Shimmy Bang Sparkle(49)
She opened the door, and there she stood. The outfit was straight from a uniform supply shop—a navy polyester dress with white buttons down the front. On the right breast, it had the Ritz logo and ELIZABETH embroidered on the pocket. She wore nude nylons and black orthopedic sneakers. Even though it wasn’t sexy on the surface, I found it a hundred times sexier than some skimpy French maid’s costume. The legit con was the best con.
The wig was what really sealed it, though. It was a dishwater blonde, slightly wavy, messy and cute. She’d done her makeup differently—less bad-girl, more blush maybe. Cute as a goddamned button.
In her arms she carried a stack of towels. These she placed at the foot of the bed. “How are you this evening, sir?” she asked. “It’s getting chilly out!” She straightened the sheets and made a hospital corner on each side, expertly folding the edges and seams. I bit my lip and watched her, trying to distract her, trying to break that perfect veneer. It didn’t work. She stayed in character like the pro that she was and doubled-over the edge of the quilt, making me tidily into the bed. She fluffed the pillows around me, then arranged the stuff I’d left on the bedside table, aligning my wallet and my keys. In her palm, she held chocolates with the Ritz logo. She placed them on the table and glanced at me. “I’ll give you a few extra toiletries as well, just in case. A big strapping guy like you might need them.”
I gave her a flick of my chin. “Strapping, eh?”
She smiled—flirtatious, sweet, but not over-the-top. Just right. Next to the chocolates, she arranged a few complimentary toiletry bottles, each of which was labeled RITZ-CARLTON, LAGUNA NIGUEL. She lined them up in a distinctive triangle, and from her pocket she produced a small bar of soap, wrapped in paper and sealed with a gold embossed sticker. The edges of the lion’s mane caught the light. While she was straightening the lamp, she managed to knock the soap off the table.
“Oh, sorry!” She knelt down to get it, revealing enough thigh to make me fucking crazy. Then she arranged the bottles and the soap on the bedside table. She leaned over me and straightened the already-straight covers once more. She placed the chocolates right on my chest and smiled again. “Have a nice evening, sir!” she said, and headed for the door. She turned over her shoulder and looked back at me. “Would you like me to put the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the knob?”
“Yeah. For sure. I’ve got plans for tonight, and nobody’s going to get in the way of what I want.”
For one second, “Elizabeth” wavered and Stella broke through. I saw that ferocious desire in her eyes, but it vanished as soon as it had come, and she got back into character. “All right, sir. Enjoy your night. Please press two on your phone if you need anything!” And she was gone.
With the door closed, I gave her a nice, solid slow clap. From the precisely folded corners to the chocolates, from the uniform to the sensible shoes, it had been believable. Planned to the T. “Well done, gorgeous. Well done.”
That was when I looked at the bedside table again. And saw she’d taken my goddamned wallet. Holy fuck. Classic misdirection—she’d shown me two inches of thigh and robbed me blind.
The door squeaked open, and she peeked inside. I didn’t mention the wallet; I might not be able to turn into Elizabeth the maid, but I had moves of my own. And I was going to make sure she knew it.
I looked her up and down as she came back into the bedroom. I wanted to pull those sensible nylons off with my goddamned teeth. “All right, hot stuff. So play the tape forward. You think the mark is going to leave the gem in his room, unattended?”
She put her hands on her hips and raised her chin, all sass. “Nope. We’re counting on him staying close to it. We know the room that he always stays in. I broke into the reservation system online, and every single time the sheikh is there, the guard stays in the same room, number 321. The room on the right, 319, has an adjoining door. Using the master key, we’d make that room unusable.”
All this and she also knew how to hack into secure systems? Fuck. “How?”
“A wastebasket fire. A shattered bottle of perfume. Whatever seemed most logical.”
Solid answers, and good ideas. “Twenty Questions isn’t over yet,” I said, and beckoned her closer.
Stella bit her lip and hiked up her skirt. She hooked her knee over my body and straddled me. I ran my fingers over her nylons and pulled them away from her thigh. I let the slippery fabric go with a snap. “From 319 you’d go in through the connecting door . . .”
She dropped her weight onto my hips. “When the guard was in the shower. He’s got these hair plugs that are just”—the thought of it made her shiver—“awful. We happen to know he doesn’t care for getting stuff in his hair. So we ensure he’s got to take a shower, then go in. Swap the fake for the real one, and be drinking margaritas within the hour.”
It wasn’t exactly ripped from the opening of Cartel Land. It wasn’t really my style. But as nonviolent heist plans went, it was decent. What happened after, though, that was a different issue. “It’s almost six hundred carats. It can’t be fenced. I know that for sure.”
She walked her fingertips up my chest. “You’re pretty nosy.”
“It’s not about the job. It’s about you.” I gave her perfect ass a squeeze. “So I’m not being nosy. I’m being protective.”