SUPPER was good. They’d gone to their favorite Vietnamese place, where they knew they’d be served quickly. And the play was excellent.
“Mark’s always had great stage presence,” Jasper commented at intermission. Supposedly they were in line, but the mob at the concession stand was large and not at all linear. Jasper put their chances of actually getting a couple of beers before they had to return to their seats at less than fifty percent. “But I never realized how good he could be until now. I forgot it was him onstage.”
“He just needed a decent vehicle.” Adam was beaming. Nothing made him happier than seeing a friend succeed. Adam liked to think he was tough and cynical—and he was a survivor, no doubt about that, and tough in the ways that counted. But he had a heart of marshmallow fluff. “I—oh, look, Michele’s here. Who’s she with?”
“I don’t see her. Where . . .” Jasper’s voice drifted off as a crawling sensation rolled up his spine to his scalp. It felt like his hair was trying to stand on end.
“What is it?” Adam frowned. “You’ve got the weirdest look on your face.”
“Someone just broke into the shop.”
Adam glanced at the pocket where Jasper had put his phone. “How can you—oh. It’s the other alarm.”
“I’m afraid so. Adam, I have to go.”
“No, you have to call the police, then we will go.”
Jasper lifted one brow. “And tell them that my ward just alerted me to an intruder?”
“Why not?” Adam demanded. “You sure as hell aren’t going to check it out yourself!”
Well, yes. That was exactly what he was going to do, though for the first time he felt a mild regret that he’d insisted that his brother’s people stop following him around “for his protection.” Being watched every moment had driven him crazy. But he’d admit that a lupi backup might have come in handy tonight. “Can you get a ride home? I could take a cab myself, but—”
“That’s not the issue, dammit!”
Jasper did not call the police, but he didn’t go alone, either. Adam went with him. Jasper didn’t like that, but not because he thought either of them would be in danger. If someone was good enough to break in without setting off his regular alarm, he or she was a professional and would be gone before Jasper could arrive. That would take at least twenty minutes, even at this time of night. Probably closer to thirty. But he hated for Adam to miss the last part of the play.
“Forget about the damn play,” Adam said when he voiced that concern for maybe the second time. Or third. “This is your livelihood. But I don’t get why you’re so sure they’ll be gone.”
“Don’t worry, they will be. Unless they’re after what’s in the safe.” He’d sold almost all the things he’d obtained in his previous profession as quickly as possible. Almost, but not all. A couple of the items in the safe would be extremely valuable to the right person . . . or to the wrong people. He might have been a thief, but he drew the line at making certain objects available. “I hope they aren’t trying to get it open, because that will take awhile. Even for a pro, that safe is not easy to open.”
“That did not answer my question.”
The sound of a siren moving up from behind him made Jasper grimace and pull over to the side of the road. “Only a professional could get past the regular security system, and pros don’t linger. They get in and out fast. They’ll have already picked out what they want, so it won’t take long.”
“Cased the joint, you mean?”
“You’re cute when you talk thief. Yes, and I’ve been going over which of my recent customers might have been interested in my stock for the wrong reasons.” He watched in his rearview mirror as a cop car, lights flashing and siren blaring, sped past, then pulled back out into traffic again. “Tonight they probably pulled up their van at the rear—there’s never much traffic on that street—and took things out through the loading door.” He sighed, thinking of the lovely 1880 writing desk he’d gotten just last week. Victoriana sold well in San Francisco, which was why he specialized in it. Worth eight grand, easy, though the thieves would be lucky to get more than a couple thousand. Illicit antiques weren’t hard to move, but you never got full value. “Though it’s possible they went for the small stuff, especially if ‘they’ is really ‘he.’ Or ‘she,’ I suppose. A lone thief would have trouble moving furniture out quickly.”
“And yet the police could have gotten there a lot faster than we will. They might have caught your thief or thieves if you had called them right away. You didn’t.”
“Hmm.”
“Don’t hum at me. That’s your ‘I’m not arguing even though you’re an idiot’ noise.”
Jasper grinned at the weave of headlights ahead. And didn’t argue.
“You could have come up with some reason for the cops to check your shop other than mystical, magical wards. You didn’t want to call them because you didn’t want the thief or thieves caught.”
“I’ll call the cops when it’s time.”
“After the bad guys have gotten safely away with your possessions.”
“It’s just stuff,” Jasper said mildly. “Insured stuff at that.”
“And . . .”
Jasper sighed. “I don’t like prisons. I understand the reason for them. We can’t afford to have everyone behaving the way I used to. I just don’t want to be responsible for . . . did you know that the average prison cell in the U.S. is six feet by eight feet?”
“It’s their own actions that would put them in prison, not yours.”
“Six feet by eight feet,” he repeated. “Imagine living for a decade or more in a room smaller than a lot of walk-in closets. Being locked up in that room. Allowed out only to shower or, if you’re lucky, to exercise in an enclosed area without so much as a blade of grass, surrounded by men who are at least as stir crazy as you are, and half of them are gang members.”
Adam was silent a moment. “You really didn’t retire just for my sake, did you?”
“I’ve been telling you that.”
“Yeah, but you also insisted there was nothing to worry about, that you were too good to get caught.”
“Well,” Jasper said modestly, “statistically speaking, I had reason to believe that. I never did get caught.”
Adam took his hand. “Pusillanimous braggart.”
“Self-righteous knave.” Jasper squeezed the hand in his.
? ? ?
JASPER stared down at the ruby in his hand . . . which he’d found tucked away inside his safe. He spoke softly, almost reverently. “That son of a bitch.”
“What?” Adam called from the shop proper. He knew Jasper’s stock almost as well as Jasper did and had been looking through it while Jasper checked out the storage area. “What’s missing?”
“Nothing. You don’t need to keep looking. I know who broke in tonight, and he didn’t take anything.”