Stolen Kisses Prologue Emily Radley sat ramrod straight in the darkened booth, her posture unmarred despite eighty-six years of gravity taking its toll. Across the table, her long-time friend Gregory Tanner toyed with his drink, not even the slightest bit ill at ease despite the seedy bar and its leather and metal-clad patrons. She'd picked the place because the odds were slim that they'd be recognized at a biker bar just outside of Santa Ana, California. In miles, they hadn't traveled far from their homes near the Orange County beaches, but miles didn't matter in California. As they used to say in the commercials, they'd come a long way, baby. No one would recognize them here. No one in Emily's social circle would come within five miles of the place, much less step inside. Even Gregory, whose life had overflowed with, well, color, wouldn't be recognized. This was the perfect place for their meeting. She'd picked it for that reason. Of course, they could have simply met at a Denny's, but the lowbrow nature of the bar had been an additional point in its favor. They'd come here to plot and to scheme, and Emily liked the added element of drama that meeting in such a place provided. She took another sip of her gin and tonic, then clasped her hands on the table. "So we're agreed?" "I'm here, aren't I?" he said. Even at eighty-five, he still looked as dashing as ever. Once, years ago, Emily'd had a crush on the notorious Mr. Tanner. But she'd been unable to pursue it. A Hollywood ingénue, before the days when being a bad girl got a girl farther in the movie business. Now, she wondered what she'd missed by not returning Gregory's interest. She'd always had his friendship, of course, but it had been little Martha Kline, God rest her soul, who'd known the secrets of Gregory's heart. Emily shook her head. It didn't matter. They weren't here about their pasts, they were here about their futures. Their heirs and their families. The children were simply floundering around, the years ticking away with no one to love or cherish them except a small group of old people. And, as much as Emily would like to live forever, she knew that was one thing her millions could not do for her. And so Emily and Gregory had contrived a way to bring their grandchildren together, and Emily was absolutely certain that their scheme would work. Without a word, she reached into her purse and pulled out the package. She'd wrapped the jewelry box in brown paper, then tied it with twine. At about six inches long and two inches wide, it looked completely innocuous. Certainly, no one would guess that the contents were worth over half a million dollars. As he took the package, she noted the way his eyes sparkled. For a moment, she wondered if she'd ever see the necklace again, but she quashed the thought. Perhaps foolish, perhaps naïve, but she trusted Gregory. He tucked the package into the pocket of his suit jacket. "Not that I don't appreciate a fine plot, Emily, but maybe we'd be better off simply introducing the kids." She waved her hand, dismissing the idea. Perhaps they'd been foolish years ago to hide their friendship, but it had been a different era, and it had seemed the best for Martha to keep their contact to a minimum. Now was hardly the time to announce a lifelong alliance, particularly when their grandchildren's ignorance could work in their favor. And, though she'd hardly admit it to Gregory, this way was simply much more fun. "I've introduced Kyle to so many women he could host a Follies," she finally said. "No. He can smell a set-up. We've picked the perfect solution. A situation. A way for them to fall in love without even realizing they're doing it. The perfect script." "Another Academy Award for your mantle?" She flashed a for-the-cameras smile. "I've never won a directing Oscar." "Well, perhaps this is your year." His gentle smile eased into a frown, and the furrows in his brow deepened. "And Francis is really willing to go along with this charade?" "Don't act so surprised. We have our differences, of course, but where Kyle is concerned we see eye to eye. The boy needs to settle down." She reached over and patted his hand. "Don't worry Gregory. We're already halfway through Act One, and everything is going smoothly. Kyle thinks I've stolen an heirloom from my sister. And I know my grandson. He's going to try to make it right, and since he's coming to my soiree tomorrow, I'm sure that tomorrow's our night. Everything is falling into place, and now it's time for you to play your part." "I'm a thief, not an actor." "Nonsense. You were the most talented and dashing bit player to ever grace the silver screen." He scowled, his expression turning dubious. "Don't you dare chicken out on me now, Gregory Tanner. We've concocted the perfect plan. Nothing will go wrong." For a moment, he didn't react. Then he nodded, one efficient motion. He put a twenty on the table to cover their drinks. "I hope you're right. I can't help but think that I've failed Melissa." "Nonsense. You raised her. Took care of her —" "Taught her a trade." Emily