A Magnificent Crime (2 page)

The wind stirred, and I pressed myself to the window.

At this height, hotel windows don't open. Smashing the glass was not an option; that would set off an alarm. Breaking glass has its own distinctive sound frequency, and intruder alarms are set to detect that frequency.

And I certainly wasn't going to climb back down. I looked at the glass, trying to assess my options, working to suppress the panicky feeling crawling up my throat again.

I concentrated on studying the windows themselves. They were divided into two, with a smaller panel on the bottom and a larger picture-window viewing panel on top.

I pulled out my penknife and set about removing the rubber strip around the lower panel.

It took longer than I would have liked, but eventually, I got the stripping off and then, with just the right amount of pressure—more than required to open a jar of pickles, less than necessary to remove the plastic wrapping of a CD—pushed the glass forward into the room.

I clambered through the open window and collapsed on the floor. I breathed and reminded myself I was safe. For now.

I had never had a panic attack before. It was an entirely new experience, and it was one I did not relish. But I had to stop thinking about it. I needed to get my head in the game.

Fear is a luxury a professional thief cannot afford. Especially a fear of death. Yes, I'd been in tight spots before. And I'd been afraid, sure. But it had never been the kind of fear that paralyzed me. It had never stopped me from doing what I needed to do.

I exhaled and pushed the ledge out of my mind. I beelined for the bedroom in the suite. There were only a few places a pair of emerald earrings would be kept.

One, locked away in the room's safe. Two, hidden in a jewelry box tucked in a drawer. But more likely? Option three, sitting in plain view right on the dresser.

Sure enough, on the mahogany dresser top, a diamond bracelet winked at me. A jade brooch beckoned. A lustrous black pearl necklace summoned me over. And as appealing as each of these jewels seemed, they were not on my list.

So I left them alone.

Instead, I reached for the earrings that lay beside them. Briolette-shaped gems, they were a vivid green, sparkling like the Emerald City, glimmering like magically frozen teardrops of the Wicked Witch of the West.

I snatched the earrings in one fluid swoop and stuffed them into my small velvet sack.

But now I had to get out. I went to the window and looked outside. I had climbed up, so surely I could climb back down. But I felt forced away from the edge, like there was a big hand on my chest pushing me back.

Still, I had to try. I crawled through the open window onto the ledge. I got halfway out. My heart galloped, and my head started spinning. Terror shredded the edges of my mind like a combine harvester. I lunged back inside and lay on the floor, breathing heavily.

This was bad. Very, very bad.

I knew I could do it. I knew I had the skills to do it. But that head knowledge didn't seem to make any difference. It didn't seem to hold any stock in the rest of my being, the one that was screaming with every fiber that I was going. To. Die.

I needed to find another way down.

I forced myself to stand and walk over to the hotel room door. And this was where things were going to get tricky. Because there was almost certainly a security system built into the hotel room door.

So now I was faced with the less common task of not breaking
into
a room, but needing to break
out
. Without drawing attention or being stopped by the security guard.

I checked my watch. Not much time. The Peabodys would be returning from the opera any minute.

I glanced at my outfit. Head-to-toe black Lycra. Great for staying hidden in the shadows when scaling buildings but a little too “jewel thief” in the elevator and the lobby of the Westin.

I returned to the bedroom and slipped over to Mrs. Peabody's closet. Inside were gowns in every hideous color imaginable. And about six sizes too large. It would be very challenging to be inconspicuous like that. Didn't the woman ever wear jeans? My kingdom for a nice, subtle pair of yoga pants.

And then, stuffed in the corner, I spotted a robe. A white, fluffy, otherwise nondescript hotel robe. Perfect.

Ostensibly, I could go down for a late-night swim. I grabbed the guest handbook from the desk and quickly scanned it. Pool opening hours: 7:00 a.m.–11:00 p.m. It was ten minutes before eleven.

Okay, a swim it was. But I didn't have long.

