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was here this morning when I got in?"
    Cecelia sat up. "Keidis was?"  
    "Yeah. Was asking me all kinds of questions about this guy. Wanted to know what I'd found."
    "What did you tell him?"
    "To kiss my ass and show me where he was the detective that collared him. I'm not required to show him any information. I couldn't figure out what he was looking for." Deb paused. "You don't think that's him, do you. That this guy's this notorious thief?"  
    "No. I honestly don't. I mean, up until last night I've never heard of him. So I spent all night and this morning doing research. The guy's international. I mean Interpol couldn't catch him. So why is he in a small time museum in Atlanta, Georgia, lifting a small statue that has such a small value in comparison to what he's taken before—and he gets caught by me?"
    "You're selling yourself short." Deb laughed. "It's because you wanna fuck him, don't you?"
    Cecelia blushed and faced away from everyone. "Sshh…what the hell are you saying that for?"  
    "Because of the way you both reacted to each other. What did he tell you? You started to tell me."  
    Cecelia looked around. Jerry was gone but she didn't feel comfortable. She knew Mister Phantom would remain in holding until they got some kind of positive ID on him so stepping out wouldn't be a problem. Especially since she'd been there all night. "You got a break?"  
    "Lunch break."  
    "I'm going to give you an address. I want you to meet me there at noon." She gave Deb Thomas Carr's address.  
    Once she disconnected, she printed out the ID profile she had on file and tucked it into her jacket pocket. She grabbed her gun, her badge and logged off her computer. If Jerry Keidis was that nosy, let him just sit and wonder.  
    She had some questions to answer.  

CHAPTER EIGHT

    Thomas sat alone in the holding cell, still handcuffed to the bench. He had a paperclip in his free hand and was working furiously on getting the handcuff off. After that—he wasn't sure how he was going to get out of the cell. He'd work on one thing at a time. He needed to pee, and he needed to get out of there. Something was very…very wrong.  
    For one, he'd never really been caught like that before. Mostly because he was the one that usually did the catching. And second…why weren't they able to verify who he was?  
    He thought about Detective Inzmann.  
    Cecelia.  
    It was a name he loved to think about.  
    He recalled the look in her eyes, the set of jaw. She was having trouble with the events too. He was sure of it. But would she be able to help him?  
    Would she?
    It was a long shot. He'd used his one call to the company lawyer and left a message with the secretary. But so far, nearly twelve hours later, no call back, and no sign of the lawyer.  
    He had a bad, bad feeling.  
    Just as the handcuff snapped off, the outer door clanged open. He remained where he was, faking being handcuffed to the bench. He heard footsteps echoing on the concrete floor. Who ever they were, they were wearing dress shoes…mens…not high heels. Those gave a different clack.  
    "Hello?" he called out. Maybe it was his lawyer? "Anyone there?"  
    The uniformed officer that locked him up came into view. Just behind him was a short man in a suit—
    And a hoodie.  
    "No Mister Phantom," the familiar voice box said. "There is no one there."  
    Thomas couldn't breathe. Damn! This guy was in the police precinct? The officer's stiff back was a good signal the Phantom had a gun in his back. Thomas tossed the handcuff away and went to the bars. "Let him go, Phantom. This is apparently between you and me."  
    "I have no intention of carrying my purpose any further." The Phantom kept his profile turned to Thomas as he took a step back and raised the gun.  
    "No!" Thomas yelled.  
    He reached through the bar and tried to grab for the Phantom. Thomas managed to grab the guy's arm before he fired. But the bullet still dropped the officer where he stood.
    The Phantom