Page 5

After she’d had her coffee and gone for her morning walk—she walked three miles daily to keep her blood flowing—Colette got dressed for the day, chiding herself for the care she took in selecting the perfect outfit.

Though she’d been in the States since 1952, Paris would always be a piece of who Colette was.

Her wardrobe was full of Breton stripes, smart black trousers, crisp button-downs, and simple black dresses for the nights she needed to blend in with upscale crowds.

Her hair was cut into a short French bob, and when it began to lose its dark color two decades ago, she’d let it.

Now, it was the color of snow, the perfect shade to make her signature red lipstick pop.

That was another secret of hers; when she went on missions to steal jewels, she kept her makeup understated and natural and her wigs the color of dishwater, all the better to blend into a crowd.

But at all other times, her red lips were her trademark.

Now, she tried on three different pairs of wide-leg trousers before she settled on one with a high waist that accentuated her slim figure.

She pulled on a cream-colored, narrow-cut silk blouse and carefully tucked it in before slipping into her favorite pair of cap-toe ballet flats and assessing herself in the mirror.

Some days, she wondered where the time had gone.

The pages had turned too quickly, leaving her somehow at the end of her story in the blink of an eye.

She didn’t suppose it mattered to Marty how she looked.

There had been a time in the past when he had cared—she knew he had cared—but that had been long ago.

She’d had her chance. She’d had many chances.

It was far too late now, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t get a little thrill out of the way his eyes still traveled up and down her body every time she saw him.

It was habit, she supposed, but it made her blush yet the same.

The drive to Marty’s store on Washington Street took twenty-three minutes, and after Colette parked a half block away, she sat in the car for a few minutes, scanning the other vehicles in the area.

One could never be too careful; she had driven away in the past after seeing what looked like undercover police vehicles parked nearby.

But today, neither the other cars nor the passersby looked suspicious, so Colette grabbed her handbag, got out of the car, and strode purposefully into Weaver’s Diamond Exchange, the store Marty’s grandfather, Joseph Weaver, had founded a hundred years ago, passing it down to his son, Joseph Jr., who then passed it to Marty back in 1967.

Colette could still remember the first time she saw Marty fifteen years before that, when she accompanied Uncle Leo on a trip to fence a pair of emerald-and-sapphire earrings.

They had just moved to the States from England, after Uncle Leo had gotten into a bit of trouble with the law, and it was Marty’s father who had sponsored their hasty citizenship application.

Uncle Leo had introduced Colette to Marty, and for the first time in her life, she’d been unable to formulate words.

“Cat got your tongue?” Uncle Leo had asked, amused, while Colette’s cheeks blazed.

Marty’s hair was golden, his eyes a brilliant blue, and his strong jaw and high cheekbones looked like they’d been carved from marble.

But he’d saved her from her embarrassment by extending a palm for the earrings, which she placed there with a shaking hand. “I’m not sure I can give you an accurate estimate until I’ve seen them on someone,” he’d said, winking at her. “Would you do the honors, Colette? Then we can talk price.”

Nodding, she had taken the earrings back and slipped the right one in, but when she fumbled with the left, Marty had reached out to help her.

Her skin tingled where he touched it, and she could have sworn he’d lingered for a second longer than he needed to, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand as he withdrew.

“Perfect,” he’d murmured, and then he’d quoted Uncle Leo a price that was 10 percent higher than she would have asked for.

Uncle Leo had eagerly accepted and then hurried Colette out before Marty could withdraw the offer, but as they left the store, she couldn’t help but glance back over her shoulder at him.

He was watching her, just as she’d somehow known he would be, and he raised one hand in farewell, giving her another amused smile.

“I think that young man was smitten with you,” Uncle Leo had said in the car with a chuckle.

“But you watch out for him, Colette, do you understand? Too dangerous to get connected to anyone who works in the business.” When she’d looked at him questioningly, he’d added, “A jewel thief and the person who sells the thief’s loot?

It’s a recipe for disaster, Colette. Just get it out of your mind. ”

But she hadn’t been able to, and since Uncle Leo used Weaver’s Diamond Exchange as a fence the majority of the time, it had been impossible to forget Marty because she saw him at least a dozen times a year.

Once she began executing bigger scores on her own, she preferred using Weaver’s, too.

They still had to use other fences so that they didn’t leave breadcrumbs for the police to follow, but the Weavers were the only ones who knew what they were up to—and why it mattered.

Colette trusted Marty and his father with her life—which was why, the year she turned twenty-six and Marty asked her on a date, she’d said no.

Uncle Leo was right; it was too dangerous.

But that wasn’t the only reason she’d declined. After all, what did dating lead to but marriage and children? And Colette had already sworn that she would never have a child. How on earth could she be trusted to keep anyone safe after everything that had happened in Paris?

He had asked her out on a date seven times more—she’d counted—and on the seventh time, he’d asked, “Do I ever have a chance with you, kid?” It had broken her heart to tell him no, but she had, and that was that.

Six months later, he’d begun going steady with a girl named Kay Rhodes, and a year after that, he’d married her.

They’d never had children, and Colette had learned just how bitter regret tasted.

Kay had died nearly twenty years ago, and by then, she and Marty had been platonic friends for most of their lives.

Sometimes, she wondered what would happen if she confessed now that she’d said no because she hadn’t wanted children—and because Uncle Leo had forbidden it.

Would Marty think she was mad to be digging up things from the past that didn’t need to be discussed?

