Thread: Another Day on the Job. (AutumnDreaming/Rekoj)

Dianna Hartford did not consider herself a criminal, but a mastermind and an artist. Even if in blatant terms she was a thief, she was much more than petty and careless. Her methods were ingenious, combining intelligent skill with charisma to be a deadly threat. Posing as Elise Trenton, the art curator from Boston, most of her clients, also known as victims, fit into the same stereotype they were rich, lonely, desperate, stupid, and possessed rare and valuable pieces of art. Elise was like a tumbleweed to them, blowing in with such a ferociousness they never noticed how cunning she could be until it was too late. By the time they realized that not only had she stolen and broken their hearts she had robbed them blind too, she was long gone. Of course, her scorned lovers always reported her to the police eventually. Embarrassed by their foolishness, every single one of them had waited until the losses were too overwhelming not to be reported. Weeks or even months would float by, the trail too cold then for the police to be able to find any traces of the woman who didn't exist. She was like a phantom, a figment of their imaginations. Dianna had rules no multiple clients, no multiple jobs in the same city within one yearly setting, and no remaining in the same place for longer than a month at maximum. At twenty-three, she had vowed to abide by her own laws for the past five years, never once breaking a single one. However, a love affair with a music box had changed everything. Her latest victim, Trevor Stanton, had not made her job an easy one. Not only was he clingy, but he was enchantingly handsome. His affection for her was not as obvious as the others had been, but he had a need to see her on almost a daily basis. She hadn't minded as it made keeping her eye on the literal prize- an original painting by a well-known Parisian artist- an easy feat. It was through him, however, that she encountered the reason she was breaking her own logical rules. He had insisted on taking her to the art museum, ironically thinking it would teach her about painting. It was during one of the escapades that she saw it a nineteenth century music box covered in alternating diamonds and emeralds. The finish was exquisite, the wood still sparkling as if it had only been a few days since production. She didn't know what song it had played, but she didn't care. The collector had to have it. After finishing with Trevor, she should have fled the area. She couldn't, though, knowing that box was in existence. For weeks, she kept returning, admiring it every day. Like a hawk she had watched the guards at the museum, spending time to learn their habits and the security systems that protected the building. Finally, her night had come. As cliche as it was, her lean five-foot six-inched frame was covered in a black leather catsuit. The tight garment would prevent any loose threads from accidentally tripping any system, ruling her plan. Dark auburn hair was pulled into a sleek bun, secured tightly at the base of her neck. Light green eyes were unshielded, confidently waiting for the moment to strike. All her days of snooping were about to pay off. The item was on the third floor, but one of the windows on the south side of the second story was faulty, not quite locked in place. For that, the system would not be alerted if she could manage to pry through it. She had a small grappling hook in hand, connected to a rope and harness that would allow her to quickly scale the exterior walls. With perfect precision, she tossed it up onto the ledge near her targeted window. Tugging on it to assure herself it was in place, she used her upper body strength to pull while her feet began to ascend up the smooth wall.