Touched by a Thief(4)

By: Jana Mercy


Well, not really like that. They wanted her to find out where Gerard kept the Degassi Diamond and to steal it.

Which no doubt meant becoming Gerard’s mistress.

She bit the inside of her cheek. Gerard was a handsome devil with his coal black hair and gypsy blue eyes not so different in color from her own. Not a man a woman easily forgot even without consideration of his vast wealth and power.

They’d first met when she’d stolen his sister’s diamond and ruby pendant, valued at more than a quarter million dollars. Gerard offered a reward for the return that she’d been unable to refuse.

She’d broken through his high-tech security system, past his henchmen, and lay in wait wearing the necklace and a skin-tight leather catsuit when he’d returned to his room. One Gerard had taken great pleasure in tearing from her body.

A catsuit she’d taken great pleasure in his tearing from her body. Her inner thighs quivered at the vivid recall of how he’d ferociously brought her to orgasm time and again, of how he’d cum deep inside her from behind, having paused only long enough to put on a condom.

“Keep moving.” A guard shoved a gun in her back, reminding of where she currently was, why she was here.

A uniformed, expressionless woman shoved a box and a form toward her. “Check your items and sign here.”

No surprise that her Glock wasn’t in the box. Nor was her knife. But her eyes lit on a gold pendant and her fingers shook as she lifted the delicate chain and charm from the box. The fools had taken her weapons, but left something much more valuable.

Eyes closed, she grasped the necklace.



She’d fuck Gerard, betray him, kill him, whatever it took, but she wasn’t going back to jail.



When this mission was done, she’d find Ian McGowan and slit his throat for betraying her.





After nothing more than artificial light within the confines of her cell for four months, the bright sunshine blinded Monty when she stepped outside the prison door.

Automatically she shielded her eyes with her hand.



A black limousine waited at the curb.



Gerard had come to collect his prize.



Her gaze raked over the clothes she wore. Grime of months in prison caked her body despite the brief daily community showers she’d been allowed. A man used to elegant and perfumed women might turn his nose at the image she presented.

Sure, she still stood proud. Thanks to the hours filled by pushing her body to exhaustion, her physique boasted lean, tone muscles that matched those she’d sported during her Marine days. Gerard loved her hair loose, but she hadn’t taken it out of the long braid and it brushed across her back.

A black-suited man who resembled a former WWE wrestler, and might really be, stepped out of the driver’s side and opened the limo door.

“Ma’am,” he drawled, not batting an eyelash at her appearance.

She bet he didn’t usually pick up Gerard’s lovers from a women’s federal penitentiary.

Surprisingly, the back of the limo sat empty. Then again, thinking Gerard would come to the prison to collect her had been naive. He had others for such inane tasks.

She leaned back against the plush seat, inhaled the rich aroma of the car, the richer scent of freedom.



They drove away from the curb, away from the watchful guards, away from a part of her life she’d like to forget completely.



The dark window separating the driver from the remainder of the limo slid down.



“Mr. Kincaid wishes your trip to be comfortable. Drinks are in the mini bar and fresh fruit and cheese in the fridge.”



Fridge? Sure enough there was a small refrigerator. Her stomach growled, reminding her that it had been over four months since she’d had anything beyond prison food. Still, some of her military stints made prison food taste like manna.

“I’d give my right arm for a burger, chocolate shake, and fries.”



A sliver of a smile cracked his thin lips. “Yes, Ma’am. No arm required.”



“Thanks.” Then she recalled that she had no money. Not a single cent on her. Shit. She needed access to her things.



“Uhm,” she started to call him Stone Cold, but something pushed her to ask, “What’s your name?”



“Butch.”