sniffed. "How the girl chose to make her living was hardly your doing. The point is that she wishes to be respectable now and you are supporting her wholeheartedly." She stood and he followed suit, then helped her into her coat, a light jacket to ward off the chill from the ocean breeze. "Still," he said, as she took his arm, "I was surprised that you consider Melissa suitable for your grandson. Under the circumstances, I mean." At that, Emily eased closer to his side and tightened her grip on his arm. Then, with impeccable timing, she tilted her head just so, met his eyes, and allowed a mere wisp of a smile to grace her lips. "Of course I have no objections," she said. "I'd be quite the hypocrite if I did." He studied her face, the lines etched at his eyes finally crinkling into a smile of his own. And right then she knew that he'd seen the hint of desire peeking out from her own countenance. After all, she had two Oscars and three Emmy's on her mantle. If she'd wanted to hide her emotions, she was more than capable. But now, at the twilight of her life and while they two were playing with Fate ... well, this was hardly the time to play the coy shrinking violet. No, this required a much brasher role. And that was a role that Emily Radley had been born to play. CHAPTER ONE A shaft of sunlight wriggled its way through the east-facing window of Melissa Tanner's bedroom and tickled her nose. She twisted under the sheets, trying to eek out a few more minutes of glorious sleep. One minute, two, she didn't care. She just wanted to float in that wonderful haze between sleep and dreams, that shadowy world where dreams dashed in and out, and a tap on the snooze button bought her a few more minutes of bliss. "Melissa?" Footsteps sounded on the stairs leading up to her room. "Melissa, you're not going to sleep away the entire day are you?" She groaned, pulling the covers up over her head and wishing that one thin quilt could drown out her grandfather's voice. She knew he didn't mean any harm, but was it really necessary to remind her yet again that she was utterly and completely jobless? His sharp rap echoed through the apartment, the sound harmonizing with the high pitched squeal of her alarm clock. Another seven-minute-snooze cycle run through. Might as well bite the bullet and get up. "Coming." She tossed the word out in the general vicinity of the door, then sat up, managing in the same motion to swing her feet to the ground. In the two months since she'd been laid off, she'd criss-crossed Orange County, submitting dozens of resumes and going on almost twenty job interviews. She'd had five call-back interviews, but in the end, the job always went to someone else. Debts were piling up, property taxes were looming, and her checking account was nearing the two-digit mark. Not good. The economy was terrible, and her degree in history wasn't exactly opening doors all over corporate America. If she didn't get a job soon, she was going to be in big trouble because her savings were completely gone and she had nothing to fall back on. Not money. Not job skills. Because when push came to shove, except for the one management trainee job she'd so recently lost, she really had no experience that could earn her a living. Well, that wasn't entirely true. She did have one incredibly lucrative skill set. But cat burglary wasn't a solid career option, and she was determined to be a solid citizen from here on out. Her life so far had been all about secrets, and she was tired of it. Tired of not having any good friends, tired of breaking off relationships after only four dates because she was afraid of getting close. Tired of worrying about getting caught. Just plain tired. She needed respectability. A real life. A real job. But unless something changed pretty darn soon, she was going to end up flipping burgers at McDonalds and washing the smell of French fries out of her hair every night. Not exactly what she'd hoped to be doing at the ripe old age of twenty-four. No, she corrected herself. Twenty-five. Happy birthday to me. With a scowl, she pushed herself off the bed and headed toward the door. She'd grown up with a grandfather who'd been a living, breathing, Robie the Cat. In To Catch A Thief, Cary Grant had ended up with Princess Grace. All Mel wanted was her own prince, a decent job and the whole fairy tale life. Was that so silly? "Melissa Jane Tanner, if you don't open this door right now, I'm going to keep your birthday present for myself." That got her moving. She grabbed the knob and threw open the door. Gramps stood there, looking dapper as always in a linen suit and holding two martini glasses. "A toast," he said, handing one to her as he stepped into the apartment. "To my favorite granddaughter." She grinned. "I'm your only granddaughter." "Then my fondness for you worked out quite well." With a little shake of her head, she followed as he headed over to perch on the edge of her bed. She took the single wooden folding chair, the only other seating in her tiny bedroom. She held up the martini. "Let me guess, today