Museum security expert Desiree Jacobs is back in this sequel to Reluctant Burglar , and only she can unearth the horrifying secret that links together stolen Indian artifacts, a murdered museum guard, a missing woman, and a baby in danger. Desiree "Desi" Jacobs doesn’t mean to get in danger’s path. Really she doesn’t. But when a friend is in trouble you don’t just walk away, no matter what your overprotective FBI agent boyfriend says. So when Desi and Tony’s date at a presidential ball is interrupted by a frantic Maxine Webb, Desi doesn’t hesitate to jump in. Soon Desi is neck-deep in a confusing array of villains. Did Maxine’s niece run away or was she taken? Is she still alive or the victim of a perverse ritual? And who wants her infant son--and why? Then Tony’s organized crime case collides with Desi’s investigation, throwing them both into the path of something dark and sinister. Something that craves blood. From the streets of Desi’s beloved Boston to the mountain desert of New Mexico, Desi and Tony must rely on God to thwart unseen forces and save a young woman and her baby from a villain more evil than any of them can imagine. “Nonstop action, danger, and a romance with the tension of a walk on a high wire. You’re in for a wild ride with this story!” - Lorena McCourtney, author of the Ivy Malone Mystery series “A fresh voice, strong heroine, and unique plot make Reluctant Runaway a can’t-put-down read. Jill Elizabeth Nelson is an author to watch in the realm of romantic suspense!” - Susan May Warren, award-winning author of In Sheep’s Clothing Jill Elizabeth Nelson takes art seriously–when she’s not having fun with it, that is. The To Catch a Thief series combines her love of the written word with her love of other art forms. She’s thrilled if the adventures that spill from her imagination can raise awareness about art theft–deemed “a looming criminal enterprise” by the FBI. Jill and her husband, Doug, have four children and live in Minnesota. S eptember night pressed in on Desiree Jacobs like an urgent warning. She shrugged the unease away. Flexing rubber-soled feet, she fixed her gaze on the brick wall half a dozen yards ahead. Under her Mylar jumpsuit, sweat trickled down her ribs. E-e-easy. This little jaunt was no different than a trip across the balance beam at the gym, a move she’d practiced for twenty-two of her thirty years. Except no thick mat waited a few feet away to soften a fall. Only ten stories of empty air. A single misstep off the steel girder and she’d make a nice Impressionist splat on the pavement of the alley below. Then Max can attend another funeral . Desi sighed. All right, girlfriend, you win. Bungee cord it is. She took a step backward onto the roof behind her. Amazing how easy it had been to get into this co-op apartment building next to the exclusive Tate Art Gallery of Washington DC. Delivering pizzas opened doors fast. Must be the hypnotic smell of sausage and pepperoni. Desi knelt beside her discarded delivery uniform. She stripped off her backpack, then pulled out the bungee cord and clipped an end to the harness around her torso. The other end went around a pipe sticking out of the roof. Lifting her arms, Desi stepped back onto the beam. Just try to keep her away from that American artist collection. She took a step, then one more, toes outward, heel to instep. And this step is for the Cassatt. She moved forward. And this one for the Savage. And this one for Grandma Moses. She hopped and switched foot positions. Expect me soon, Andy Warhol. At midbeam she stopped and looked up at the sky. One plump star winked at her. If Tony could see her, he’d have a cow. She winked back at the star. What an overprotective FBI agent boyfriend didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. Desi adjusted the backpack straps around her shoulders. She quick-stepped forward, one step back, then a trio of toe-steps forward. And those were for the three Georgia O’Keeffe’s . I’m coming, darlings. The tenth-story ledge of the Tate Gallery building loomed close. She smelled the brick cooling from the heat of the Indian summer day. Almost there. Almost… Yesss! Her breath came strong and even. She knelt on the two-foot ledge and glanced back at the wide-open space she’d conquered. The girder formed the only remaining connection between buildings that once shared a roof support system. A handy choice of approach under cover of night. She shrugged out of her pack and unhooked the bungee cord. Good riddance. By feel, Desi located her narrow-beam flashlight and trained the glow on the window in front of her. The pane was an unimpressive standard thickness, and the wood frame showed weather wear. Desi kneaded gloved fingers together. Where were the booby traps? Her gaze stopped on a slim white sensor strip across the inside of the sash. Even a trained eye could miss that one. Any tampering with the frame, and alarms would shriek loud enough to startle a poor unsuspe