Fic: "Adrenaline Rush" (White Collar, Alex/Sara, Mature)
Title: Adrenaline Rush
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Alex/Sara
Rating: R/Mature (sex, mild violence)
Word count: 8429
Summary: Alex's efforts to make some easy money in London don't go as planned. When Sara connects an art theft to Alex, she doesn't know if it'll make recovering the painting easier or harder.
Notes: Written for wcpairings, for lionessvalenti. I used the following prompt for inspiration: In England, Sara recognizes some work as Alex's and takes the case herself. Sexy complications ensue. Doesn't need a classic happy ending. Mutual satisfaction is also good.
Most conmen didn't know what they wanted. They liked to talk about retirement on a private island or in a country without an extradition agreement. But few ever did it, even if they managed to avoid winding up dead or in prison. No, when it came down to it, they were never satisfied. They liked the thrill too much.
Alex was a little more pragmatic. She was a businesswoman. She had her weaknesses, and she liked to make her work fun, but day to day, she liked to focus on making money and keeping her ass safe and out of jail.
The adrenaline rush of a con or heist, the rush that kept men like Neal Caffrey in the business for years, did little for her. She'd retire someday, when she could surround herself with beautiful things without stealing them.
But for now, she had finite funds. This was how she found herself in London, sneaking into the apartment of an aging British rock star who liked early twentieth-century art.
She almost hadn't taken the job. She could pull it off as well as anyone, but she preferred to play the middleman. She had to be at least a little desperate to steal something herself. But despite her target's high profile, the job was easy money. She just had to go in, grab a particular painting by an artist whose work was quickly gaining value, and get out. Her employer, a Russian named Boris who had a reputation as a frequent buyer, was meeting her tomorrow for the trade-off.
Getting into the building wasn't hard. She'd been casing it for a week, and she knew that her mark would be at a recording session until late tonight. Earlier, she'd watched from across the street as he walked out of the building at got into the back seat of a car. She'd stayed a safe distance away, in a spot that didn't seem to be in direct view of any CCTV cameras. All the cameras in London made working there a pain in the ass.
Now, a few minutes after seven, she sauntered into the building through the large front doors.
She wore a floppy, wide-brimmed hat and a pair of sunglasses. Not too suspicious at first glance, but enough to help obscure her face on the security cameras in the lobby. At least, that was the plan. She smiled at the doorman as she waltzed past him.
The upstairs hallway was quiet. She picked her way into the dark apartment. The alarm started beeping and she turned it off using a code she'd managed to obtain during her reconnaissance.
The furnishing inside was sparse and modern. She'd never been inside a rock star's apartment before, and to her disappointment, this one was underwhelming. Of course, Jack Bird hadn't come out with a decent album in over a decade, and had outgrown his wild rocker phase back in the eighties. Aside from the gloriously valuable art on the walls and the view of the London cityscape outside the plate glass living room window, there wasn't much to show that this was the apartment of someone with money to spend. On the walls, alongside the paintings, there were pictures of Jack with various singers and actors, and framed records. Alex ignored those and went in search of her target.
The painting wasn't hard to find. The Watchers by Claude Fischer hung in the bedroom. It was a dark painting with feathery brushstrokes. It depicted two women standing on the shore of a lake, one of them shielding her eyes from the sun. Alex carefully removed it from the frame. It was a small painting and, as planned, it fit in the oversized purse she'd brought. Maybe the purse looked a little boxier, but if the doorman noticed, it wouldn’t mean anything to him except in retrospect. By the time anyone made a connection between her and the theft (if they made a connection), she'd have her money and be long gone.
She walked out the building the way she came. As she reached the door, the doorman nodded and said, "Good night."
She gave him a broad smiled and waved goodbye.
* * *
Alex didn't sleep well that night. The job wouldn't be over until she got paid.
She got up early the next morning after only a few fitful hours of sleep. She thought about ordering room service-this hotel had the most scrumptious menu, and she was starving. But she wanted to avoid drawing too much attention to herself, and that meant not making herself too memorable to the hotel staff.
Instead, she left early and picked up a croissant on her way to the park. She carried the painting in a paper shopping bag, covered with tissue paper. It wasn't the most secure way of transporting it, but it was inconspicuous. No one looked twice at her.
She'd found the meeting place park a few days earlier, and now she knew her way around. She found the right landmark, a fountain adorned with cherub statues. She found an empty bench and sat down. She set the bag with the painting beside her, but kept her hand on it.
Boris would meet her at nine-thirty. He would take the bag with the painting, and she would take the cash. Boris had insisted on using cash. It wasn't ideal; she would have preferred a direct transfer into her account. But Alex could work with it.
At nine-thirty on the dot, Boris showed up, followed by one of the silent, frowning "assistants" he always had with him. Boris took a seat beside Alex on the bench, and the glorified goon stayed by the fountain with his hands folded in front of him.
"You have what I want?" Boris asked. His voice was deep and raspy, and Alex imagined he smoked a lot. He was sweating in the summer heat, and undid another button on his collar as he caught his breath. Sweat dotted his hairline, highlighting a scar across his temple that was barely obscured by his close-clipped hair.
"Right here," Alex said, patting the shopping bag. "And you have something for me?"
Boris handed her a plain black shopping bag. Inside were two shoeboxes. Alex cracked open the lids and saw four neat stacks of cash in each one. She quickly thumbed through the stacks and, satisfied that they were all high-denomination bills, closed the shoebox. She handed Boris the painting.
"It was a pleasure doing business with you. Let me know if you ever need my services again."
She got up and headed for the direction of the park entrance.
* * *
Sometimes, Sara missed working recovery. Technically, she hadn't stopped, but these days all her work took place behind a desk. It was the people under her who handled the dirty work.
But when a painting was stolen from Jack Bird's home, her boss put the file on her desk.
Mr. Phelps kept swallowing, which was a sign his indigestion was acting up again. That meant he was under stress. Adjusting his glasses, he said, "I know I don’t need to tell you what an important client Mr. Bird is. We need to show him that we take this theft very seriously. That means you need to handle this personally. Assure him that you'll do whatever it takes."
Sara opened the file and thumbed through the pages. "The painting is a Claude Fischer from 1916. One of his later works."
"No one realized The Watchers was a Fischer until Bird had it authenticated five years ago. As you can imagine, the value is incredible."
Sara looked up at her boss. "I have other cases...."
"They can wait. Focus on this."
She tried not to look too happy.
* * *
During the drive to Jack Bird's flat, Sara couldn't help but smile and drum her fingers on the steering wheel. It was good to be back in her element for a change. When she'd accepted the London position, she hadn't considered whether she would like spending most of her days in the office. It was ostensibly better for her-her new job was a promotion, and there was significantly less chance of getting killed by an angry thief. But she missed the process of hands-on investigation.
In another life, maybe she would have enjoyed being a detective. Of course, detectives had to worry about things like warrants and reasonable cause. In her work, procedure didn't matter as much as results.
The police were gone by the time Sara got to Jack Bird's flat. He looked thinner in person, and his shaggy, graying hair was uncombed.
Sara shook his hand, saying, "Sara Ellis, Sterling Bosch. I believe Mr. Phelps told you I'd be here."
"Yeah," Jack said with a sigh. "Come on in. Don't think you'll find anything the police didn't."
The apartment was clean and uncluttered, with no sign of disarray. Whoever had broken in clearly knew what they wanted and where to find it. Jack walked over to a mini-bar and poured himself some scotch.
"You want a drink?"
"No, thank you. I would like to look at where the painting was, if that's okay."
"Go right ahead. The bedroom is the first door on the right."
Sara left Jack in the living room and followed his directions. Aside from the twisted sheets on the bed, the bedroom was pristine like the rest of the place. There was a bare spot on the wall, with a faint rectangle where the painting had hung. The empty frame sat on the floor, leaning against the wall.
When she rejoined Jack, he was sitting on the sofa with his drink. He'd slipped off his sandals and crossed his legs.
"How many people knew you had The Watchers?" she asked him.
Jack shrugged. "Wasn't exactly a secret. I guess anyone could've traced it to me."
"There was no sign of a break-in when you got home?"
"Nope. I got home at two AM and didn't see anything until I was ready to collapse into bed. 'Course, I'd had a few drinks." He motioned to one of the chairs across from him. "Have a seat."
Sara sat down. "Can you think of anyone who may have wanted to take it? Did you receive any offers from anyone recently?"
"Not recently. I get offers for my pieces occasionally. But people have learned by now that I won't sell. I'm leasing Mother and Child to a museum in Canada, though. You're familiar with that piece?"
"One of Fischer's early pieces. You purchased it before many people remembered who Fischer was. In fact, a lot of people credit you with helping bring proper recognition to Fischer's work."
Jack smiled. "Despite what you may have heard, I'm not an art aficionado, Miss Ellis. I'm a musician, not a painter. But I find Fischer's style...darkly enchanting. I like his work. That it's gained value...." He shrugged. "I guess I'm just lucky."
"Or unlucky, in this case. Are there any surveillance cameras in this building?"
"Only downstairs. The police looked at the footage earlier, but I guess they didn't see anything compelling."
"I'll take a look before I go."
She reached into her purse and pulled out her business card case. She handed a card to Jack.
"Give me a call if you think of anything that might be helpful."
After leaving Jack behind, she went downstairs to talk to the building's security people. Truthfully, she wasn't expecting to get any more out of the video footage than the police. But if she gained access to the CCTV footage outside as well, maybe she could compare the two and make a connection. The police might make their own connection. But the police had other cases to worry about. Right now, this was the only thing on her plate. Phelps had basically given her permission to forget about everything else until she either found The Watchers or the painting disappeared into the black market.
She had no idea how much time she had before that happened. But there was a good chance that whoever stole the painting hadn't sold it yet.