you're William Powell from The Thin Man." His face, still ruggedly handsome despite years of wear and tear, lit up. "You always were better at my games than your grandmother or your father." "The props helped," she said, lifting the martini glass. "I'll have you know that's a genuine film artifact. I was an extra in After The Thin Man. Even met Jimmy Stewart. He was just starting out, you know. My scenes may have ended up on the cutting room floor, but at least I got to keep the glasses." She squinted at the glass, examining it from all sides. "Amazing artisanship," she teased. "But a martini for breakfast? Blech." "It's your birthday. Anything goes." Her smile broadened. "I'll keep that in mind." He waggled a finger in mock warning, but she only laughed. She adored her grandfather, would do just about anything for him. He was, in fact, the reason that she'd kept doing the cat burglary gig for as long as she had. He'd taken care of her after her parents died, and as he'd gotten older, it had been her turn to take care of him. The only job she'd known was what he'd taught her, and she'd used those skills to pay the bills, buy the groceries, and generally keep them off the streets. She'd been willing to use those same skills to help fund her college education—a slow process when you had to keep scrambling (literally and over rooftops) for tuition money. She'd made it, though, and she'd kept the thieving to a minimum. And now that she was legit with her shiny bachelors degree on her wall, she didn't intend to return to a life of crime. But unless she could figure out a way to pay those taxes, though, she might have no choice. Because the one thing she wanted even less than returning to that life was seeing the house sold out from under them. Not only was this house all she had left of her parents, but it was the home she shared with Gramps. She wasn't giving it up. No matter what. She knew a lot of girls her age might balk at living under the same roof as their grandfather, but Mel had lost her parents in the blink of an eye. One of these days Gramps would go, too, and she wanted to have shared as much as possible with him before then. "A toast," he said, lifting his glass. "To new beginnings and bright futures." "I'll drink to that," she said. "Especially if by bright you don't mean under the fluorescent lights of some fast-food chain." "I don't indeed." He took a sip of his drink, and she did the same, then immediately spit it out, unable to swallow through the burst of laughter. "Gramps! This is water." "Well, of course, Melissa. I'm certainly not going to imbibe before the cocktail hour." She rolled her eyes, and then, just to show him, she slammed back the rest of her drink, then fixed him with her best stare. "Personally, I like my mineral water shaken, not stirred." He shook his head. "James Bond. Really, Melissa, you're not even challenging me. Can't you come up with a more obscure film?" She scowled. "Not in my jammies, I can't." Besides, at the moment she wasn't feeling particularly sharp. For that matter, lately she'd been feeling like quite a loser. After all, how hard could it be, really, to find a job? Apparently, it was pretty damn hard. "What?" She scowled. The man knew her too well. "I'm just wondering what I bothered with all that school for. I mean, it took me forever to finish my bachelors, and for what? So I can pound the pavement looking for a job that doesn't seem to be there." "You'll find one," he said. "You already did. You had a perfectly fine position at that rental agency." She frowned. "Perfectly fine until I got laid off." Budget cuts, and she'd been the first to go. The downside of being the low girl on the totem pole. The sad truth, though, was that she'd secretly rejoiced the day she'd gotten her pink slip. The job had been duller than dull, and she'd taken Gramps all the way into Los Angeles for a fabulous dinner, just to celebrate her freedom. At the time, she'd assumed the job would be easily replaceable. Little did she know. What she did know was that she couldn't continue as a cat burglar. It was too risky. Too illegal. It simply wasn't right. Even more, she hated living a constant lie. But could she help the fact that no other job matched the thrill she got from inching her way into someone's locked room? Pathetic, she knew, and she'd turned over a new leaf. Melissa Tanner had gone straight as an arrow. If she got the urge, she'd take up bungee jumping. But cat burglary was off limits. Totally and completely. Gramps stood and crossed the room to her desk. He put his glass down and turned to face her, his gaze serious. "Grandpa?" "Maybe it's time for you to give up the pretense." She swallowed, afraid he was going to call her out, accuse her of wanting to be a thief. "The pretense?" she repeated, hoping she sounded innocent. "The job situation," he said. "Why don't you simply take some time off while you evaluate your options and figure out what you need to do?" A lovely idea, but hardly practical unless he was going to suggest thieving as a way to pay her bills. And