand.

  "If I wasn't worried about the Rembrandt" yells Antonio, "I'd just shoot you right now!"

  "I'll see you next week!" Eric shouts back, and waves.

  When he does see him the week after, Eric is diving into the backseat of his getaway car. Antonio yells into his transceiver, He's in an Audi, block off the roads, but somehow Eric slips right through.

  Before the car turns a corner, the sunroof slides open. Eric pops his head up through it, grins, and blows Antonio a kiss.

  Of course, then there is the time that Antonio has never spoken of to anyone.

  That's the week with the enormous ruby and the museum with a million passageways leading in and out of every room. That's the week when the sprinklers go off at a quarter after midnight, and Antonio splutters, unsure of what to do, when suddenly someone slaps his ass and when he whirls around, there is no one there.

  "Eric," shouts Antonio, mouth filling with water, "not only am I going to arrest you, I am going to sue you for sexual harassment."

  Chapter 5

  At last even Sergeant Cabel runs out of faith. And Antonio knows Cabel is on his side, that Cabel was the one who got him hired in the first place, but even he can't justify Antonio's depressing recent track record.

  "Eric is still on the loose," says Cabel. "Your success rate is literally zero, Antonio."

  "I only have the one case," protests Antonio. "Once I get him, it'll be a hundred. Think of it that way."

  "Your dedication is well noted," says Cabel, "and I know you're certainly capable enough. It's just that-- perhaps Eric isn't the right case for you. He's unorthodox. Catching him may require more-- well, require more imagination."

  "I have plenty of imagination," says Antonio.

  "Zero percent clearance rate," says Cabel.

  Antonio's brain spins into overdrive. It feels like tiny cogsinside him are clicking into each other and whirring so fast they hum inside his head. No matter which way he looks at it, there's only one way out of the problem. Antonio feels a little sorry for Cabel, but that's what he gets for assuming that Antonio doesn't fight dirty when he needs to.

  "Speaking of clearance rates," says Antonio, "how's the new division chief treating you?"

  "Surprisingly great so far," admits Cabel. "He's not on my back about the rates. But he's a good man, you know? I don't want him to start worrying about clearance. You understand."

  "Of course I do," says Antonio. "He really is a good man. And his daughter, Cabel. Have you seen his daughter? She was at the mixer last week in that backless dress. She's a piece of work, all right."

  Cabel swallows.

  "Let me see if I remember her name," says Antonio. "Was it Mal? I think it was Mal. She's very pretty. It makes sense for her father to be so protective of her. Wouldn't want any wayward sergeants putting the moves on his beloved daughter, right? I wonder how he'd react if he was informed that someone managed to get past his watchful eye."

  "Antonio," says Cabel, "you wouldn't."

  "Dominic Cabel," says Antonio, leaning forward over Cabel's desk, "I so would."

  Antonio keeps the case.

  Chapter 6

  Sometime near the end of the first month, Antonio's Monday envelope contains the following note, written on yet more hideous stationary.

  ANOTHER WHOLE WEEK UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN, it says. HERE'S SOMETHING TO TIDE YOU OVER UNTIL THEN ;)

  WWW.ERICSTEALSTHINGS.COM

  Antonio isn't going to take the bait. He really isn't. But then, when he comes back from brewing himself a disappointingly weak cup of coffee, Young has commandeered his chair and is typing on his keyboard, using his browser to most definitely take that bait with gusto.

  "He launched an official website," says Antonio. "That asshole launched-- I can't believe this."

  "There's a 'statement of purpose' section," says Young, and clicks.

  STATEMENT OF PURPIESE, says the website in large electric green letters. MY NAME IS ERIC. YOUVE PROBABLY HEARD OF ME. IM MAYBE THE GR8TEST THEIF WORKING TODAY, AND BETTER THEN MOST OF THE ONES NOT WORKING TODAY. I STEAL ART, I STEAL JEWELS, I STEAL ANYTHING YOURE WILLING 2 PAY ME FOR.