When she went to see the building's security guard, the man listened to her spiel and nodded. He said, "I can give you a copy of the footage, if it'll help."
"That would be great," Sara said. It was hard not to keep the surprise out of her voice.
"I already did this for the police," the guard explained. "I'm not sure if I'm supposed to give it to anyone else, but...."
"I promise not to say anything," Sara said with a small smile.
Sara went home with a DVD of lobby surveillance footage from between four PM and two AM the previous day.
When she got in, she changed into her pajamas and settled into bed with her laptop. She might as well be comfortable.
Even with speeding up the DVD, it was an arduous task. Sara's vision grew blurry from the strain, and she knew if she gave in to the temptation of resting her head, she would be asleep in minutes. There was no way she'd make it to the end of the footage tonight.
She was about to call it a night when she saw it. The time stamp showed that it was seven-fifteen, and there was a woman exiting the lobby. Sara recalled seeing her back when she'd entered a few minutes earlier.
Alex had clearly tried to disguise herself subtly. The police might not even differentiate her from the other people coming and going in the same time frame. But Sara knew exactly who she was looking at.
Her eyes no longer felt heavy. Sara paused the footage and got out of bed. She walked to the kitchen to get a drink of water, and ended up pacing with the glass in her hand.
She never imagined she would find the thief so easily.
Still, she realized this might not make things any easier. Alex wasn't her friend, but she was Neal's friend. Did that matter?
It wasn't like Sara intended to take this information to the police. Not just yet. No, she would hunt Alex down and talk to her. And maybe since they knew each other, she could appeal to Alex to return the painting.
She briefly considered calling Neal, but realized she didn't have any reason in mind for doing so. What did she expect Neal to do? Was he even in contact with Alex? But even more, she didn't know if she could justify calling him when she knew what he was dealing with right now. She didn't feel right calling him about her case when he was dealing with so much with his father....
No, she would find Alex, and The Watchers, on her own.
* * *
Two days later, Alex was in a pub, sharing a drink with a local woman.
Alex was scheduled to leave London in three days. In the meantime, there was no sign of her face on the news, and she intended to enjoy herself.
The woman sitting next to her, Cherise, had choppy blonde hair and a small, round mouth that Alex was thinking about kissing.
Cherise was laughing at something Alex had said. She playfully touched Alex's arm and let her hand linger from a moment before pulling it away. Alex took it as a good sign.
Leaning forward, Alex said, "If you want to get out of here-"
"Hello, Alex."
The voice came from behind her. Turning around on her stool, she saw Sara Ellis standing there.
Alex smiled. "Sara, isn't it? Imagine running into you here."
"We need to talk."
Cherise picked up her drink and stood up. "I should be going. Thanks for the drink!"
Before Alex could stop her, Cherise was gone. Sara took her abandoned stool and leaned on the bar.
"Seemed like a nice girl," Sara said. "Potential mark?"
"Actually, I was trying to pick her up. And now she probably thinks you're my girlfriend. Thanks."
Sara looked a little surprised at that, but didn't dwell on it.
"So," Alex said, "what brings you to London?"
"I live here now. And I'm here tonight because of The Watchers."
Alex shook her head. "And what would that be?"
"That would be the painting you stole a couple nights ago. I have you on tape leaving the building."
"So, you have proof I was in the building? That's it?"
"I know you have it."
"Actually, no, I don't."
"Then you know who does. And I'm going to find it, with or without your cooperation."
Alex downed the rest of her drink and set the empty glass on the bar. "Sorry, can't help you there. How'd you find me, anyway?"
"I followed you from your hotel."
Alex didn't bother asking how Sara had found her hotel.
Getting up, she said, "Well, I don't know where your painting is. So I'm afraid you wasted your time."
She walked out without waiting for a response, and didn't stop hiding her nerves until she was a few blocks away and confident she wasn't being followed.
This could complicate things. She considered leaving the UK early. It wasn't like Sara had any proof, but she couldn't risk things escalating.
She made up her mind. Tomorrow, she would buy herself discreet and fast transportation out of the country.
* * *
"Seriously? Are you kidding me?"
"I'm not. All these bills are counterfeit."
Alex ran a hand through her hair. "How do you know that? Have you looked at all of them?"
Marcus cocked his head. "Trust me, they're counterfeit."
Alex started to pace. She was in the back room of a shop, visiting a contact of hers, Marcus. She'd intended to buy his help getting the cash out of the country discreetly.
Taking a deep breath, she said, "Okay. So, how big of a problem is this?"
Marcus frowned, and she knew it wasn't good news.
"Some bills like these surfaced a couple weeks ago. This batch is no good. Whoever gave you these was trying to get rid of them. There's nothing I can do."
She wanted to argue, but her gut told her Marcus was right. She should have known this job was too good to be true.
"That bastard...." she muttered under her breath.
Marcus crossed his arms. "What are you going to do?"
Alex started to collect the bills that were strewn on the table. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to back to that asshole and make him pay me."
With a sigh, Marcus said, "Just walk away from this one. Learn from it and move on. Look, I know about this Boris guy. A man who never goes out in public without a bodyguard isn't someone you want to mess with."
"I'm not going to learn anything. Boris is."
Marcus just shrugged.
She took her worthless money and left.
* * *
Boris worked out of a nightclub. It wasn't exactly a secret that the place was involved in some shady dealings. Alex had met Boris there when they negotiated the job.
She didn't like the idea of walking into his territory to confront him, but she couldn't wait.
There was no sign of him when she got there, so she waited at the bar and got a drink. It was still early, and the club was nearly empty. So she noticed immediately when Boris strode through the front door, speaking in Russian with two men in dark suits and ties.
Alex got up and walked over to him.
"You cheated me," she said. "I want my money."
One of Boris' companions said something in a questioning tone. Boris responded in Russian and motioned for the men to wait for him. They walked other side of the club and sat in a booth.
"I paid you the amount we agreed," Boris told her.
"In counterfeit bills. They're worthless."
"That isn't my problem."
"If you're not going to give me the money, then I want the painting."
"I'm afraid that's impossible. Now, I'm afraid I need to ask you to leave my club."
Alex didn't budge. She noticed that Boris' friends were watching the exchange. They were smiling and chuckling to each other.
When she didn't leave, Boris frowned. He grabbed Alex's arm in a tight grip. Alex suppressed a wince.
"I liked working with you. I suggest you don't ruin things now. Our work is done-I don't want to see you here again."
He steered her toward the entrance and let go. Her arm throbbed, and she could already feel the bruises forming.
She didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay and keep arguing until he gave her what she'd come for. But it was clear that embarrassing him in front of his colleagues wasn't going to be effective, and the pain in her arm suggested she needed to proceed carefully.
She stood outside the club for a few minutes before retreating.
She caught a taxi back to her hotel, and remained deep in thought during the drive. When she thought about how Boris had screwed her over, she could feel her blood pressure rise. Her head started to swim. She took a few deep breaths and tried to think things through.
The most realistic way to deal with this would be to tell everyone how Boris had double-crossed her. No self-respecting fence would ever work with him again. Boris would learn he wasn't the only one who had influence. She liked that idea, but it wasn't enough.
Then she remembered Sara.
It wouldn't be like going fed. Alex hadn't lost her sanity or her dignity. But Sara wasn't a cop. Insurance people could be just as big of crooks as anyone else when they wanted to be.
Alex had almost found it funny when Sterling Bosch started going after Neal for that damn Raphael of his. She'd thought it served him right for such a grandiose romantic gesture (and she was pretty sure Kate hadn't even appreciated it).
She would enjoy Boris being on the receiving end of that relentlessness much, much more.
* * *
Sara was cooking dinner when there was a knock on the door. She couldn't imagine who would be visiting her. She hadn't even talked to most of her neighbors.
With an irritated sigh, she covered the pot on the stove and hoped it wouldn't boil over while she was at the door. She set the spoon she was holding on a towel and went to answer it.
She wasn't expecting to see Alex when she looked through the peephole.
She unlocked the door and undid the chain. She opened it a crack and blocked the entrance with her body.
"What are you doing here? How did you find out where I live?"
"You have your sources, I have mine. I thought you wanted to talk about a stolen painting."
"I thought you said you couldn't help."
Alex shrugged. "Things changed. I think I have some information for you now. Are you going to let me in?"
Sara stepped aside and held open the door. Alex stepped inside and looked around, taking everything in. Sara couldn't help but feel like she was casing the place.
Alex was wearing a gray dress and knee-high boots. Her heels clicked on the wood floor as she walked.
"Something smells good," Alex said.
"That would be my dinner. If you'll excuse me, I have a pot on the stove."
Sara was glad that the living room was visible from the kitchen. She wasn't entirely convinced that Alex was being truthful. She was withholding judgment until she found out what "information" Alex had. Sara tried to keep an eye on her while she stirred the pasta.
When she returned to the living room, Alex was sitting on the sofa with her arms spread out along the back.
"Your information had better be good," Sara said.
"I know who has the painting. His name is Boris Petrov. But be careful-he's not cooperative."
"How do you know this?"
Alex shrugged. "Let's say he might have hired someone to steal the painting for him."
There was a chair facing the sofa, and Sara perched on the arm. "We both know it was you. Why the change of heart?"
"The money he gave me was counterfeit."
That explained it. Sara didn't believe for a second that Alex had come to her in remorse. That didn't bother her. She was glad Alex had been honest, assuming the story was true.
"Dinner's almost ready," Sara said. "Why don't you join me? We can discuss this more."
"Well, I wouldn't want to impose...."
"You figured out where I lived. I don't think you're worried about imposing."
Having Alex over for dinner was the last thing Sara had planned for this evening. But it was less unwelcome than she might have expected. It wasn't so bad to have a guest, and if Alex was willing to help her get the painting back, Sara was willing to play host for a while.
