Laurell Bennet was where she could be found most nights, in a club called the Winding Stair. The music thrummed through her body while she danced with partner after partner, never seeming to tire even as they fell away to find other, less demanding, partners. She moved with an innate sensuality that dared and compelled at the same time. Drawing men to her like a moth to a flame, a flame that burned any that dared to come to her, leaving them shaking their heads and muttering under their breath. They would find women they could handle, she would never leave with someone so easily dissuaded from her company as that.<br/><br/>As the music beat against her she considered the job she'd just finished. It had been fun. She'd stolen a priceless painting, but unless the old fop she'd taken it from ever had the replica she'd left on his wall appraised, no one would ever know it had been stolen. By the time he had it checked, there would be no way to connect the theft to her. Silly old man didn't deserve it, tucking it away in a guest room like it had been. He'd only had it as a means of showing off his money, not because he enjoyed the skill of the artist of the beauty of the work itself.<br/><br/>It was much better placed above her mantel.<br/><br/>Humming to herself she continued to dance while thinking about the next job she might take on, she had a couple items she had offers about. They'd pay nicely, but it wasn't as if she needed money at this point in her career. She could pick and choose her jobs and only took those that offered her something more then just a payday.