The Diamond Secret Page 14

  "Who appointed you judge of proper owners?"

  He raised an eyebrow. "You know as well as I do that a jewel of such caliber deserves more than a casual or accidental owner."

  Unconsciously, I touched the place where I'd been carrying the jewel and felt only the soft tissue of breast beneath fabric. I had to admit he was right. "I suppose so."

  He took white cups off the shelf, and saucers and spoons, and set them on a bamboo tray. "Gunnarsson only wanted it to spite me. In such a circumstance, he deserved to have it stolen."

  I rubbed my forehead. "I guess." With a sigh, I shook my head, spread my hands. "I don't know what the right answers are this time."

  "How surprising," he returned, dryly.

  I gave him a look. "At least I try to do the right thing."

  "The implication there being that I do not?" It made him angry. "Perhaps you are confusing me with your father."

  "Don't start." The headache from last night edged back over my brow. "All I know is that I would not be sitting here if it were not for that jewel, that somehow I got mixed up in this mess because of my connection to you."

  "That's true, Sylvie, but that involvement came from Colceriu, not me." He took a china canister from the shelf and flipped the heavy, rubberized lid open. The scent of coffee popped into the room. With a yellow spoon, Paul measured ground coffee into a French press. "I am not certain how he discovered your connection to me, but he used you to protect himself."

  "I realize that, Paul." I scowled at him. "I'm not seventeen anymore. Or even—" I felt heat in my cheeks "—twenty-three. I can tell when a man is using me."

  Mildly, he said, "Do not be so hard on yourself. Your ex-husband was quite practiced in his games."

  "You tried to warn me. I didn't listen."

  "We all have to make our own mistakes, n'est-ce pas?"

  I lifted a shoulder. "Ancient history," I said. "I'm more concerned now with the current situation, and how convenient it all is. Luca tracked me down after stealing the jewel, and I just happened to be coming to Scotland for this case, which he—"

  Paul lifted a finger. "I alerted the police to your reputation," he said. "When I heard of the other jewels the police seized, I knew they would bring in an assessor. I sent word of your credentials and your connection to the country."

  "Why?"

  "I wanted—" The kettle began to whistle and he grabbed a hot pad and lifted it off the burner, and poured it into the waiting glass pot. With a long wooden spoon, he stirred the grounds, put the lid on to brew, and only then looked at me. "I wanted to see you."

  I met his gaze for a long moment, and again it was as if the ghosts were rising. I let them stand and dance between us and said only, "I see."

  "Do you?" He shook his head. "I wonder."

  If we started traveling this path, I simply would not be able to bear it. "We should focus on the jewel. How to get it back."

  "Very well." He carried the tray into the living room area and settled it on a low wooden table. "First, a little coffee, hmm?"

  Automatically, I shifted forward to serve. It made me think of the housekeeper who had taken such good care of me. "How is Brigitte?" I asked, picking up a cup and saucer.

  "She is well. She retired last summer to go live with her granddaughter in Castellane. The weather is milder there."

  "Give her my regards." I poured coffee for him, dropped in a single lump of sugar, topped it with heavy cream. The tiny spoons I liked were in a neat cross on the tray and I settled one on the saucer before passing it to him.

  He smiled.

  "What?" I said.

  "Nothing. I am only happy to see you, even if you are still angry with me."

  "I am not angry with you."

  "No?"

  I shook my head. "I'm tired of anger. I gave it up for Lent."

  His chuckle sounded as if it came from some deep place in his chest. "You've always been so very Catholic, haven't you, my little saint."

  "Not lately," I said. And luckily, I had not been able to convince Timothy to get married in the church, or I'd be sitting here now in bigger spiritual trouble than I was already in. "Anyway, the jewel."

  "What would you like to do, Sylvie? I am at your service."

  I rolled my eyes. Before pouring my own cup of coffee, I shrugged out of my coat. The silk and linen blouse I'd taken from Luca's case was rumpled and wrinkled, but I still liked it.

  Paul must have recognized it. "Was he your lover, then?" he asked.

  I smiled like a Cheshire cat. "We should follow him to Romania," I said, pouring the rich, black coffee. "I think he will go first to his village, where there was a priest who used to sneer at him."

  "What village?"

  "That, I don't know." I stirred cream into my own cup. "I thought you might be able to find out."

  He nodded. "Perhaps. What else?"

  "There are some thugs, too. Or there were."

  "The ones who were found dead?"

  "Maybe." I frowned. "We startled one in my hotel room in Ayr, and then three at the caravan in Demure. Then…. I know I saw someone on the road to Ardrossan. When I was talking to you on the phone."

  "You should start at the beginning, Sylvie. How did you meet Colceriu in the first place?"