Sara had been in London for almost six months, and she still didn't know many people outside of work. Then again, it had been the same in New York. It was easy to see how her work cut into developing ties. But before, she'd at least known more people. She had connections. She got invited to parties and gallery openings. Here, she was starting from scratch, and there was little sign of any burgeoning workplace friendships. She didn't mind. There was little less appealing to her than going out to a pub with people from work. But she still got lonesome eating dinner after dinner on her own, and if nothing else, she and Alex had things in common to talk about.
Alex told her about the theft, but there wasn't much to the story beside what she'd already said. She gave Sara more background on Boris, but said little about her own role in things. Sara wondered if Alex was leaving much out.
"Do you think Boris will sell the painting?" Sara asked.
"I don't think so. It seemed like he wanted it for his own collection."
"So, he's probably keeping it somewhere personal."
"I'm guessing the nightclub," Alex said.
If Boris intended to keep the painting, that bought Sara a little time. Of course, it was always possible Alex was lying to her. That was something Sara had to keep in mind.
When Alex had finished talking about the painting, the conversation faltered. Alex looked down at her plate and absently twirled some spaghetti around her fork.
"So," she said after a minute, "you and Neal....I take it you guys are 'off' right now."
Sara sipped her wine. "At the moment, yes."
"Smart."
Sara didn't ask for clarification of what Alex meant by that.
After dinner, they went into the living room. Sara expected Alex to go at any minute. After all, this wasn't supposed to be a social visit. But Alex accepted an offer of another glass of wine and joined Sara on the sofa.
"You know," Alex said with a smile, "speaking of Neal, you weren't the only one going after that Raphael he took. After he went to prison, I tried so hard to get his girlfriend to sell it to me." Alex shrugged. "She kept saying she didn't know what I was talking about. Which was bullshit, but what can you do?"
"If you'd succeeded, maybe I would've ended up going after you."
"For the better, then. I don't like being chased. Neal, on the other hand, enjoys the ego boost."
"So, what, you enjoy the chasing?"
Alex shook her head. "No. I like getting what I want." She finished her wine and set the glass on the coffee table. "I need to go. Why don't I come back tomorrow evening? We can figure out how we're going to do this."
Sara set down her glass and stood up. She smoothed her skirt with her hands. "Sounds like a plan."
Alex smiled and left, leaving no sign of her presence except the lipstick mark on her wine glass.
* * *
Over the next few days, Sara and Alex worked on how to get into Boris' club.
Since Phelps had given Sara permission to devote herself to this case, she mostly stayed away from the office. She hadn't realized how much she missed working out in the field.
Alex came over each evening, whether invited or not. She'd given Sara a number to reach her at, but they'd been working together so much that it was hardly needed.
Sara wasn't sure how she felt about that. She was used to handling things like this alone, and when it came time to recover the painting, Sara wanted to do it alone. Alex would be recognized at the club, and Sara didn't know if she wanted her around in case she decided to sneak away with The Watchers. Sara was always a little careful what she said when she and Alex met. She didn't want to give Alex enough information to steal the painting on her own. Alex could probably do it regardless, if she wanted. But Sara wasn't willing to be her patsy.
But there was no way around it-she needed Alex's help. And having Alex around wasn't so bad.
When she managed to get ahold of a set of blueprints for the club, she called Alex to help her figure them out.
"This is Boris' office," Alex said, tapping a pen against one of the room outlines. "He keeps it locked."
"Electronic?"
"No. He uses a key."
Then Sara should be able to pick the lock. That would be simple.
Alex got up from her place at the dining room table and went into the kitchen to refill her wine glass. When she returned, she leaned on the back of Sara's chair.
Sara didn't move, but she turned her eyes to the side. All she could see was a lock of Alex's hair that was hanging down, and her hand holding the wine glass. The closeness made her back tingle.
"Why did you come to me?" Sara said, softly.
"I told you. I want to take this guy down. And we have similar goals."
Alex's free hand brushed against Sara's shoulder.
"When it comes to some things," Sara said, "I believe in being to-the-point. Are you flirting with me?"
Alex broke off the contact and stepped away.
"You found out I'm interested in women, and now you want to know if I'm interested in you."
Sara swallowed. She hadn't meant it like that, but in a way it was true. She never would have considered the possibility if she hadn't come across Alex looking for women in the pub the other night. "You've been coming over to my home," Sara said. "We could be meeting anywhere. It's made me wonder."
Maybe she shouldn't have said anything.
Alex returned to her seat. She was smiling. "I may have looked at your ass a couple times, but I don't flirt with straight women."
Sara looked down at the blueprints. "I see," she said with a small smile. "You're certain I'm straight?"
A brief look of doubt passed Alex's face before she said, "Yeah. But it doesn't matter-as soon as I get that painting back from Boris, I'm out of here. I already delayed my departure. I was supposed to be on a plane yesterday."
"You do realize the painting has to go back to the owner, right?"
"Yeah," Alex said. "I'm not stupid. Now come on, let's finish these plans."
* * *
The trouble was, the nightclub was occupied nearly all the time. And Boris literally lived there, in a suite off his office on the second floor.
Alex was confident that he still had the painting, and taking their time might be advantageous. If Boris was as stupid as she thought, he probably believed that their earlier confrontation had sent her running with her tail between her legs. With luck, he wouldn't be expecting any trouble now.
Alex still wanted to move fast, though, not least of all because of Sara. Alex wasn't convinced that Sara wouldn't try to recover the painting without her.
Still, while Sara hadn't done much that Alex couldn't have managed on her own, her help saved crucial time. It was Sara who managed to find out that Boris went to the barber on the first Wednesday of every month, which happened to be only two days away. There was no guarantee the club would be empty, but they could be nearly certain Boris wouldn't be around.
Of course, it was possible that Sara was lying to her. Maybe she planned to steal back the painting earlier, on her own. Alex tried to prevent any issues by sticking as close to Sara as she could.
Sara seemed to interpret Alex's caution as flirting. Alex didn't know what to make of that.
She'd be lying if she said she didn't find Sara attractive. But Alex wasn't one to let attraction get in the way of business or common sense. She met a lot of attractive men and women.
Besides, she was almost certain Sara was straight, and Alex had been around enough to know that that path only led to heartbreak.
But now that Sara had brought up the topic of flirting, it was hard not to think about it. Was Alex getting too intimate? Did she sit too close to Sara when they talked on the sofa? And she had to admit that Sara was good company. For the past few nights, they'd talked for hours before Alex went back to her hotel.
It was better that she'd be leaving the country soon.
Two days before their planned heist (which Sara called a recovery), they met at Sara's place to finalize the details.
"I'll pick the lock to the office while you-" Sara was saying.
"No," Alex said. "You've never been in there. I can find the painting faster."
Sara looked skeptical.
"I'm not going to run off with it, okay?" Alex said. "You need to be available to provide a distraction. They haven't seen you there." When Sara still didn't respond, Alex said, "Look, you only know where the painting is because of me. If you're not going to trust me, it can't happen."
Slowly, Sara nodded. "All right. But I want the painting as soon as we're out. That's the deal."
"Hey," Alex said, spreading her arms, "I don't care about the painting anymore. I just want to send a message."
That wasn't completely true, and she knew Sara probably knew it. But it would have to be good enough.
Sara was on her laptop. Looking up, she said, "How dangerous are these men, exactly? You said Boris keeps bodyguards around. Do you know anything more?"
"He's not known for killing people, if that's what you're worried about. But I don't trust his temper." She sat back in her chair. "Why? Are you getting cold feet?"
"No," Sara said calmly. "It's about time I made some enemies in London."
Alex snorted. "I usually like to avoid my enemies."
Sara's gaze returned the computer screen, but she didn't seem to be paying attention to it. Softly, she said, "I don’t believe running really helps anything."
"If I could," Alex said with a sigh, "I'd finish with all this now. Settle down. Retire young."
"Then why don't you?"
"I have expensive and selective tastes."
Sara ran a hand through her hair. She switched off her laptop and closed it, pushing it toward the middle of the table. "I always thought I wanted to move up. But six months of this job, and I'm not so sure. I don't think spending all day behind a desk and in meeting is for me."
"I dunno. Doesn't sound so bad."
"I like this. I like staying busy."
Alex smirked. "You like the adrenaline. Trust me-I've known enough thieves to recognize it."
"I'm not a thief," Sara said with a smile.
"Close enough. You're the vaguely legal version of a thief. Different, but basically the same."
To her surprise, Sara didn't argue. She didn't look offended. Maybe she was more self-aware than Alex was giving her credit for.
Sara got up, and Alex thought she was heading for the kitchen. Instead, Sara stopped by Alex's chair. Bending down, she kissed Alex on the side of her mouth.
When she pulled back, there was vulnerability in her eyes that Alex hadn't seen before. She seemed to wait for a reaction.
"What was that for?" Alex asked.
"Like you said-I like adrenaline. That means taking risks." She took a deep breath. "If you're really not interested, tell me."
"I never said I wasn't interested. I said I don't flirt with straight women."
Sara leaned against the table. "Well, I'm flirting with you now. Besides, I never said I was straight. What if I said you weren't the first woman I've kissed?"
Alex stood up. "Then I think you can give me more than a little peck."
Sara stepped closer and kissed her again, this time fully on the lips. She was pressed against Alex, and Alex could feel the heat of her body.
She wanted to ask why. Not because she had any trouble accepting the attention of a woman she found beautiful, or because she believed things like this couldn't happen, but because she couldn't escape the idea that there might be an angle. Because she'd learned her lesson about mixing pleasure and business with Neal.
But Sara wasn't Neal, despite sharing his love of the chase. As Sara pressed her lips against hers, Alex couldn't help but think that maybe this was okay. If there was one thing she trusted about Sara, it was that she wasn't the type to use sex to double-cross someone. Whatever this was, whatever it meant, Alex wanted to believe it was genuine.