  "Even his website offends my eyes," says Antonio.

  I CHARGE BY THE HOUR, it continues. THIS INCLUDES TIME SPENT IN PLANNING. EQUIPTMENT AND COFFEE WILL BE CONSIDERED BUISNESS EXPENDITUREZ. MY CONTACT INFORMATION IS NOT FOUND ON THIS WEB SITE BECAUSE STEALING IS ILEGAL, BUT YOU PROBABLY KNOW HOW TO GET IN TOUCH WITH ME IF YOU REALLY NEED TO. ENJOY THE REST OF MY WEB SITE!

  "What's on the rest of his website?" asks Antonio.

  "There's a 'photographs' section," says Young, and clicks.

  The first picture that loads is of the Bacon triptych. Antonio grinds his teeth together. His first defeat still leaves a bad taste in his mouth. It's even worse this time because Eric's face is obscuring the middle panel, where he stands pointing at himself like he fucking knows he's got it, whatever it happens to be.

  "I won't scroll down if you don't want me to," says Young.

  "Let's just get through it," says Antonio.

  "All right," says Young, "but do you mind not digging your fingers into my arm quite so much?"

  Every single item is there. Eric is posing with every single one of them. His eyes are lazy with self-satisfaction, his grin like a cat with a face full of milk. Young is trying to pry Antonio's fingers from his arm but Antonio can't seem to relax his muscles. He feels his heart beating madly, his muscles winding tighter and tighter, his peripheral vision flashing red with pounding blood.

  After the catalogue of stolen items, the pictures quickly turn inexplicable. There is one where Eric is kneeling in a field of grass with the sun in his hair, petting a puppy lolling in the grass by his side.

  "What are these pictures even for," says Antonio.

  There is also one where Eric is slouching against the hood of a battered old Jeep, tattoos like erotic secrets trailing down the curves of his biceps.

  "I don't understand," says Antonio. "Is it an ad campaign? Is it a photoshoot for some kind of fugitive thief fashion magazine?"

  Then comes the series where the pictures are grainy like they've been snapped on a phone, and Eric is stretching a hand high to angle the shot, and he's shirtless and his pants are slung extremely low on his hips and there's an incline of hard lines and hair disappearing very suggestively into the front of his waistband.

  "Close it," yells Antonio. "Close the browser."

  "Oh my god," yells Young. "Calm down, Antonio."

  Chapter 7

  It's been two months, and it's a Friday. Detective Arelle is asking, How do they even find the time to sleep with each other, and Young is saying, That's the funny thing about erections, they always find a way.

  The tacky stationary reads, IT'S A DATE AT THE GEMSTONE EXIBITION. LETS MAKE IT SOMETHING SPECIAL. 1 AM DONT BE LATE.

  The gemstone exhibition in question is an annual event held to celebrate the art of setting, and being what it is, it fills the entire wing of a museum with enough precious stones to cause a war. Antonio is annoyed that Eric won't just tell
him which item he plans on stealing, if he's going to tell him the time and place to begin with.

  But Antonio combs through the exhibition on Saturday morning, and knows this is perhaps the last chance he has. He needs to make a choice. He can't close in on Eric without narrowing down the list of possible targets to a single item; Eric is too talented to trip over something like diffuse security.

  It's time I took a chance, thinks Antonio.

  He settles on a brooch of gigantic pearls and rubies, unapologetically flashy and much too large to be practical and somehow so very Eric that he is almost confident in his guess. Antonio doesn't know what makes him feel like he knows Eric; they've never talked at once for more than a couple seconds each, and most of the things that Antonio has said consisted of threats and invectives.

  All of the things that Eric has said consisted of promises and endearments. An odd sensation creeps over Antonio, like something has been jarred and come loose in himself, but he chalks it up to excitement. It’s just the pre-heist prevention jitters or something, he reassures himself.