  So I backtracked, filled him in on all that had happened since I got off the plane in Glasgow. I glanced at the clock on the wall and widened my eyes at the realization that it had barely been twenty-four hours since I'd landed. "Anyway, you said those men were reported dead, but I think someone else followed me. I also don't see how Luca could have killed them. They were big guys."

  Paul lifted a shoulder. I noticed there were very fine pink lines in his pale gray shirt. "You got away."

  "I broke one's knee, I think, and managed to get away from a second one, but nobody was dead when I left."

  "I see." He straightened.

  "So you didn't hire the thugs?" I asked.

  A glitter lit those gray-green eyes. "Is that what you thought, Sylvie?"

  "Maybe. Didn't seem to me that you'd just let him walk away with a jewel you've wanted since you were a child."

  "And you would have been right. I had him followed by a thief, whom I thought would be able to steal it back, without much trouble." He smiled slightly. "I did not think it would be you he'd have to steal it from. Not until I had the message in voice mail."

  Even in my current mood, I had to laugh at that. "So, that's who we surprised at the hotel?"

  "Yes. Your grandmother told me where you were staying."

  I nodded. It made sense. "But who are the others?"

  "There were bound to be others who heard that Gunnarsson had taken possession of the Katerina. Competing drug lords. Petty criminals. They do no matter."

  "I suppose not."

  He pursed his lips, looked through the window, then back at me. "What do you wish to do, Sylvie? It is your reputation and it has become your quest."

  "I called the inspector and told him I had it. My reputation depends on me delivering it now."

  Paul nodded. "Do you wish to call him again and let him know it's missing?"

  My nostrils flared. "No. Absolutely not."

  "Then we go after Luca."

  "Yes. That's why I'm here."

  He inclined his head. "Is it?"

  "Yes."

  For a long moment, he only looked at me, a great quiet in his eyes, which were the color of a pool in a forest, something healing, something rich. Beautiful. That ache of longing, that had so much been a part of my emotions when I was with him, rose to full-throated life.

  Before he could see it, before it spilled out of my own eyes, onto my hot cheeks, I lowered my gaze, lifted my cup. "Yes," I said again.

  "As you wish," he said, and stood up to make phone calls.

  Chapter 19

  Diamond is distinctive in the way it reflects light. It has a unique brilliance and also breaks the light up into spectral colors, which reflect within the stone as it is m
oved. Another unusual quality of a diamond is it's purity. A gem quality diamond is among the purest elements found in nature.

  —www.diamondgeezer.com

  Paul called a friend who used the helicopter pad based in Broderick, and they flew us to the Glasgow airport in no time at all. At another time, I might have enjoyed the experience, but all I could think about today was getting to Luca and the Katerina.

  And maybe I was thinking about the jewel to avoid thinking too much about Paul.

  It was midafternoon by the time we made it to Glasgow. Thin light edged the clouds, and splashes of daffodils, in medians and window boxes and flower pots, stood in brave testament to the coming of spring. It made my heart feel lighter.

  At least until we passed the car rental counter on the way in. I spied the redheaded boy who'd asked about my father, "the greatest racer ever" and ducked my head in case he remembered me. I wondered where the red Alfa Romeo was now, if Luca had abandoned it here or somewhere else. And maybe it seems silly to you to feel bad about a car, but when I explained to Paul how I'd mistreated the lovely creature, he understood, rubbed one of my shoulders. We take cars seriously, we do.

  Once we checked in, I felt the stares of other women on my grimy clothes and badly done hair and makeup. I didn't have a lot of time, but there were shops of all sorts. "I need to take care of a few things," I said to Paul.

  "I'll go with you," he said. "It is clothes you're after?"

  "Yes." I waved a disparaging hand at the makeshift wardrobe I'd assembled from my cousin's caravan, the old jumper and jeans over the blue silk shirt of Luca's. Still a fine piece, and I'd hold on to it.

  Paul loved shopping, and although we did not have a lot of time, he took delight in pulling out a narrow, long black skirt and a body-skimming silk sweater with a low-cut V neck. While I tried them on, he tossed through a selection of scarves and pulled out three he liked—I wore the gossamer white one, tied around my throat.

  When I went back to the changing room, Paul purchased other things for me, and had them tucked neatly into a carry-on bag I could put on my back. The supple leather felt like skin, and I exclaimed in pleasure when he handed it to me. "This way, you do not have to feel so deprived."

  The clerk practically swooned over his continental manners, his accent, his handsome face. The Scots love the French, and vice versa, united as they are in their dislike of their common enemy, the English. As an outsider to all three, it seemed hilarious to me how nations carried grudges for so many centuries.

  But there it was. We carried the packages to our gate area, and I left Paul sitting there while I found the ladies room and changed into the new clothes.