Sara broke off the kiss and put her chin on Alex's shoulder. "Stay tonight," she said.
* * *
Sara felt giddy. Kissing Alex, inviting her to stay the night-it felt unreal, but it also felt like the type of thing that was supposed to happen. It'd been too long since Sara indulged herself or pursued anyone.
She took Alex's hand and led her to the bedroom. She slipped off her shoes, unzipped her dress, and lay back on the bed and watched while Alex peeled off her shirt.
Sara's heart was pounding. She'd been truthful about kissing women before, but she didn't want to say anything more at the risk of overstating her experience. She sensed that Alex liked experience. She probably found it comforting. Reliable.
Alex took off her pants and boots and joined Sara on the bed. She wasn't wearing a bra, and Sara tentatively reached out and touched one of her breasts. She brushed her thumb over the hard nipple, and Alex shivered.
Alex helped her shimmy out of her dress. The sheets were cool under Sara's back. Alex brushed Sara's hair out of the way and kissed her neck and earlobe.
"I was flirting, by the way," she whispered into Sara's ear. "I always thought you were hot."
Sara smiled.
Alex tugged on the waist of Sara's panties and pulled them down her legs. Sara kicked them off onto the floor.
Kneeling between Sara's spread knees, Alex said, "You sure you're up for this?"
Sara nodded.
Alex started with her hand. She rubbed two fingers lightly over Sara's clit. Sara closed her eyes. She could feel her heart begin to pound.
When she felt Alex's tongue in her slit, she arched her back and gasped. She felt around until she found Alex's head, and gently stroked her hair.
"Oh my god...."
"You like it?"
Sara chuckled. "Yes, I like it. Don't stop."
She clenched her fists in the sheets and pressed her head into the pillows.
If she'd known Alex was interested, would they have done this sooner? She doubted it. New York had been a different life. She would have felt like she was betraying Neal, even when she wasn't with him. But here, it was just her and Alex.
She let out a small cry as she came. When Alex didn't stop immediately, Sara gently pulled back. Her clit was on the verge of overstimulation, and she needed a break. Her chest was pounding and her hair was damp with sweat.
Alex sat up. She inched over on her knees and plopped down beside Sara.
"Was it good?" Alex asked.
"Yeah," Sara said with a smile. "But we're not done. You haven't had your turn...."
Alex bit her lip. She straddled Sara's lap and gave her a kiss. Sara could just taste her own wetness on Alex's lips.
Slowly, Sara pulled Alex's underwear down her thighs. She ran her hand over the light patch of hair and slipped her fingers into Alex's slit. Alex let out a breathy chuckle.
"If you lie down, I'll return the favor," Sara said.
Alex moaned and shook her head. "I like this. Keep doing it. I want to be kissing you when I come."
Alex slipped her tongue into Sara's mouth. Sara kept stroking, now focusing her attention on Alex's clit. Alex rubbed against Sara's hand.
Sara's fingers began to grow tired, but she didn't stop until she felt Alex's muscles tense. Alex squeezed Sara's shoulders and took a sharp, pleasured breath.
Afterward, Alex hitched up her underwear and tumbled back onto the bed. Her hair was mussed, but she didn't bother to fix it.
Sara sat back to catch her breath. Alex ran her finger up and down Sara's bare thigh.
"You're right," Sara said. "About me. I like the thrill of the chase. It's terrible, but I'm glad you stole that painting. But I'm happier you came to me. Believe it or not, I didn't want to go after you."
"Good, because I really don't like being chased." She kissed Sara's stomach. "If you're tired, I can go back to the hotel."
"You don't have to go," Sara said. "Stay here for a while."
Alex was beside her when she went to sleep. When she woke the next morning, the bed was empty and an origami crane sat on the nightstand.
* * *
On the day of their heist, there were no cars near the nightclub. That was a good sign.
Sara stayed behind in her car. Alex grabbed her bag and made her way across the street.
There was a second-story window that wasn't secured. Sara had discovered it a few days ago. It wasn't difficult for Alex to pry it open and get inside.
The real risk was getting caught once she was in. But there was no sign of anyone else in the building.
She knew the way to Boris' office by memory. She pulled her lock pick set out of her bag and got to work. It was a good lock, but she was better. But when she looked at her watch, she realized that she was already a couple minutes behind on their schedule. She needed to find the painting fast.
There was a small but real chance that the painting wasn't even in Boris' office. In that case, she would have to search his living space, and maybe even the rest of the club. That might take too much time.
There weren't many obvious hiding places, but there was a safe in the wall. Alex knew about the safe. She'd seen it briefly when she was in here before, and that gave her an advantage.
Still, safecracking took time, even with the electronic gadget she'd brought. By the time she got it open, she was another minute behind schedule.
But it was worth it when she looked inside the safe. Leaning against the side was The Watchers.
Alex took a second to revel in her discovery, and then grabbed the painting. She carefully put it in her bag, and then closed the safe. With luck, no one would notice the pried-open window for a while, and Boris would think the painting was still in the safe.
She was getting ready to leave when she heard a noise in the hall. Alex froze.
She'd had the foresight to close the office door behind her, but there wasn't anywhere to hide in here. She quietly made her way to the door that led to Boris' suite, and it was predictably locked. She could pick it, but it'd take time.
She hoped whoever she'd heard was someone who didn't have any reason to go into Boris' office. When she didn't hear anything more after a few minutes, she slowly opened the door and peeked out. The coast was clear.
Now, she had to get out. And she had a decision to make. If she returned to Sara, she would need to give up the painting. She wouldn't be any worse off than she was before, but she'd still be out of a profit. On the other hand, she could go her own way. She'd call Sara, just as a courtesy so she'd know she was okay. And then she'd disappear and find a buyer for The Watchers before Sara could track her.
It wasn't nice, but Sara wouldn't be surprised.
Alex had just reached the window when she heard more noises. This time, it was voices, and it was coming from downstairs.
One of the voices sounded angry. She heard a man yelling, but couldn't make out what he was saying.
The other voice sounded like Sara. Alex felt a sudden chill.
She looked at her watch. She was six minutes behind schedule. Sara was supposed to wait until she was ten minutes late before providing back-up.
Alex turned around and hurried toward the stairs. There was a balcony that overlooked the first floor. She carefully made her way close enough to look over the edge.
Sara was standing by the bar, holding her baton. Standing across from her was Boris. Alex could only see the top of his head, but she recognized him immediately.
"You need to leave," Boris said. "You're trespassing."
"And you have stolen property on the premise. The police will be here in a few minutes. If you give the painting to me before that happens, it can go back to its owner immediately, and you won't go to prison for possession of stolen property. I think that's more than fair."
"You called the police? Stupid. If you'd come to me like a civilized person, maybe I would have sold this painting to you. Assuming I have it."
Sara's eyes glanced upward. It was only for a second, but Alex knew she'd seen her.
Then, Alex saw a glint of something metallic in Boris' hand. He had a gun.
"How did you find me here?" Boris asked. "I have no connection to this painting you're looking for."
"She must have followed me," Alex called out. "It seems I'm the prime suspect."
Boris spun around and looked up. His gun was aimed uncomfortably close to Alex, but it didn't matter-Sara swung her baton at his head and he fell down in a heap.
Alex ran down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, Boris was groaning on the floor. His gun had been knocked out of his hand, and Alex stooped down and picked it up.
Boris lifted his head and squinted at him.
"What is this? You're trying to kill me!"
"No," Alex said, "I'm getting the painting back. Good luck hiring someone to steal for you again."
Sara touched her arm and said, "Tell me you have it."
Alex patted her bag. "Got it."
"Let's get out of here before he recovers."
With a final look at Boris, Alex followed Sara out the front door. They ran across the street to Sara's car and got in. Sara sped off, and Alex sat back in the passenger seat, trying to catch her breath. Her chest was pounding.
It wasn't until they were a couple miles away that Alex spoke.
"What were you doing in there?"
Sara glanced at her. "You were six minutes late. And I saw him go in."
"Did you really call the police?"
"No. But he didn't know that."
Now that they had a safe amount of distance between them and the club, Sara drove at a more relaxed pace.
"By the way," Sara said, "thanks for that, back there."
"What would you have done if I didn't distract him?"
"I'm sure I would've figured something out."
Alex didn't doubt it. She smiled, not out of amusement but out of giddy relief to have the day over with.
* * *
The Watchers was perched against the bedroom wall. It almost looked better in the dim light. Sara lay back and admired it.
"It really is a beautiful piece," Alex said. "It'll be a shame to give it up."
"Last week, you were willing to sell it."
"I guess it has some sentimental value now."
"That's one way of putting it." Sara turned onto her back and looked at Alex. "You realize it does need to go back to Jack Bird, right?"
"I wouldn't say it needs to, but that was the agreement."
"Mm-hm."
"I booked a flight for next week," Alex said. "I'm assuming I won't have any problems leaving the country due to being the prime suspect in a crime."
"I'm treating you as an anonymous source. My boss doesn't care how I found the painting. Our client will be happy, and we won't have to pay out. That's all that matters." She ran a finger down Alex's arm. "You don't have to leave so soon, you know."
Alex grinned. "Why? You want me to stick around?"
"It just seems like a shame we won't have more time to get to know each other."
Alex pulled the covers around her. "Well, I am in London for another five days. Besides, you could always come see me. Get away from your desk for a while. I may not be a thrill-seeker, but I obviously attract a fair amount of drama. I don't think you'd be bored."
Sara laughed, and then yawned. Her eyes were getting heavy.
"Sure, maybe....Just promise me the painting will still be here when I wake up."
Alex pressed her forehead against hers. "Relax. It'll be here."
"What about you?"
Alex didn't answer. Instead, she wrapped her arm around Sara and kissed her.
Sara fell asleep to the sound of Alex breathing beside her.