she knew he wouldn't do that in a million years. Gramps knew better than anyone the perils and pitfalls of a life of crime, and he'd pushed her out of the profession with as much determination as he'd taught her the skills that had kept her from ever getting caught. "Gramps, I appreciate the thought, but even if I could convince the county that they don't need those silly old taxes, we still have food and a car payment and other expenses." She hated laying it out like that, especially when she knew that Gramps had no money to help her out with. He'd long ago run through his savings, and social security didn't make payments to retired thieves. She sighed. "I just need to find a job. Since I've already run through all the usual channels, I'm thinking I'll try to find something that has a little kick to it. Maybe the parks service. I mean, that has to be interesting. Or maybe at one of the amusement parks. Adventure. Excitement. My cup of tea, right." "I'm sure you would get immense job satisfaction out of running a cotton candy machine, but before you make a new career plan, at least take a look at my birthday present to you." "It wasn't a watered-down martini?" A weak joke, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances. Without reason, a finger of dread had begun to tickle the back of her neck, and she wondered what Gramps was up to. He'd always talked about wishing he could help her be more financially independent. But surely he wouldn't have gone and done something stupid. Would he? He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a black velvet jewel box tied with a red satin bow. Mel's heart skipped a beat as she took the box from him. Oh, dear Lord, he would. She tried to keep her fingers from trembling as she tugged the bow free, then carefully lifted the hinged lid. Inside, snuggled in the black velvet lining, lay the most beautiful diamond necklace she'd ever seen. And, frankly, she'd seen quite a few. Oh no, oh no, oh no. She lifted the necklace, her practiced eye examining the stones, her stomach twisting as she took in the high quality of the diamonds and the incredible workmanship. The necklace had to cost around half a mil, and that meant that this was bad. This was very, very bad. She looked at him, her expression surely reflecting both fear and disbelief. She didn't even try to hide it. "Oh, Gramps," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "What have you gotten us into now?" *** Diamonds might be a girl's best friend, but right then both diamonds and women were giving Kyle Radley no end of trouble. He stood next to a oversized buffet in his grandmothers' living room as the din of fifty or sixty voices surrounded him, bouncing off the marble and polished wood, seeping under the Chippendale chairs, and creeping behind the French tapestries hanging on the walls. He ignored them all, concentrating instead on coming up with a solution that didn't involve stealing a five-hundred thousand dollar necklace from his grandmother. Nothing. He couldn't come up with one single alternative. If he wanted to keep Miss Emily out of trouble—not an easy task—he was just going to have to buckle down and swipe the necklace. Right now. Tonight. Before it was too late. Even though he'd seen it with his own two eyes, he still couldn't quite believe she'd stolen from her own sister. And not a trinket. No sir. At a family gathering last week, she'd hauled away a diamond necklace that would have felt right at home among the crown jewels. Kyle had witnessed the event, and his former-cop instincts had kicked in. He'd confronted his grandmother right then and there, but she'd refused to return the thing, citing a sisterly right to the necklace that Francis had apparently inherited from their father. Kyle didn't remember any family stories about the piece, but he was hardly in a position to challenge Emily's memory. Not when she had the necklace tucked into her brassiere, and Francis' jewelry box was conspicuously empty. Francis might be a sweet old thing to Kyle, but she was also the numero uno threat to Miss Emily's role as the Empress of Emerald Cliffs, and the two sisters had a long-standing feud that even their shared devotion to Kyle couldn't seem to breach. Where social status was concerned, family loyalty meant nothing, and when Francis realized Emily had swiped her necklace, Kyle knew she'd call the cops faster than Miss Emily could line up a blind date for him. In retrospect, he probably should have simply told Francis and let the chips fall where they may. After all, someone needed to teach Miss Emily that she couldn't have every little thing she wanted in life. But considering she was pushing ninety, it seemed a little late for that lesson, and besides, did he really want his grandmother frisked and fingerprinted at her age? No, he didn't. And so he'd wimped out, deciding instead to simply grab the necklace and return it to Francis' house himself. With any luck, he'd get it back before his aunt even realized it was gone. His grandmother would be furious, but he'd face her