“Checkmate,” Philippe whispered when he spotted her.
Adriana upended a cauldron over the priceless statue, molten metal cascading in clumps.
He crept out of his hiding place until he was inches behind her.
“You’re under arrest!” he exclaimed. He whipped out his handcuffs, poised to slap them on her.
But she elbowed him, and his knees crashed into the pavement. She grasped a chunk of his hair, yanking his head back, her brilliant blue eyes boring into his.
“Boy!” she spat. She bent down, her chestnut-brown hair brushing his cheek. It inflamed him.
She planted her lips on his. He was his own man no more.