Steal the Light (Thieves #1)(4)

This was why I handled the clients and Daniel sat his perfect ass on a barstool ten yards away and listened in. Daniel wasn’t what I would call a “people person.” He was somewhat of a misanthrope before he died. Getting hit by a drunk driver and waking up on the autopsy table had done nothing to fix his view of humanity.

The arrival of the aforementioned kickass piccata eased the awkwardness of the moment. The sight of Daniel’s mouth tightening dimmed my enthusiasm. I knew he missed food. He’d been an enthusiastic eater before his turn. We spent our college years finding the absolute best spots on campus for burgers and pizza and the occasional splurge on high-end Italian. I counted it as the best time of my life. Those years between leaving my father’s house and Daniel’s untimely death were precious memories. I set my fork down. Daniel touched my arm. He smiled that slight smile of his I rarely ever saw since his return. It was his way of giving me permission to enjoy that which he could not. I glanced at the client. The satisfaction in his dark eyes told me we’d just given valuable information away. Daniel pulled back and straightened into a rigid posture that proved he regretted the intimacy.

“Can I get you anything, sir?” the waiter asked Daniel politely. “Perhaps a specialty drink from the bar?”

Daniel nodded. “That will do. I like my drink at the proper temperature.”

The waiter assured Daniel he could provide the service and went to fetch the drink. The specialty drink was O positive. The proper temperature was 98.7 degrees. Once again, the mob knew how to treat a customer. I tried not to think about how they procured this specific vintage.

Halfer inhaled the scent of the marinara sauce before digging in with the gusto of a man who truly enjoyed the decadent pleasures of life. “This is excellent. I’ll have to remember this place the next time I’m in Dallas.”

“We were getting to the job,” Daniel said, letting impatience settle into his tone.

Halfer looked amused and all but ignored Daniel. Instead he turned his unsettling eyes to me. I wondered exactly how not human he was. “I need you to steal the Light of Alhorra for me.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve never heard of it.” Honesty was usually the best policy at this stage. There were too many ways to screw up and look foolish by embellishing the truth. There would be time enough for lying later on in the relationship.

“I’m not surprised,” my client replied, nonplussed. “It’s an obscure artifact. It is very old and not of great consequence.”

“Dark magic?” Daniel asked as the waiter placed a brass goblet on the table. The rest of the restaurant’s barware was glass, but blood looked like blood even in the gloom of low light.

Halfer waved off Daniel’s question. “Not at all. Please feel free to vet the artifact. It is of the purest white magic, I assure you. It brings good fortune to the one who possesses it. You’ll suffer no ill effects by your brief guardianship.”

“Did this artifact belong to you?” I didn’t actually care about the answer. Usually people stole things that didn’t belong to them. That’s why they call it stealing. Sometimes I get the rare client who is seeking to get back what’s rightfully theirs. These are usually the ones who try to pay the least and almost always balk when the bill comes due.

“It belonged to a colleague,” he replied. “I’m merely representing her interests. As I said, in the arcane world the object is of little consequence, but my client has a fondness for it. It was a gift from her father and means the world to her. The artifact is a medium-sized ornate box weighing approximately twenty pounds. It was stolen two weeks ago. My intelligence places it in St. Louis. It’s scheduled to be moved here in two weeks’ time. It’s all here in a report I prepared for you. That is, if you take the case.”

I took a short swallow of the excellent Chianti. “I never take a case until I’ve discussed payment.”

“Of course.” He picked up the briefcase he’d carried in and handed it to me. The weight of the case surprised me. “It’s five hundred thousand up front, with another five hundred on delivery of the object.”

“There’s five hundred thousand in this case?” I asked, not managing to keep the “holy crap, that’s a lot of money” out of my voice.

“Yes.”

“Dollars?”

Halfer smiled, obviously amused at my shock. “Yes, Miss Wharton. There is five hundred thousand cash in this case. It should cover any expenses. I take it you find the rate acceptable?”

I took a deep breath and tried to find my dignity. I forced my hand back in my lap. I was almost overwhelmed with the sudden, profound need to stroke the case and maybe give it a little kiss. Suspicion creeped along my spine. “That’s an awful lot of cash.”

Halfer shrugged lightly. “I’m asking you to do this job in a very short amount of time. This is important to me. I’m willing to pay top dollar to make sure it gets done right.”

Top dollar was right. The lure of all that money had my head spinning, and I responded before I could really think about it. “Yes, Mr. Halfer, I believe I can get the job done for this.”

I looked at Daniel, expecting to see his disapproval, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off the briefcase. His fangs were slightly out. “Yep,” was all he managed to say.