This entry was originally posted at http://citrinesunset.dreamwidth.org/98269.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Alex/Sara
Rating: R/Mature (sex, mild violence)
Word count: 8429
Summary: Alex's efforts to make some easy money in London don't go as planned. When Sara connects an art theft to Alex, she doesn't know if it'll make recovering the painting easier or harder.
Notes: Written for wcpairings, for lionessvalenti. I used the following prompt for inspiration: In England, Sara recognizes some work as Alex's and takes the case herself. Sexy complications ensue. Doesn't need a classic happy ending. Mutual satisfaction is also good.
Most conmen didn't know what they wanted. They liked to talk about retirement on a private island or in a country without an extradition agreement. But few ever did it, even if they managed to avoid winding up dead or in prison. No, when it came down to it, they were never satisfied. They liked the thrill too much.
Alex was a little more pragmatic. She was a businesswoman. She had her weaknesses, and she liked to make her work fun, but day to day, she liked to focus on making money and keeping her ass safe and out of jail.
The adrenaline rush of a con or heist, the rush that kept men like Neal Caffrey in the business for years, did little for her. She'd retire someday, when she could surround herself with beautiful things without stealing them.
But for now, she had finite funds. This was how she found herself in London, sneaking into the apartment of an aging British rock star who liked early twentieth-century art.
She almost hadn't taken the job. She could pull it off as well as anyone, but she preferred to play the middleman. She had to be at least a little desperate to steal something herself. But despite her target's high profile, the job was easy money. She just had to go in, grab a particular painting by an artist whose work was quickly gaining value, and get out. Her employer, a Russian named Boris who had a reputation as a frequent buyer, was meeting her tomorrow for the trade-off.
Getting into the building wasn't hard. She'd been casing it for a week, and she knew that her mark would be at a recording session until late tonight. Earlier, she'd watched from across the street as he walked out of the building at got into the back seat of a car. She'd stayed a safe distance away, in a spot that didn't seem to be in direct view of any CCTV cameras. All the cameras in London made working there a pain in the ass.
Now, a few minutes after seven, she sauntered into the building through the large front doors.
She wore a floppy, wide-brimmed hat and a pair of sunglasses. Not too suspicious at first glance, but enough to help obscure her face on the security cameras in the lobby. At least, that was the plan. She smiled at the doorman as she waltzed past him.
The upstairs hallway was quiet. She picked her way into the dark apartment. The alarm started beeping and she turned it off using a code she'd managed to obtain during her reconnaissance.
The furnishing inside was sparse and modern. She'd never been inside a rock star's apartment before, and to her disappointment, this one was underwhelming. Of course, Jack Bird hadn't come out with a decent album in over a decade, and had outgrown his wild rocker phase back in the eighties. Aside from the gloriously valuable art on the walls and the view of the London cityscape outside the plate glass living room window, there wasn't much to show that this was the apartment of someone with money to spend. On the walls, alongside the paintings, there were pictures of Jack with various singers and actors, and framed records. Alex ignored those and went in search of her target.
The painting wasn't hard to find. The Watchers by Claude Fischer hung in the bedroom. It was a dark painting with feathery brushstrokes. It depicted two women standing on the shore of a lake, one of them shielding her eyes from the sun. Alex carefully removed it from the frame. It was a small painting and, as planned, it fit in the oversized purse she'd brought. Maybe the purse looked a little boxier, but if the doorman noticed, it wouldn’t mean anything to him except in retrospect. By the time anyone made a connection between her and the theft (if they made a connection), she'd have her money and be long gone.
She walked out the building the way she came. As she reached the door, the doorman nodded and said, "Good night."
She gave him a broad smiled and waved goodbye.
* * *
Alex didn't sleep well that night. The job wouldn't be over until she got paid.
She got up early the next morning after only a few fitful hours of sleep. She thought about ordering room service-this hotel had the most scrumptious menu, and she was starving. But she wanted to avoid drawing too much attention to herself, and that meant not making herself too memorable to the hotel staff.
Instead, she left early and picked up a croissant on her way to the park. She carried the painting in a paper shopping bag, covered with tissue paper. It wasn't the most secure way of transporting it, but it was inconspicuous. No one looked twice at her.
She'd found the meeting place park a few days earlier, and now she knew her way around. She found the right landmark, a fountain adorned with cherub statues. She found an empty bench and sat down. She set the bag with the painting beside her, but kept her hand on it.
Boris would meet her at nine-thirty. He would take the bag with the painting, and she would take the cash. Boris had insisted on using cash. It wasn't ideal; she would have preferred a direct transfer into her account. But Alex could work with it.
At nine-thirty on the dot, Boris showed up, followed by one of the silent, frowning "assistants" he always had with him. Boris took a seat beside Alex on the bench, and the glorified goon stayed by the fountain with his hands folded in front of him.
"You have what I want?" Boris asked. His voice was deep and raspy, and Alex imagined he smoked a lot. He was sweating in the summer heat, and undid another button on his collar as he caught his breath. Sweat dotted his hairline, highlighting a scar across his temple that was barely obscured by his close-clipped hair.
"Right here," Alex said, patting the shopping bag. "And you have something for me?"
Boris handed her a plain black shopping bag. Inside were two shoeboxes. Alex cracked open the lids and saw four neat stacks of cash in each one. She quickly thumbed through the stacks and, satisfied that they were all high-denomination bills, closed the shoebox. She handed Boris the painting.
"It was a pleasure doing business with you. Let me know if you ever need my services again."
She got up and headed for the direction of the park entrance.
* * *
Sometimes, Sara missed working recovery. Technically, she hadn't stopped, but these days all her work took place behind a desk. It was the people under her who handled the dirty work.
But when a painting was stolen from Jack Bird's home, her boss put the file on her desk.
Mr. Phelps kept swallowing, which was a sign his indigestion was acting up again. That meant he was under stress. Adjusting his glasses, he said, "I know I don’t need to tell you what an important client Mr. Bird is. We need to show him that we take this theft very seriously. That means you need to handle this personally. Assure him that you'll do whatever it takes."
Sara opened the file and thumbed through the pages. "The painting is a Claude Fischer from 1916. One of his later works."
"No one realized The Watchers was a Fischer until Bird had it authenticated five years ago. As you can imagine, the value is incredible."
Sara looked up at her boss. "I have other cases...."
"They can wait. Focus on this."
She tried not to look too happy.
* * *
During the drive to Jack Bird's flat, Sara couldn't help but smile and drum her fingers on the steering wheel. It was good to be back in her element for a change. When she'd accepted the London position, she hadn't considered whether she would like spending most of her days in the office. It was ostensibly better for her-her new job was a promotion, and there was significantly less chance of getting killed by an angry thief. But she missed the process of hands-on investigation.
In another life, maybe she would have enjoyed being a detective. Of course, detectives had to worry about things like warrants and reasonable cause. In her work, procedure didn't matter as much as results.
The police were gone by the time Sara got to Jack Bird's flat. He looked thinner in person, and his shaggy, graying hair was uncombed.
Sara shook his hand, saying, "Sara Ellis, Sterling Bosch. I believe Mr. Phelps told you I'd be here."
"Yeah," Jack said with a sigh. "Come on in. Don't think you'll find anything the police didn't."
The apartment was clean and uncluttered, with no sign of disarray. Whoever had broken in clearly knew what they wanted and where to find it. Jack walked over to a mini-bar and poured himself some scotch.
"You want a drink?"
"No, thank you. I would like to look at where the painting was, if that's okay."
"Go right ahead. The bedroom is the first door on the right."
Sara left Jack in the living room and followed his directions. Aside from the twisted sheets on the bed, the bedroom was pristine like the rest of the place. There was a bare spot on the wall, with a faint rectangle where the painting had hung. The empty frame sat on the floor, leaning against the wall.
When she rejoined Jack, he was sitting on the sofa with his drink. He'd slipped off his sandals and crossed his legs.
"How many people knew you had The Watchers?" she asked him.
Jack shrugged. "Wasn't exactly a secret. I guess anyone could've traced it to me."
"There was no sign of a break-in when you got home?"
"Nope. I got home at two AM and didn't see anything until I was ready to collapse into bed. 'Course, I'd had a few drinks." He motioned to one of the chairs across from him. "Have a seat."
Sara sat down. "Can you think of anyone who may have wanted to take it? Did you receive any offers from anyone recently?"
"Not recently. I get offers for my pieces occasionally. But people have learned by now that I won't sell. I'm leasing Mother and Child to a museum in Canada, though. You're familiar with that piece?"
"One of Fischer's early pieces. You purchased it before many people remembered who Fischer was. In fact, a lot of people credit you with helping bring proper recognition to Fischer's work."
Jack smiled. "Despite what you may have heard, I'm not an art aficionado, Miss Ellis. I'm a musician, not a painter. But I find Fischer's style...darkly enchanting. I like his work. That it's gained value...." He shrugged. "I guess I'm just lucky."
"Or unlucky, in this case. Are there any surveillance cameras in this building?"
"Only downstairs. The police looked at the footage earlier, but I guess they didn't see anything compelling."
"I'll take a look before I go."
She reached into her purse and pulled out her business card case. She handed a card to Jack.
"Give me a call if you think of anything that might be helpful."
After leaving Jack behind, she went downstairs to talk to the building's security people. Truthfully, she wasn't expecting to get any more out of the video footage than the police. But if she gained access to the CCTV footage outside as well, maybe she could compare the two and make a connection. The police might make their own connection. But the police had other cases to worry about. Right now, this was the only thing on her plate. Phelps had basically given her permission to forget about everything else until she either found The Watchers or the painting disappeared into the black market.
She had no idea how much time she had before that happened. But there was a good chance that whoever stole the painting hadn't sold it yet.