wrath when he had to. Right then, the woman in question was holding court across the room, silver gray hair piled on her head, a shocking purple gown clinging to a figure that still made heads turn. Only now it wasn't because of her curves, but because ... well, because she was Emily Radley. The regally-postured, self-appointed social director of Emerald Cliffs and the nearby communities along the Pacific Coast Highway. A crowd of a dozen senior citizens gathered around her as she regaled them with tales from her studio days. He could hear only the highpoints as words like Garbo, Mayer, and those fabulous Technicolor musicals drifted by on the floral-scented air. He'd been reared on her stories, and he loved every one of them. Out of habit, he started to drift in that direction, but he caught himself and stopped. Not only did he need to take advantage of the opportunity to sneak upstairs, but he also didn't want her to notice him. Lately, Miss Emily's conversations were touching less on her old movie days and more on his love life. So far, she hadn't used the party as an excuse to play matchmaker. He'd almost asked her if she felt ill, but had decided not to press his luck. And her silence really was luck. He may have worked for ten years as a Los Angeles cop, getting down and dirty with the South-Central gangs, but the horrors he'd seen didn't even come close to rivaling Miss Emily's guerilla marketing tactics where his love life was concerned. He didn't know how long the respite would last, but he was grateful for it, though he feared she was simply planning her secondary campaign. Abigail Van Martin, his grandmother's best friend, and his self-appointed great-godmother marched toward him, her cane more of a prop than needed support. "Kyle, darling, you shouldn't be here." "I know." He ran his fingers through his hair, causing Abby to frown. When he was eight, she would have smoothed the hairs back into place. Today, thankfully, she kept her hands to herself. "I should be at work. I've been at work all day. I've been busting my tail trying to solve this Driskell mess." Kyle had retired from the force to open his own security consulting company, Integrated Security Systems, and for the first year, things had been going great. Then Ethan Driskell had purchased Integrated's top of the line system, and three weeks later thieves wiped him out, the value of their haul totaling over nine million dollars. For Driskell, a billionaire several times over, the theft was an inconvenience. For Kyle, it was a public relations disaster. He needed to find the flaw and find it fast, before word got around and his growing client list shrank to nothingness. So, yes, he needed to be at the office rather than standing around his grandmother's party. But Miss Emily's antics had sucked him in, and he was here for the duration. Abby squinted at him through her smudged glasses. "Driskell?" She shook her head, confused. "I meant why are you here? In the corner. You should be out circulating. Meeting the young ladies." Kyle couldn't help but laugh. His entire business could be collapsing around his ears, and Abby and Emily would only wonder if he had a date for the event. "I knew it was too good to last. Grandmother's gone the entire party without mentioning my pathetic bachelor state. Don't tell me she enlisted you as the second guard." Abby sniffed. "I was simply making an observation. But your grandmother is right." He stifled a sigh, half-wondering if he should invent a girlfriend and short circuit the ladies' campaign altogether. The idea amused him, especially since it held an irony his grandmother was sure to eventually see. How many times had she told him the story of her fake fiancé, created by the studio to make her seem that much more desirable when the "wedding" fell through? Abby tapped him on the foot with the tip of her cane, snatching his attention back. "You're such a good-looking boy. When are you going to settle down?" "Come on, Abby. Don't tease me. How can I think about settling down when I can't find a woman half as nice as you?" "Save your charm for the younger ladies, dear." She patted his cheek. "I prefer a wrinkle or two in my men. Makes me feel like we're even." "Give me a few years." "Don't tempt me." She fumbled for the glasses hanging from a chain around her neck, then pushed the specs onto her nose and squinted at him. "Have you been looking for one?" "One what?" "A woman, dear. Do pay attention." He chuckled. He should have known Abby O'Neil wouldn't beat around the bush. "Honestly? I haven't been looking at all." His priority right now was saving his business, not getting laid. At that particular moment, though, neither his floundering business nor women were the issue. Diamonds were. He bent down and pressed a quick kiss to Abby's cheek, then made his excuses, telling her he was off to circulate with the female party guests. It wasn't true, of course. But he could hardly explain to his godmother that he was heading upstairs to break into his grandmother's wall-safe and steal a diamond necklace.