Three Fates by Nora Roberts

When Marcella’s gaze narrowed, Cleo sighed. “It’s not illegal. I’ve got something someone wants to buy, but I don’t trust him enough to let him know I’ve got it with me.” At Marcella’s steely stare, Cleo dug into her bag. “Nag, nag, nag,” she muttered under her breath.
    “There is nothing wrong with my hearing or my English.”
    “This.” Cleo held up the newly polished statue.
    “Let me see.” Marcella wagged a finger until Cleo walked over and put it in her hand. “Silver. Very nice. Needs polishing.”
    “I got most of the gunk off.”
    “You should care better for your things. Sloppy. This is pretty,” she mused and tapped at it with a red-slicked fingernail. “Solid silver?”
    “Yeah, it’s solid.”
    “Where do you get?”
    “It’s been in my family for years. I’ve had it since I was a kid.”
    “And this man—the Irishman,” she assumed. “He wants it.”
    “Apparently.”
    “Why?”
    “I’m not sure. He’s got a story that may or may not be true. Doesn’t matter to me. I’ve got it, he’ll pay for it. Can I use the equipment?”
    “Yes, yes. This is an heirloom?” Marcella frowned as she turned the statue over in her palm. “You would sell your heirloom?”
    “Heirlooms only count if family counts.”
    Marcella set the statue on the desk, where it glinted in the lamplight. “That is a hard heart, Cleo.”
    “Maybe.” Cleo waited while Marcella unlocked a desk drawer, took out the camera. “But it’s also a hard truth.”
    “Get your picture, then put on your costume. You can put in the extra hour now.”
     
     
    THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Cleo zipped up the tight black leather skirt that went with the bustier and silverstudded black jacket. The little whip worked well with the outfit, and Cleo gave it a testing flick that made the other girls jump and bitch at her.
    “Sorry.” Turning to the mirror, she straightened the dog collar she’d strapped around her neck and ran a hand over the hair she’d sleeked back into a tight bun at the base of her neck.
    A couple of good head shakes would free it, so she’d have to be careful it didn’t tumble down off cue. She added a little more black eyeliner, then practiced pivots and pliés in the high-heeled boots.
    She was executing a spread-leg squat, shifting her weight from side to side, when Gideon burst in. Several of the girls called out comments or made kissing noises.
    “Let’s go.” He snagged her hand and hauled her to her feet.
    “Go?”
    “Let’s move. I’ll explain later.”
    “I’m on in three minutes.”
    “Not tonight you’re not.” When he started to drag her to the door, she shifted her body, angled it, and jammed an elbow into his gut.
    “Hands off.”
    “Goddamn it.” He’d think about the pain later, and how to pay her back for it. But for now he caught his breath as the others in the dressing area cheered and whistled. “They’ve already been to your place. Your landlady’s in the hospital with a concussion. They can’t be more than five minutes behind me.”
    “What the hell are you talking about?” She took a step back from him. Another. “Who’s been to my place?”
    “Somebody who wants a particular item and isn’t as nice as I am about how they get it.” He grabbed her arm again. “They slapped your landlady around before they bashed her in the head. You want to wait for them to try it with you, or are you coming with me? You’ve got ten seconds to decide.”
    Impulse, Cleo thought, had always gotten her in trouble. Why should tonight be any different? She snagged her purse. “Let’s go.”
    He moved fast, heading out into the corridor, then dragging her to the right. “No, not out the front,” he said. “They could already be out there. We’ll go out the back.”
    “Back door locks from the inside. We go out that way, and there’s trouble, we can’t get back in.”
    He nodded, then opened the back door far enough to look out. The alleyway dead-ended to