When she went to see the building's security guard, the man listened to her spiel and nodded. He said, "I can give you a copy of the footage, if it'll help."
"That would be great," Sara said. It was hard not to keep the surprise out of her voice.
"I already did this for the police," the guard explained. "I'm not sure if I'm supposed to give it to anyone else, but...."
"I promise not to say anything," Sara said with a small smile.
Sara went home with a DVD of lobby surveillance footage from between four PM and two AM the previous day.
When she got in, she changed into her pajamas and settled into bed with her laptop. She might as well be comfortable.
Even with speeding up the DVD, it was an arduous task. Sara's vision grew blurry from the strain, and she knew if she gave in to the temptation of resting her head, she would be asleep in minutes. There was no way she'd make it to the end of the footage tonight.
She was about to call it a night when she saw it. The time stamp showed that it was seven-fifteen, and there was a woman exiting the lobby. Sara recalled seeing her back when she'd entered a few minutes earlier.
Alex had clearly tried to disguise herself subtly. The police might not even differentiate her from the other people coming and going in the same time frame. But Sara knew exactly who she was looking at.
Her eyes no longer felt heavy. Sara paused the footage and got out of bed. She walked to the kitchen to get a drink of water, and ended up pacing with the glass in her hand.
She never imagined she would find the thief so easily.
Still, she realized this might not make things any easier. Alex wasn't her friend, but she was Neal's friend. Did that matter?
It wasn't like Sara intended to take this information to the police. Not just yet. No, she would hunt Alex down and talk to her. And maybe since they knew each other, she could appeal to Alex to return the painting.
She briefly considered calling Neal, but realized she didn't have any reason in mind for doing so. What did she expect Neal to do? Was he even in contact with Alex? But even more, she didn't know if she could justify calling him when she knew what he was dealing with right now. She didn't feel right calling him about her case when he was dealing with so much with his father....
No, she would find Alex, and The Watchers, on her own.
* * *
Two days later, Alex was in a pub, sharing a drink with a local woman.
Alex was scheduled to leave London in three days. In the meantime, there was no sign of her face on the news, and she intended to enjoy herself.
The woman sitting next to her, Cherise, had choppy blonde hair and a small, round mouth that Alex was thinking about kissing.
Cherise was laughing at something Alex had said. She playfully touched Alex's arm and let her hand linger from a moment before pulling it away. Alex took it as a good sign.
Leaning forward, Alex said, "If you want to get out of here-"
"Hello, Alex."
The voice came from behind her. Turning around on her stool, she saw Sara Ellis standing there.
Alex smiled. "Sara, isn't it? Imagine running into you here."
"We need to talk."
Cherise picked up her drink and stood up. "I should be going. Thanks for the drink!"
Before Alex could stop her, Cherise was gone. Sara took her abandoned stool and leaned on the bar.
"Seemed like a nice girl," Sara said. "Potential mark?"
"Actually, I was trying to pick her up. And now she probably thinks you're my girlfriend. Thanks."
Sara looked a little surprised at that, but didn't dwell on it.
"So," Alex said, "what brings you to London?"
"I live here now. And I'm here tonight because of The Watchers."
Alex shook her head. "And what would that be?"
"That would be the painting you stole a couple nights ago. I have you on tape leaving the building."
"So, you have proof I was in the building? That's it?"
"I know you have it."
"Actually, no, I don't."
"Then you know who does. And I'm going to find it, with or without your cooperation."
Alex downed the rest of her drink and set the empty glass on the bar. "Sorry, can't help you there. How'd you find me, anyway?"
"I followed you from your hotel."
Alex didn't bother asking how Sara had found her hotel.
Getting up, she said, "Well, I don't know where your painting is. So I'm afraid you wasted your time."
She walked out without waiting for a response, and didn't stop hiding her nerves until she was a few blocks away and confident she wasn't being followed.
This could complicate things. She considered leaving the UK early. It wasn't like Sara had any proof, but she couldn't risk things escalating.
She made up her mind. Tomorrow, she would buy herself discreet and fast transportation out of the country.
* * *
"Seriously? Are you kidding me?"
"I'm not. All these bills are counterfeit."
Alex ran a hand through her hair. "How do you know that? Have you looked at all of them?"
Marcus cocked his head. "Trust me, they're counterfeit."
Alex started to pace. She was in the back room of a shop, visiting a contact of hers, Marcus. She'd intended to buy his help getting the cash out of the country discreetly.
Taking a deep breath, she said, "Okay. So, how big of a problem is this?"
Marcus frowned, and she knew it wasn't good news.
"Some bills like these surfaced a couple weeks ago. This batch is no good. Whoever gave you these was trying to get rid of them. There's nothing I can do."
She wanted to argue, but her gut told her Marcus was right. She should have known this job was too good to be true.
"That bastard...." she muttered under her breath.
Marcus crossed his arms. "What are you going to do?"
Alex started to collect the bills that were strewn on the table. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to back to that asshole and make him pay me."
With a sigh, Marcus said, "Just walk away from this one. Learn from it and move on. Look, I know about this Boris guy. A man who never goes out in public without a bodyguard isn't someone you want to mess with."
"I'm not going to learn anything. Boris is."
Marcus just shrugged.
She took her worthless money and left.
* * *
Boris worked out of a nightclub. It wasn't exactly a secret that the place was involved in some shady dealings. Alex had met Boris there when they negotiated the job.
She didn't like the idea of walking into his territory to confront him, but she couldn't wait.
There was no sign of him when she got there, so she waited at the bar and got a drink. It was still early, and the club was nearly empty. So she noticed immediately when Boris strode through the front door, speaking in Russian with two men in dark suits and ties.
Alex got up and walked over to him.
"You cheated me," she said. "I want my money."
One of Boris' companions said something in a questioning tone. Boris responded in Russian and motioned for the men to wait for him. They walked other side of the club and sat in a booth.
"I paid you the amount we agreed," Boris told her.
"In counterfeit bills. They're worthless."
"That isn't my problem."
"If you're not going to give me the money, then I want the painting."
"I'm afraid that's impossible. Now, I'm afraid I need to ask you to leave my club."
Alex didn't budge. She noticed that Boris' friends were watching the exchange. They were smiling and chuckling to each other.
When she didn't leave, Boris frowned. He grabbed Alex's arm in a tight grip. Alex suppressed a wince.
"I liked working with you. I suggest you don't ruin things now. Our work is done-I don't want to see you here again."
He steered her toward the entrance and let go. Her arm throbbed, and she could already feel the bruises forming.
She didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay and keep arguing until he gave her what she'd come for. But it was clear that embarrassing him in front of his colleagues wasn't going to be effective, and the pain in her arm suggested she needed to proceed carefully.
She stood outside the club for a few minutes before retreating.
She caught a taxi back to her hotel, and remained deep in thought during the drive. When she thought about how Boris had screwed her over, she could feel her blood pressure rise. Her head started to swim. She took a few deep breaths and tried to think things through.
The most realistic way to deal with this would be to tell everyone how Boris had double-crossed her. No self-respecting fence would ever work with him again. Boris would learn he wasn't the only one who had influence. She liked that idea, but it wasn't enough.
Then she remembered Sara.
It wouldn't be like going fed. Alex hadn't lost her sanity or her dignity. But Sara wasn't a cop. Insurance people could be just as big of crooks as anyone else when they wanted to be.
Alex had almost found it funny when Sterling Bosch started going after Neal for that damn Raphael of his. She'd thought it served him right for such a grandiose romantic gesture (and she was pretty sure Kate hadn't even appreciated it).
She would enjoy Boris being on the receiving end of that relentlessness much, much more.
* * *
Sara was cooking dinner when there was a knock on the door. She couldn't imagine who would be visiting her. She hadn't even talked to most of her neighbors.
With an irritated sigh, she covered the pot on the stove and hoped it wouldn't boil over while she was at the door. She set the spoon she was holding on a towel and went to answer it.
She wasn't expecting to see Alex when she looked through the peephole.
She unlocked the door and undid the chain. She opened it a crack and blocked the entrance with her body.
"What are you doing here? How did you find out where I live?"
"You have your sources, I have mine. I thought you wanted to talk about a stolen painting."
"I thought you said you couldn't help."
Alex shrugged. "Things changed. I think I have some information for you now. Are you going to let me in?"
Sara stepped aside and held open the door. Alex stepped inside and looked around, taking everything in. Sara couldn't help but feel like she was casing the place.
Alex was wearing a gray dress and knee-high boots. Her heels clicked on the wood floor as she walked.
"Something smells good," Alex said.
"That would be my dinner. If you'll excuse me, I have a pot on the stove."
Sara was glad that the living room was visible from the kitchen. She wasn't entirely convinced that Alex was being truthful. She was withholding judgment until she found out what "information" Alex had. Sara tried to keep an eye on her while she stirred the pasta.
When she returned to the living room, Alex was sitting on the sofa with her arms spread out along the back.
"Your information had better be good," Sara said.
"I know who has the painting. His name is Boris Petrov. But be careful-he's not cooperative."
"How do you know this?"
Alex shrugged. "Let's say he might have hired someone to steal the painting for him."
There was a chair facing the sofa, and Sara perched on the arm. "We both know it was you. Why the change of heart?"
"The money he gave me was counterfeit."
That explained it. Sara didn't believe for a second that Alex had come to her in remorse. That didn't bother her. She was glad Alex had been honest, assuming the story was true.
"Dinner's almost ready," Sara said. "Why don't you join me? We can discuss this more."
"Well, I wouldn't want to impose...."
"You figured out where I lived. I don't think you're worried about imposing."
Having Alex over for dinner was the last thing Sara had planned for this evening. But it was less unwelcome than she might have expected. It wasn't so bad to have a guest, and if Alex was willing to help her get the painting back, Sara was willing to play host for a while.
