proud posture, her chin held high with bold confidence. She wore a dark skirt-suit, tailored to fit her lithe body like a fine wool wrap. Her lean legs were coppery brown, naked and elongated by high-heeled shoes in a glossy burgundy leather. Their extravagant cost was evident in the telltale red soles. Half her face was covered with oversize sunglasses and her lips were coated in a rich ruby color that accentuated their shapely fullness.
The lunchtime traffic was pretty busy, yet cars slowed as the men driving them did double takes, or stared openly. Even guys walking nearby turned to appreciate the view of her figure, both coming and going. Evan would have found the show amusing, except it uncovered a complication he hadn’t anticipated. Nia James was far more attractive in real life than her identification photos suggested. She walked with a smooth, sexy sway that told him she was very aware of her effect on men and was comfortable working it.
If his instincts were correct, and they usually were, he would have to adjust their plan accordingly.
Evan opened the driver’s door to the black Bentley convertible just as she passed in front. He slowly unfurled his tall frame to exit the car, fully aware of the impression he made: rich, powerful, young. It was an image designed to capture the attention of an opportunist, and one he’s used successfully many times as a covert operative. And like most women, Nia James responded. It was subtle, only with a slight tilt of her head in his direction, but it was enough. First goal accomplished.
She entered the premises, and Evan was only a few steps behind. The Worthington’s offices occupied the first two floors of the historical building. He had the architectural specs well mapped in his head. On the first floor, there was an art gallery and antiquities dealership, selling a wide variety of valuable collectibles on consignment. The business offices were on the second level in an open loft space, accessed from the main floor by a wide, curving staircase. The warehouse and secure storage was is the rear of the building, with a delivery bay backing onto an alley.
Evan stepped through the front doors into the large gallery with twenty-two-foot-high ceilings. The walls were lined with framed art of various types and sizes. The center space had glass display cabinets and sleek tufted white leather benches. He could easily see Nia standing near the rear of the room, next to a reception counter that was manned by another employee. But he started a slow walk around the room, stopping occasionally to admire one of the many drawings, paintings, and photographs. He also knew the moment his target left the area through the door to the warehouse.
“Hi there?”
Evan turned to find a young girl walking toward him. She was twenty-one years old, with a bright smile and even brighter blond hair. And he already knew she was the gallery receptionist and office administrator, Emma Sterling.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” she continued, stopping next to him.
He smiled back.
“I hope so,” he stated. “I would like to get some information about your auction services.”
“No problem,” she replied smoothly. “Are you looking to buy or sell?”
“Sell.”
“All right. I’ll introduce you to our managing director, Nia. She’ll be able to evaluate your needs.”
The young girl turned away a little, and pressed a button on a discreet earpiece. She spoke in soft tones for a few seconds before clicking it again and facing him again.
“Nia will be with us shortly. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Sure, some water would be great.”
“Sparkling or flat?”
“Hmmm, flat is fine.”
“No problem, Mr. . . . ?” She raised a brow and smiled even bigger.
“Evan. Evan DaCosta.”
“Great, Mr. DaCosta. Nia will be here shortly.”
He nodded and she walked away.
About a minute later, Evan watched Nia James cross the room with the same smooth, sensuous gait he witnessed earlier. He found himself anxious to see her up close, feel how potent her attractiveness was. Not that he would be affected, of course. He’d seen her type too many times over the years to be fooled by the artifice. And glammed-up women weren’t really his type. He preferred the outdoorsy, active women who didn’t take hours to get ready. The girl next door.
Yet as this woman, their prime suspect in a ballsy jewelry heist, stopped in front of him, Evan stopped breathing.
“Mr. DaCosta,” she stated in a sultry voice, her hand extended. “I’m Nia James. I