I threw on the robe, pulled the black Lycra out of view on my arms and legs, and tucked all my hair inside a swim cap I found in the bathroom. I exchanged my sneakers for the hotel slippers at the bottom of the wardrobe. I found a small tote bag—which could easily double as a pool bag—and stuffed my sneakers in there, along with my climbing gear. And the earrings, of course, tucked safely inside their velvet sack.

So far so good. But things would get sticky from here. I needed to get out the hotel room door and down the elevator—ideally without being seen. Less optimally, observed but not suspected of doing anything amiss.

I inspected the door security panel. There was a touch pad for a key code, and buttons that controlled the settings. I needed to hack in and disable the whole thing.

The first task was identifying the numbers. Fortunately, I had a complete bag of tricks with me—the tools I brought with me on every job. Girl Scouts aren't the only ones who know the value of being prepared. I pulled out my mini UV wand and illuminated the touch pad. Fingerprints smudged four of the numbers: one, three, eight, and nine. Now it was a matter of entering the various combinations. It took me a few long minutes, during which I imagined the Peabodys strolling through the door. At last, the panel emitted a polite double beep and clicked off.

I glanced back at the window through which I'd entered. It would be so easy. It was the best option for a clean escape. But the mere thought of climbing through that empty sky made me feel like I was going to vomit. Nope, I would have to go down the hard way.

And my next task was dealing with the security guard.

In casing the hotel, I had learned who was staying in the Governor Suite, the other accomodations on this floor. Paisley Shaw was a television personality, a notorious early riser. Surely she'd be in bed by now.

I encrypted my cell phone to conceal the originating number, then called the hotel front desk.

“I think something has been stolen from my room,” I said, making my voice suitably shrill. “This is Paisley Shaw, and I'm in the Governor Suite. I'm in my closet, and my laptop is not where I left it. I need you to send security in here right away. Tell him not to bother knocking, to just come right in. I'm searching the drawers now to see if anything else is missing.”

I squinted through the peephole in the door. The security guard was there, trying not to fall asleep on the chair in the corridor. I held my breath and crossed my fingers.

Then his walkie-talkie crackled to life. He picked it up, listened, and nodded. “I'll check it out.”

As he disappeared down the corridor, I waited several seconds, then slipped out the door. Both Paisley Shaw and the guard were in for an unpleasant surprise shortly, but it couldn't be helped.

I darted to the stairwell door. I raced down one flight, then left the stairwell to grab the elevator the rest of the way.

The exposure made my skin crawl more than conversations with insurance salesmen did.

Security cameras I could take care to avoid. Less predictable were witnesses. At this hour it was unlikely anyone would be in the corridors or the elevator. But I wasn't taking any chances. I forced myself to stroll toward the elevators.

When sneaking around in a public place, there are two ways to go. One, you can skulk along quietly and sneakily. But this must be attempted only when you are absolutely positive you will not be seen. Because if you
are
caught, nothing looks more guilty.

The other way to go is walking purposefully, casually, like you're doing absolutely nothing wrong. This, generally, is my preferred way to move about. It's much easier to cover if someone asks you where you're going. But it's also far less likely that anyone will ask you in the first place.

If you keep yourself as non-memorable, as non-noteworthy as possible, you can slip through this life doing just about anything you please.

Inside the empty elevator, I pressed the
CLOSE DOOR
button and kept pressing it. Then I pressed the
LOWER LEVEL
button and did not let go until the elevator started to move downward. It's an old police trick, commandeering an elevator. The elevator wouldn't stop now until it reached the lower level.

The car glided all the way down, motor humming, a vanilla instrumental version of Van Halen tinkling softly.

The doors opened, and a dimly lit, blue paisley carpeted corridor stretched out ahead. A small sign pointed the way to the pool and exercise gym.

My escape from this hotel was getting closer; I could taste it.