Sara had been in London for almost six months, and she still didn't know many people outside of work. Then again, it had been the same in New York. It was easy to see how her work cut into developing ties. But before, she'd at least known more people. She had connections. She got invited to parties and gallery openings. Here, she was starting from scratch, and there was little sign of any burgeoning workplace friendships. She didn't mind. There was little less appealing to her than going out to a pub with people from work. But she still got lonesome eating dinner after dinner on her own, and if nothing else, she and Alex had things in common to talk about.
Alex told her about the theft, but there wasn't much to the story beside what she'd already said. She gave Sara more background on Boris, but said little about her own role in things. Sara wondered if Alex was leaving much out.
"Do you think Boris will sell the painting?" Sara asked.
"I don't think so. It seemed like he wanted it for his own collection."
"So, he's probably keeping it somewhere personal."
"I'm guessing the nightclub," Alex said.
If Boris intended to keep the painting, that bought Sara a little time. Of course, it was always possible Alex was lying to her. That was something Sara had to keep in mind.
When Alex had finished talking about the painting, the conversation faltered. Alex looked down at her plate and absently twirled some spaghetti around her fork.
"So," she said after a minute, "you and Neal....I take it you guys are 'off' right now."
Sara sipped her wine. "At the moment, yes."
"Smart."
Sara didn't ask for clarification of what Alex meant by that.
After dinner, they went into the living room. Sara expected Alex to go at any minute. After all, this wasn't supposed to be a social visit. But Alex accepted an offer of another glass of wine and joined Sara on the sofa.
"You know," Alex said with a smile, "speaking of Neal, you weren't the only one going after that Raphael he took. After he went to prison, I tried so hard to get his girlfriend to sell it to me." Alex shrugged. "She kept saying she didn't know what I was talking about. Which was bullshit, but what can you do?"
"If you'd succeeded, maybe I would've ended up going after you."
"For the better, then. I don't like being chased. Neal, on the other hand, enjoys the ego boost."
"So, what, you enjoy the chasing?"
Alex shook her head. "No. I like getting what I want." She finished her wine and set the glass on the coffee table. "I need to go. Why don't I come back tomorrow evening? We can figure out how we're going to do this."
Sara set down her glass and stood up. She smoothed her skirt with her hands. "Sounds like a plan."
Alex smiled and left, leaving no sign of her presence except the lipstick mark on her wine glass.
* * *
Over the next few days, Sara and Alex worked on how to get into Boris' club.
Since Phelps had given Sara permission to devote herself to this case, she mostly stayed away from the office. She hadn't realized how much she missed working out in the field.
Alex came over each evening, whether invited or not. She'd given Sara a number to reach her at, but they'd been working together so much that it was hardly needed.
Sara wasn't sure how she felt about that. She was used to handling things like this alone, and when it came time to recover the painting, Sara wanted to do it alone. Alex would be recognized at the club, and Sara didn't know if she wanted her around in case she decided to sneak away with The Watchers. Sara was always a little careful what she said when she and Alex met. She didn't want to give Alex enough information to steal the painting on her own. Alex could probably do it regardless, if she wanted. But Sara wasn't willing to be her patsy.
But there was no way around it-she needed Alex's help. And having Alex around wasn't so bad.
When she managed to get ahold of a set of blueprints for the club, she called Alex to help her figure them out.
"This is Boris' office," Alex said, tapping a pen against one of the room outlines. "He keeps it locked."
"Electronic?"
"No. He uses a key."
Then Sara should be able to pick the lock. That would be simple.
Alex got up from her place at the dining room table and went into the kitchen to refill her wine glass. When she returned, she leaned on the back of Sara's chair.
Sara didn't move, but she turned her eyes to the side. All she could see was a lock of Alex's hair that was hanging down, and her hand holding the wine glass. The closeness made her back tingle.
"Why did you come to me?" Sara said, softly.
"I told you. I want to take this guy down. And we have similar goals."
Alex's free hand brushed against Sara's shoulder.
"When it comes to some things," Sara said, "I believe in being to-the-point. Are you flirting with me?"
Alex broke off the contact and stepped away.
"You found out I'm interested in women, and now you want to know if I'm interested in you."
Sara swallowed. She hadn't meant it like that, but in a way it was true. She never would have considered the possibility if she hadn't come across Alex looking for women in the pub the other night. "You've been coming over to my home," Sara said. "We could be meeting anywhere. It's made me wonder."
Maybe she shouldn't have said anything.
Alex returned to her seat. She was smiling. "I may have looked at your ass a couple times, but I don't flirt with straight women."
Sara looked down at the blueprints. "I see," she said with a small smile. "You're certain I'm straight?"
A brief look of doubt passed Alex's face before she said, "Yeah. But it doesn't matter-as soon as I get that painting back from Boris, I'm out of here. I already delayed my departure. I was supposed to be on a plane yesterday."
"You do realize the painting has to go back to the owner, right?"
"Yeah," Alex said. "I'm not stupid. Now come on, let's finish these plans."
* * *
The trouble was, the nightclub was occupied nearly all the time. And Boris literally lived there, in a suite off his office on the second floor.
Alex was confident that he still had the painting, and taking their time might be advantageous. If Boris was as stupid as she thought, he probably believed that their earlier confrontation had sent her running with her tail between her legs. With luck, he wouldn't be expecting any trouble now.
Alex still wanted to move fast, though, not least of all because of Sara. Alex wasn't convinced that Sara wouldn't try to recover the painting without her.
Still, while Sara hadn't done much that Alex couldn't have managed on her own, her help saved crucial time. It was Sara who managed to find out that Boris went to the barber on the first Wednesday of every month, which happened to be only two days away. There was no guarantee the club would be empty, but they could be nearly certain Boris wouldn't be around.
Of course, it was possible that Sara was lying to her. Maybe she planned to steal back the painting earlier, on her own. Alex tried to prevent any issues by sticking as close to Sara as she could.
Sara seemed to interpret Alex's caution as flirting. Alex didn't know what to make of that.
She'd be lying if she said she didn't find Sara attractive. But Alex wasn't one to let attraction get in the way of business or common sense. She met a lot of attractive men and women.
Besides, she was almost certain Sara was straight, and Alex had been around enough to know that that path only led to heartbreak.
But now that Sara had brought up the topic of flirting, it was hard not to think about it. Was Alex getting too intimate? Did she sit too close to Sara when they talked on the sofa? And she had to admit that Sara was good company. For the past few nights, they'd talked for hours before Alex went back to her hotel.
It was better that she'd be leaving the country soon.
Two days before their planned heist (which Sara called a recovery), they met at Sara's place to finalize the details.
"I'll pick the lock to the office while you-" Sara was saying.
"No," Alex said. "You've never been in there. I can find the painting faster."
Sara looked skeptical.
"I'm not going to run off with it, okay?" Alex said. "You need to be available to provide a distraction. They haven't seen you there." When Sara still didn't respond, Alex said, "Look, you only know where the painting is because of me. If you're not going to trust me, it can't happen."
Slowly, Sara nodded. "All right. But I want the painting as soon as we're out. That's the deal."
"Hey," Alex said, spreading her arms, "I don't care about the painting anymore. I just want to send a message."
That wasn't completely true, and she knew Sara probably knew it. But it would have to be good enough.
Sara was on her laptop. Looking up, she said, "How dangerous are these men, exactly? You said Boris keeps bodyguards around. Do you know anything more?"
"He's not known for killing people, if that's what you're worried about. But I don't trust his temper." She sat back in her chair. "Why? Are you getting cold feet?"
"No," Sara said calmly. "It's about time I made some enemies in London."
Alex snorted. "I usually like to avoid my enemies."
Sara's gaze returned the computer screen, but she didn't seem to be paying attention to it. Softly, she said, "I don’t believe running really helps anything."
"If I could," Alex said with a sigh, "I'd finish with all this now. Settle down. Retire young."
"Then why don't you?"
"I have expensive and selective tastes."
Sara ran a hand through her hair. She switched off her laptop and closed it, pushing it toward the middle of the table. "I always thought I wanted to move up. But six months of this job, and I'm not so sure. I don't think spending all day behind a desk and in meeting is for me."
"I dunno. Doesn't sound so bad."
"I like this. I like staying busy."
Alex smirked. "You like the adrenaline. Trust me-I've known enough thieves to recognize it."
"I'm not a thief," Sara said with a smile.
"Close enough. You're the vaguely legal version of a thief. Different, but basically the same."
To her surprise, Sara didn't argue. She didn't look offended. Maybe she was more self-aware than Alex was giving her credit for.
Sara got up, and Alex thought she was heading for the kitchen. Instead, Sara stopped by Alex's chair. Bending down, she kissed Alex on the side of her mouth.
When she pulled back, there was vulnerability in her eyes that Alex hadn't seen before. She seemed to wait for a reaction.
"What was that for?" Alex asked.
"Like you said-I like adrenaline. That means taking risks." She took a deep breath. "If you're really not interested, tell me."
"I never said I wasn't interested. I said I don't flirt with straight women."
Sara leaned against the table. "Well, I'm flirting with you now. Besides, I never said I was straight. What if I said you weren't the first woman I've kissed?"
Alex stood up. "Then I think you can give me more than a little peck."
Sara stepped closer and kissed her again, this time fully on the lips. She was pressed against Alex, and Alex could feel the heat of her body.
She wanted to ask why. Not because she had any trouble accepting the attention of a woman she found beautiful, or because she believed things like this couldn't happen, but because she couldn't escape the idea that there might be an angle. Because she'd learned her lesson about mixing pleasure and business with Neal.
But Sara wasn't Neal, despite sharing his love of the chase. As Sara pressed her lips against hers, Alex couldn't help but think that maybe this was okay. If there was one thing she trusted about Sara, it was that she wasn't the type to use sex to double-cross someone. Whatever this was, whatever it meant, Alex wanted to believe it was genuine.
