Once a Thief by Kay Hooper Page A

outside the hallway where the office spaces were located, and even though the scowl on his face didn’t invite discussion or even greetings, she happily waded in where even angels would have been wary.
    “You called Max again, didn’t you?”
    “Yeah, I called him.”
    “And he refused to even consider canceling the exhibit.”
    Wolfe’s scowl deepened. “He won’t even consider delaying the opening.”
    “And you’re pissed.”
    Since she was more or less barring his way, Wolfe was forced to reply. “Of course I’m not pissed at Max,” he replied.
    Morgan lifted an eyebrow.
    “All right, so I’m pissed. He’s hidebound about keeping his promises, even when it might be better—” Wolfe sighed explosively. “Never mind. It isn’t my collection, I just work for the people who insure it.”
    “Ours not to reason why?”
    “Something like that. Anyway, at the moment I’m more . . . irritated . . . by the computer nerd back there. I think he’s in over his head and won’t admit it.”
    “If you keep calling him the computer nerd, I’m not surprised he won’t admit anything to you. His name is Jonathan.”
    “It is?”
    Morgan sighed. “Yes, it is. And no matter how young and . . . um . . . addled he sometimes seems to be, he’s an expert.”
    “Yeah. Supposed to be one of the best Ace Security has, but you can’t prove it by me.”
    “Do you know enough about computers to be sure he’s screwing up?”
    “I know enough to recognize bravado when I see it. And he’s worried too.”
    “So what’re you going to do about it?”
    “Not much I can do, for the moment. Max wanted Ace Security, and Lloyd’s approved. Ace says this kid is one of their best. Fine. But that doesn’t mean I can’t demand somebody higher up the food chain than he is come in and check his work.”
    “You’re probably just making him nervous.”
    “Who, me?”
    Morgan grinned at him. “Yeah, you. Mind you, I enjoy the show whenever you’re breathing fire and raining brimstone, but I imagine it isn’t all that conducive to exacting technical work.”
    “If he can’t take a little heat,” Wolfe retorted, “he doesn’t belong in the job. Security is not a business for wimps.”
    “Gotcha. Um . . . Wolfe? You’ve been in security awhile, right?”
    “Ten years, or thereabouts. Why?”
    Morgan hugged her clipboard and tried her best to look only mildly curious. “I was just wondering if you’d run into Quinn before now.”
    Wolfe looked at her steadily, his face peculiarly unexpressive. Then, in a voice that was also rather impassive, he said, “Couple of years ago. I was staying in a private home in London. Got up in the middle of the night looking for something to read, and caught Quinn with his hand in the safe.”
    “Jesus.” That was rather more than Morgan had expected. “What happened?”
    With a short laugh, Wolfe said, “Nothing much. He got away. It wasn’t what I recall as one of my finer moments.”
    “Well . . . he’s pretty slippery, by all accounts. I mean, you can’t blame yourself for not being able to catch him when Interpol hasn’t been able to all these years.”
    “Thanks,” Wolfe said dryly.
    “Didn’t make you feel any better about it, did I?”
    “No, but don’t worry about it. Morgan . . . if you’ve got the idea that Quinn is some kind of romantic figure—”
    Feeling her face get hot, she instantly said, “No, of course not. I know he’s a thief.”
    “And not a Robin Hood sort of thief,” Wolfe reminded her. “He’s not robbing the rich to feed the poor.”
    “I know. I know that. I’m just curious, that’s all. Meeting him the way I did . . .”
    “I hear he can be pretty charming when he wants to. But think about why he might want to, Morgan. You’re the director of the
Mysteries Past
exhibit. The one person who knows just about everything there is to know about it.”
    “A valuable source of information,” she murmured.
    “For a thief, the absolute