Would he have forgotten he had ever asked her out in the first place?

“Well, well, if it isn’t the most beautiful Parisian in Boston,” Marty said, a grin spreading across his handsome face as she walked into his empty store. He still looked just like Robert Redford all these years later. Why was time so much more generous to men than to women?

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she said, smiling back. There was something charming in the idea that they shared this routine.

“I thought I’d make lunch today,” he said, and if she hadn’t known better, she would have suspected he was nervous.

“Make me lunch? Well, that would be a first.”

“I’d make you lunch every day if I could, kid.” Marty was an old flirt, always had been. She wasn’t foolish enough to think that his attentions were reserved just for her.

He came around the counter and gave her a quick peck on the cheek, then he locked the front door and turned the CLOSED sign around. “Let’s go in the back.”

Five minutes later, they were sitting across the table from each other, sharing torn pieces of baguette, a hunk of Brie cheese, and an apple Marty had sliced up.

“So the orchestra benefit last night?” he asked as he poured her a glass of Chablis from a bottle he’d just pulled from the fridge. “That was you?”

She held his gaze as she took a sip of wine. “Suppose it was?”

“Then I’d say you have a valuable piece on your hands. And the beneficiary this time?”

“The Holocaust center, of course. The woman is a dedicated neo-Nazi.”

Marty chuckled. “You are a marvel, Colette. I wonder how the people at the center would feel if they knew their most dedicated volunteer was also the one who’s been keeping them in the black for more than forty years?”

She shrugged. “You know the rules.” No descendant of Robin Hood could ever take public credit for the good he or she was doing in the world. It was too dangerous, and it would subvert the meaning of their work.

“But I know what you’re doing.” He took a sip of his wine and raised his eyebrows pointedly at her.

“You know all my secrets.” She said it lightly, but the words felt heavy the moment they were out of her mouth.

The truth was, there was no one in the world who knew her better.

She wondered sometimes what Uncle Leo would have thought of the friendship that had developed between Marty and her over the years.

She was certain he wouldn’t approve, but that didn’t mean he was right; knowing that Marty was ever only a phone call away had kept her afloat through her darkest times.

The fact that they were both still here, still looking out for each other, was remarkable.

Marty sliced off a sliver of Brie and handed it to Colette on a piece of baguette. “I’ll have to wait a few weeks, until the interest cools down.”

“I know.” She took a bite, followed by a sip of wine, and her taste buds sang.

“You could retire, you know,” he said after a moment. “I hate to think of something happening to you.”

“I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”

Marty smiled. “We’re both too old to go to jail. Do you ever think about hanging up your hat?”

She bit into an apple slice and chewed slowly without breaking eye contact. “Do you ?”

He leaned closer. “You’re the whole reason I’m still in business, kid.”

She felt a pang of guilt. “You don’t have to keep working with me, Marty. I have other brokers I can bring the pieces to.”

He put his hands over his heart and feigned injury. “Are you trying to kill me?”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “What I mean is that you don’t owe me anything, Marty. You’ve done more than enough over the years. If you want to hang up your hat…”

“Ah, but I look dashing in a hat.” He grinned. “Besides, you’re the best part of the business.”

She basked in the words for a second, though she knew they’d been just another line of throwaway flirtation. “Then I guess we’re stuck with each other.”

He smiled. “Just the way I like it, kid. Now let’s take a look at that piece.”

Colette reached into the hidden inner pocket of her handbag and withdrew the ring, enjoying the way Marty’s eyes widened slightly as he looked at it for the first time.

He reached for the piece, then carried it across the room to his desk, where he flicked on a lamp.

He pulled out his jeweler’s loupe and examined the diamond for a few seconds in silence before looking back up at Colette.

“It’s perfect,” he said. “I think I can probably get between seventy-two and eighty for it.”

Colette did the mental math. Marty would take his standard 15 percent of the sale, which would leave her with somewhere in the neighborhood of $65,000, more than enough to make the risk worthwhile.

“Marty,” she said, trying to mute the voice in her head, “you are a prince among men.”

“And you, kid, are my princess.” He gave her that sparkling, flirtatious grin again, the one that she knew meant nothing. “Want me to hang on to the ring for you here?”

She nodded, feeling relieved as she watched him lock it into the safe.

As much as she loved admiring the jewels, it always made her uneasy to keep stolen goods at her own house.

If anyone ever suspected her and called the police, how would she explain what she was doing with them?

Marty, at least, always had plausible deniability.

He had bought the pieces from a stranger and had no idea they were hot, but gee, he was sorry for the mistake.

“Marty?” she asked after he’d returned to the table and poured them both a bit more wine.

“Do you ever regret going into business with me?”

He looked at her blankly. “I can hardly remember a time before my dad and I worked with you and your uncle.”

“But just because you’ve been doing something for a long time doesn’t necessarily make it right. Your business could be one hundred percent on the up-and-up, Marty. And because of me—”

“Because of you,” he interrupted firmly, “I get to feel like I’m playing a small role in doing some good in the world. Is what we’re doing illegal? You bet. But is it wrong ? I don’t think it is, do you?”

“Of course not.” Colette wouldn’t be able to live with herself.

“Colette, I don’t have a single regret about any of it,” he said firmly. He raised his wineglass and waited until she looked him in the eye. “Here’s to the best partnership I’ve ever had.”

She hesitated and then clinked her glass against his. “Cheers,” she said, and then she looked away, because she couldn’t stand the way it suddenly felt as if he could see right through her.