Sara broke off the kiss and put her chin on Alex's shoulder. "Stay tonight," she said.
* * *
Sara felt giddy. Kissing Alex, inviting her to stay the night-it felt unreal, but it also felt like the type of thing that was supposed to happen. It'd been too long since Sara indulged herself or pursued anyone.
She took Alex's hand and led her to the bedroom. She slipped off her shoes, unzipped her dress, and lay back on the bed and watched while Alex peeled off her shirt.
Sara's heart was pounding. She'd been truthful about kissing women before, but she didn't want to say anything more at the risk of overstating her experience. She sensed that Alex liked experience. She probably found it comforting. Reliable.
Alex took off her pants and boots and joined Sara on the bed. She wasn't wearing a bra, and Sara tentatively reached out and touched one of her breasts. She brushed her thumb over the hard nipple, and Alex shivered.
Alex helped her shimmy out of her dress. The sheets were cool under Sara's back. Alex brushed Sara's hair out of the way and kissed her neck and earlobe.
"I was flirting, by the way," she whispered into Sara's ear. "I always thought you were hot."
Sara smiled.
Alex tugged on the waist of Sara's panties and pulled them down her legs. Sara kicked them off onto the floor.
Kneeling between Sara's spread knees, Alex said, "You sure you're up for this?"
Sara nodded.
Alex started with her hand. She rubbed two fingers lightly over Sara's clit. Sara closed her eyes. She could feel her heart begin to pound.
When she felt Alex's tongue in her slit, she arched her back and gasped. She felt around until she found Alex's head, and gently stroked her hair.
"Oh my god...."
"You like it?"
Sara chuckled. "Yes, I like it. Don't stop."
She clenched her fists in the sheets and pressed her head into the pillows.
If she'd known Alex was interested, would they have done this sooner? She doubted it. New York had been a different life. She would have felt like she was betraying Neal, even when she wasn't with him. But here, it was just her and Alex.
She let out a small cry as she came. When Alex didn't stop immediately, Sara gently pulled back. Her clit was on the verge of overstimulation, and she needed a break. Her chest was pounding and her hair was damp with sweat.
Alex sat up. She inched over on her knees and plopped down beside Sara.
"Was it good?" Alex asked.
"Yeah," Sara said with a smile. "But we're not done. You haven't had your turn...."
Alex bit her lip. She straddled Sara's lap and gave her a kiss. Sara could just taste her own wetness on Alex's lips.
Slowly, Sara pulled Alex's underwear down her thighs. She ran her hand over the light patch of hair and slipped her fingers into Alex's slit. Alex let out a breathy chuckle.
"If you lie down, I'll return the favor," Sara said.
Alex moaned and shook her head. "I like this. Keep doing it. I want to be kissing you when I come."
Alex slipped her tongue into Sara's mouth. Sara kept stroking, now focusing her attention on Alex's clit. Alex rubbed against Sara's hand.
Sara's fingers began to grow tired, but she didn't stop until she felt Alex's muscles tense. Alex squeezed Sara's shoulders and took a sharp, pleasured breath.
Afterward, Alex hitched up her underwear and tumbled back onto the bed. Her hair was mussed, but she didn't bother to fix it.
Sara sat back to catch her breath. Alex ran her finger up and down Sara's bare thigh.
"You're right," Sara said. "About me. I like the thrill of the chase. It's terrible, but I'm glad you stole that painting. But I'm happier you came to me. Believe it or not, I didn't want to go after you."
"Good, because I really don't like being chased." She kissed Sara's stomach. "If you're tired, I can go back to the hotel."
"You don't have to go," Sara said. "Stay here for a while."
Alex was beside her when she went to sleep. When she woke the next morning, the bed was empty and an origami crane sat on the nightstand.
* * *
On the day of their heist, there were no cars near the nightclub. That was a good sign.
Sara stayed behind in her car. Alex grabbed her bag and made her way across the street.
There was a second-story window that wasn't secured. Sara had discovered it a few days ago. It wasn't difficult for Alex to pry it open and get inside.
The real risk was getting caught once she was in. But there was no sign of anyone else in the building.
She knew the way to Boris' office by memory. She pulled her lock pick set out of her bag and got to work. It was a good lock, but she was better. But when she looked at her watch, she realized that she was already a couple minutes behind on their schedule. She needed to find the painting fast.
There was a small but real chance that the painting wasn't even in Boris' office. In that case, she would have to search his living space, and maybe even the rest of the club. That might take too much time.
There weren't many obvious hiding places, but there was a safe in the wall. Alex knew about the safe. She'd seen it briefly when she was in here before, and that gave her an advantage.
Still, safecracking took time, even with the electronic gadget she'd brought. By the time she got it open, she was another minute behind schedule.
But it was worth it when she looked inside the safe. Leaning against the side was The Watchers.
Alex took a second to revel in her discovery, and then grabbed the painting. She carefully put it in her bag, and then closed the safe. With luck, no one would notice the pried-open window for a while, and Boris would think the painting was still in the safe.
She was getting ready to leave when she heard a noise in the hall. Alex froze.
She'd had the foresight to close the office door behind her, but there wasn't anywhere to hide in here. She quietly made her way to the door that led to Boris' suite, and it was predictably locked. She could pick it, but it'd take time.
She hoped whoever she'd heard was someone who didn't have any reason to go into Boris' office. When she didn't hear anything more after a few minutes, she slowly opened the door and peeked out. The coast was clear.
Now, she had to get out. And she had a decision to make. If she returned to Sara, she would need to give up the painting. She wouldn't be any worse off than she was before, but she'd still be out of a profit. On the other hand, she could go her own way. She'd call Sara, just as a courtesy so she'd know she was okay. And then she'd disappear and find a buyer for The Watchers before Sara could track her.
It wasn't nice, but Sara wouldn't be surprised.
Alex had just reached the window when she heard more noises. This time, it was voices, and it was coming from downstairs.
One of the voices sounded angry. She heard a man yelling, but couldn't make out what he was saying.
The other voice sounded like Sara. Alex felt a sudden chill.
She looked at her watch. She was six minutes behind schedule. Sara was supposed to wait until she was ten minutes late before providing back-up.
Alex turned around and hurried toward the stairs. There was a balcony that overlooked the first floor. She carefully made her way close enough to look over the edge.
Sara was standing by the bar, holding her baton. Standing across from her was Boris. Alex could only see the top of his head, but she recognized him immediately.
"You need to leave," Boris said. "You're trespassing."
"And you have stolen property on the premise. The police will be here in a few minutes. If you give the painting to me before that happens, it can go back to its owner immediately, and you won't go to prison for possession of stolen property. I think that's more than fair."
"You called the police? Stupid. If you'd come to me like a civilized person, maybe I would have sold this painting to you. Assuming I have it."
Sara's eyes glanced upward. It was only for a second, but Alex knew she'd seen her.
Then, Alex saw a glint of something metallic in Boris' hand. He had a gun.
"How did you find me here?" Boris asked. "I have no connection to this painting you're looking for."
"She must have followed me," Alex called out. "It seems I'm the prime suspect."
Boris spun around and looked up. His gun was aimed uncomfortably close to Alex, but it didn't matter-Sara swung her baton at his head and he fell down in a heap.
Alex ran down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, Boris was groaning on the floor. His gun had been knocked out of his hand, and Alex stooped down and picked it up.
Boris lifted his head and squinted at him.
"What is this? You're trying to kill me!"
"No," Alex said, "I'm getting the painting back. Good luck hiring someone to steal for you again."
Sara touched her arm and said, "Tell me you have it."
Alex patted her bag. "Got it."
"Let's get out of here before he recovers."
With a final look at Boris, Alex followed Sara out the front door. They ran across the street to Sara's car and got in. Sara sped off, and Alex sat back in the passenger seat, trying to catch her breath. Her chest was pounding.
It wasn't until they were a couple miles away that Alex spoke.
"What were you doing in there?"
Sara glanced at her. "You were six minutes late. And I saw him go in."
"Did you really call the police?"
"No. But he didn't know that."
Now that they had a safe amount of distance between them and the club, Sara drove at a more relaxed pace.
"By the way," Sara said, "thanks for that, back there."
"What would you have done if I didn't distract him?"
"I'm sure I would've figured something out."
Alex didn't doubt it. She smiled, not out of amusement but out of giddy relief to have the day over with.
* * *
The Watchers was perched against the bedroom wall. It almost looked better in the dim light. Sara lay back and admired it.
"It really is a beautiful piece," Alex said. "It'll be a shame to give it up."
"Last week, you were willing to sell it."
"I guess it has some sentimental value now."
"That's one way of putting it." Sara turned onto her back and looked at Alex. "You realize it does need to go back to Jack Bird, right?"
"I wouldn't say it needs to, but that was the agreement."
"Mm-hm."
"I booked a flight for next week," Alex said. "I'm assuming I won't have any problems leaving the country due to being the prime suspect in a crime."
"I'm treating you as an anonymous source. My boss doesn't care how I found the painting. Our client will be happy, and we won't have to pay out. That's all that matters." She ran a finger down Alex's arm. "You don't have to leave so soon, you know."
Alex grinned. "Why? You want me to stick around?"
"It just seems like a shame we won't have more time to get to know each other."
Alex pulled the covers around her. "Well, I am in London for another five days. Besides, you could always come see me. Get away from your desk for a while. I may not be a thrill-seeker, but I obviously attract a fair amount of drama. I don't think you'd be bored."
Sara laughed, and then yawned. Her eyes were getting heavy.
"Sure, maybe....Just promise me the painting will still be here when I wake up."
Alex pressed her forehead against hers. "Relax. It'll be here."
"What about you?"
Alex didn't answer. Instead, she wrapped her arm around Sara and kissed her.
Sara fell asleep to the sound of Alex breathing beside her.
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