“?at’s a long way from ticketing, Rydell. And speak up. I can’t hear you. Or are you trying to come on to me? Is this your sexy voice? I like it.”
I groan and seriously consider hanging up. “Shut up and listen to me. I think some kids are trying to steal.”
“I think you have the wrong number, sir.”
“Porter!” I grind out. “?ey’re stealing the Maltese falcon.”
“Keep your pants on. I’m two rooms away. I’ll be right there. Don’t take your eyes off them, but don’t approach. ?ey might be dangerous or something. I’m being serious right now, in case you can’t tell.”
?e phone goes dead. After closing the panel, I casually step from behind the palm and pretend to be looking at some paintings while keeping an eye on the kids. ?ey’re still rocking the falcon statue. A couple is passing under the Golden Gate Bridge, and the two boys see them, so that halts their thieving for a moment. I disappear behind the potted palm again.
Come on, Porter. I know the falcon’s not actual movie memorabilia, much like most of the rest of the stuff in this place; only two statues were used in the original lm, and one was auctioned off for several million dollars. But it’s the principle of the thing, and it makes me mad.
“Where are they now?” Porter’s warm breath grazes the hair around my ear. My neck and shoulder involuntarily clamp together, and for some reason, he nds this amusing. “Ticklish, Rydell?” he whispers.
I ignore that comment and lower a palm branch to show him the boys, who are now rocking the statue again. “?ere. White polo shirt and backpack.”
“Dirty little pigs,” he mutters incredulously. “?e falcon?”
I won’t lie. A little thrill goes through me that Porter’s as mad as I am. I like that we’re on the same page about this. “What are we going to do?” I whisper.
“Rule number one in apprehending thieves and shoplifters according to the Cavern Palace guidelines is that we absolutely do not make a scene. No chasing. No nasty blowups. Nothing that causes the other guests to feel uncomfortable, so that means we’ve got to smoke them out, nice and easy.”
“I don’t follow,” I whisper.
Porter drops his head to speak in a lower voice. “We let them steal it.”
“What?” My face is near his face, so close I can see all the golden ecks in his brown eyes. Did I know they were brown? I never noticed until now. “We can’t do that.”
“We can and we will. ?en we’ll follow them to the exit and bust their asses in the parking lot.”
“Oh,” I say, more than a little intrigued by this prospect.
“Now, they might split up. I’ve had this happen once before with a pair of Jay’s cuff links last summer. Bastards got away with a thousand bucks’ worth of gold while my ass got chewed out by Cadaver. So I might need some help. Will you?”
“Me? I don’t know … My break’s over.”
“Bawk, bawk,” he whispers back, cawing like a chicken. ?e tip of his nose touches mine, and we’re so close, I can now see his chest lifting up and down … and the jumping pulse of a vein on his neck. Were his shoulders always this broad? Mother of Mary, he seems bigger up close. And instead of wanting to punch him in the stomach, which should be my normal Porter response, I’m starting to want something else that makes my breath come faster. My clothes suddenly feel too tight.
Oh.
God.
So what? He’s attractive and has a certain damaged charm about him. It’s just chemical attraction. Perfectly natural. Means nothing.
And because I’m on my break and it’s cold in the museum, I’m wearing the cardigan, and that covers up the majority of the headlight problem that is now happening in my breast locale. Disaster averted. And the thought of it being a near miss is enough to throw a proverbial bucket of cold water onto the situation. God, this is ridiculous. It’s just dumb old Porter. What am I afraid of? Nothing.
To prove it to myself, I move back and lift my head, meeting his gaze and his challenge. “Radio Grace and tell her I’ll be late.”
His smile could power a lighthouse. He quickly radios Pangborn and briefs him on the situation, giving the older guard a description of the boys and instructions to track them on the security monitors. But before he can notify Grace, our thieving boys are on the move.
?e falcon is gone. I didn’t see them take it. But the boys are huddled and the backpack’s being swung from the shorter kid’s shoulder. ?ey’re stashing the bird.
“Porter!” I whisper heatedly, tugging his sleeve.
“I see it,” he says, keeping the palm frond bent to peer into the room. He radios Pangborn again, who saw it too.
“Got it all on tape,” the old stoner con rms, his words coming from the tiny black box on Porter’s shoulder. Apart from losing keys, this is probably more excitement than the two of them have had in months. “Go smoke ’em out, Porter. I’m watching from heaven.”
