on the line, you can be anything.” Then he looked up and grinned. “When you want something bad enough, you can be anything. Usually I like to case a job from the inside. All you have to do is decide if you’re going in the front door or the servants’ entrance.”
Interested, she signaled for another drink for each of them. “Meaning?”
“Okay, take California. Beverly Hills.”
“No, thanks.”
Ignoring her, Doug began to reminisce. “First you have to decide which one of those nifty mansions you want to take. A few discreet questions, a little legwork, and you hone in on one. Now, front door or back? That might depend on my own whim. Getting in the front’s usually easiest.”
“Why?”
“Because money wants references for servants, not from guests. You need a stake, a few thousand. Check into the Wilshire Royal and rent a Mercedes, drop a few names—of people you know are out of town. Once you get into the first party, you’re set.” With a sigh, he drank. “Boy, they do like to wear their bank accounts around their necks in the Hills.”
“And you just walk right in and pluck them off?”
“More or less. The tough part is not to be greedy—and to know who’s wearing rocks and who’s wearing glass. Lot of bullshit in California. Basically, you just have to be a good mimic. Rich people are creatures more of habit than imagination.”
“Thanks.”
“You dress right, make sure you’re seen at the right places—with a few of the right people—and nobody’s going to question your pedigree. The last time I used that routine, I checked into the Wilshire with three thousand dollars. I checked out with thirty grand. I like California.”
“Sounds to me like you can’t go back anytime soon.”
“I’ve been back. I tinted my hair, grew a little moustache, and wore jeans. I pruned Cassie Lawrence’s roses.”
“Cassie Lawrence? The professional piranha who disguises herself as a patron of the arts?”
A perfect description. “You’ve met?”
“Unfortunately. How much did you take her for?”
From the tone, Doug decided Whitney would’ve been pleased he’d had quite a haul. He also decided not to tell her he’d had a breeze casing the inside because Cassie had enjoyed watching him weed her azaleas without a shirt. She’d practically eaten him alive in bed. In return, he’d lifted an ornate ruby necklace and a pair of diamond earrings as big as Ping-Pong balls.
“Enough,” Doug answered at length. “I take it you don’t like her.”
“She has no class.” It was said simply, from a woman who did. “Did you sleep with her?”
He choked on his drink, then set it down carefully. “I don’t think—”
“So you did.” A bit disappointed, Whitney studied him. “I’m surprised I didn’t see the scars.” She studied him another moment, thoughtful, quiet. “Don’t you find that sort of thing demeaning?”
He could’ve strangled her without a qualm. True, there were times he slept with a mark and enjoyed himself— and made certain the mark enjoyed herself as well. Payment for payment. But as a rule, he found using sex as close to ugly as he wanted to get. “A job’s a job,” he said briefly. “Don’t tell me you’ve never slept with a client.”
She lifted a brow at him, the way an amused woman could. “I sleep with whom I choose,” she told him in a tone that stated she chose well.
“Some of us weren’t born with choices.” Opening his book again, he stuck his nose in it and fell silent.
She wasn’t going to make him feel guilty. Guilt was something he avoided more scrupulously than the police or a furious mark. The minute you let guilt start sucking at you, you were finished.
Funny, it didn’t seem to bother her a bit that he stole for a living. It didn’t bother her that he stole particularly from her class. She’d never blinked an eye at that. In fact, it was more than likely that he’d relieved some of her friends of excess personal property. She wasn’t the least concerned.
Just what kind of woman was she anyway? He thought he understood her thirst for adventure, for excitement and taking chances. He’d lived his life on little else. But it didn’t fit those cool, moneyed looks.
No, she hadn’t missed a beat when he’d told her he was a thief, but she’d looked at him with derision, and yes, dammit, pity, when she’d discovered he’d slept with a West-Coast shark for a handful of glitter.
And where had the glitter gotten him? Thinking back, Doug remembered he’d dumped the rocks