The pool door led directly onto a deck, into a viewing area. I pushed the glass door open and walked into a powerful cloud of chlorine. The air echoed with the sound of a solo swimmer's arms slapping rhythmically on the water's surface. I ducked into the changing room. My plan was simple at this point. Lose the robe, escape out the window, and we'd be all done here.

And it was a good strategy. Except for one small issue. As I looked around, I noticed a distinct shortage of windows. Specifically, there were none. I did a quick mental review of the blueprint.
Shit.
The changing room was smack in the middle of the hotel. Solid walls all around.

Memo to self:

Fine.
I'd have to walk out through the lobby. First, I needed a costume change; I couldn't walk out wearing this robe. I looked immediately at the lockers.
Perfect.
I'd just take the clothes of the unlucky person who had come down to do a few laps.

I found the locker with the missing key. And picked the lock in approximately the time it takes to file my nails. I opened the door. I was going to be out of here in less than five—

Robe.

I stared at the sole item hanging in the locker. A white, fluffy hotel robe, the exact same one I was already wearing.

Crap. Not helpful. Not even a little bit.

Okay, I couldn't exit the hotel in my robe. I couldn't exit in my black Lycra. I couldn't sneak out a window in the changing room. What was my next move here? I thought of the emerald earrings on my person, imagined being caught with them. I couldn't let that happen.

Then I heard a faint clanging coming from the far side of the changing room. And the soft whirring of a machine. A treadmill?

The gym.
There was a gym on the other side of these changing-room walls, and somebody was in there. Maybe, just maybe,
that
person had come down to the gym and changed out of regular clothes.

I entered the gym changing room, preparing to crack another locker. Instead, I was rewarded by the sight of a hoodie and sweats hanging from a hook.

I grabbed them. They were too big, but they would work fine. I replaced them with my robe.

I hesitated a second, then pulled out a wad of cash—the getaway funds I always carried. I separated several bills and slipped them into the pocket of the robe. It would be bad enough getting out of the shower after the gym with nothing to change into. The cash was my way of softening the blow.

I took the elevator up to the main floor—no rushing, no hijacking this time. The doors glided open onto a lobby that gleamed under glittering chandeliers. It smelled of floor polish and lavender. I strolled across the marble floor, past potted palm trees and plush lounge chairs, eyes pinned on the revolving doors. I was almost clear.

At that moment, a couple entered the hotel lobby, emerging through the revolving doors: a middle-aged, blowsy woman in a bright orange, flouncy gown and a gentleman who looked like he'd been stuffed into his suit. I'm not sure whose face was more pinched and sour. I recognized them instantly as Mr. and Mrs. Peabody. They were returning from the opera.

I stepped out of their path as they strode into the hotel, oblivious to anyone else. A faint smile played on my face. In two more steps I was inside the revolving doors, spinning my way to freedom.

As I stepped into the cool night air, I knew I was clear. I walked farther, putting distance between myself and the hotel. Relief washed over me like surf on a beach.

But it didn't last long. In spite of the success, I had a much bigger problem. I had put myself in a highly compromising position because of fear. Because of a terror I had allowed to control me. And that was not okay.

Paralyzing fear was a major liability for a thief. And it wasn't particularly compatible with a life of crime.

I'd become spooked. I'd heard other thieves talk about this. But I'd never imagined it would happen to me.

So what was I going to do? I could barely execute the most straightforward of jobs. How would I fare doing something more complicated? And dangerous?

I kept walking, past glowing shop windows and banks with their locked-down entrances. A cab honked somewhere behind me, and a crosswalk sign uttered its chipper bleep.

No need to overreact, Cat.
Surely it was just a passing phase. Maybe I just needed a little time. A short break.

I nodded.
Fine.
That was what I'd do. I would talk to my handler, Templeton, and tell him I needed a brief hiatus—some time to rest and clear my head. No heists, no jobs for a short while. A few weeks should do it. Enjoy a nice, easy life for a bit, specifically with no life-threatening scenarios. I'd be ready to come back to work after that.