  So much better! I folded the jeans and indigo silk blouse and tucked them into the plastic bag the other clothes had come in, then went out of the stall to examine myself in the mirror a little more.

  My makeup was all right—I'd put some on before breakfast, then touched it up before getting off the ferry at Broderick before I saw Paul. The bruise on my chin was starting to show a little, and I put some more cover on it, pleased that it was going to heal very fast. A miracle I hadn't broken a tooth!

  There wasn't a lot I could do about my hair, which was still caught in a long braid down my back. I knew from experience it was likely still damp, and that bugged me enough that I wanted to let it out. If you've ever had long hair, you know what I mean. After a while, you just need to let it go. Let it breathe.

  I tugged the scrunchie from the bottom and worked my fingers through the braid. Wavy tendrils, some as damp as I'd anticipated, tumbled over my shoulders, down my back.

  A little girl washing her hands in the sink next to me watched the whole process. Soberly, in an English accent, she asked, "Are you Rapunzel?"

  Her mother chuckled. "Emma! Rapunzel is a fairly tale."

  The girl looked unconvinced. "She looks just like the picture in the book."

  The sweater was a romantic pinkish color, and the slim, stretchy skirt came down to my ankles, with a slit in the back. Together with the yards of blond, wavy hair, I knew what she was thinking.

  I smiled at the mother in the mirror, and bent down to the little girl. "Well, I try not to let anyone know that I'm flying around," I said in a Scottish accent, "but yes, I am Rapunzel. Don't tell anyone, all right?"

  "Oh, no," she exclaimed seriously. "I would never tell."

  "Thank you," her mother said to me. "Come along, Emma. We'll be late for our plane."

  The two went out, leaving me alone in the area by the sinks, and I leaned into the mirror to put on my lipstick. Fixed up, feeling a lot more cheerful, I grabbed my bag and headed back to the waiting area.

  I saw Paul sitting there, spectacles low on his nose. He must need reading glasses! I thought with an odd pang. They were so endearing in some strange way I couldn't decipher just then, but it also broke my heart that he was older, that he would need such a thing. I hated it.

  So I wasn't paying attention to anything but Paul when, abruptly, a hand grabbed me around the upper arm. The hand yanked me, so quickly I was knocked off balance, and stumbled in the direction they intended, into a dark cubbyhole, like a close between waiting areas. I tried to yank back, pull out, but he was stronger and threw me into the concrete wall, twisting my arm up behind me. I grunted, and his hand went over my mouth. I smelled onions on his fingers, and it nearly gagged me.

  I twisted and jerked, trying to use his weight to get enough leverage to head-butt him, but he was ready or lucky, because my head met empty air. He shoved me again, and my body slammed hard into the concrete wall. A blast of pain from my bruised left breast went through me, and I gave a little yelp through the hand.

  "Where is it?" he said, and lifted his hand for me to speak.

  "I don't have it!"

  He gripped me in a way that made it impossible to move, my arm swung up behind me and pressed into my back, my face against the wall. I could do nothing as he searched through the backpack, then very thoroughly patted me down, feeling breasts and crotch impersonally. It infuriated me, and I made a noise. "Stop it! I don't have it!"

  "Where is it?"

  "Luca has it," I said. "Somewhere in Romania."

  The man made a sudden noise, something between a thunk and a groan, and the pressure of his body suddenly fell away. I pushed away from the wall, instinctively cradling my bruised chest. Paul took my hand.

  "Come. Quickly," he said, and tugged me out of the dark spot.

  I looked back over my shoulder, and the man was lying prone on the floor, his head at an odd angle. I pulled back. "God, Paul, is he dead?"

  A pair of security guards were walking by and Paul pulled me back into the opening of the little alleyway, blocking their view of the body. "Look at me, Sylvie," he said, turning my body toward his.

  It was a dodge, I knew that, a way to keep the security guards from seeing the prone human on the floor, but it also slammed into me as a personal moment. The minute I raised my head, I knew I'd never forget this—the heat of him, the size of him, towering over me.

  He pressed me into the wall and put his body close to mine. "Pretend you're kissing me," he said.

  I met his eyes. It was a long, hot moment. I felt his body close to mine, knew he could feel the give of my breasts and belly against the length of him. His breath touched my lips, and I lifted my face the slightest bit, putting our lips only millimeters apart. "Like this?"

  "Yes," he whispered back, and I could feel the heat of his mouth, the movements of his lips disturbing the air over my own. Against my thigh, I felt him grow aroused, and it was impossible not to move very slightly against him, acknowledging that arousal. His hand, on my side, edged upward over my rib cage, almost as if it were a being apart, and his thumb edged my breast.

  Our lips still did not touch, but I could hear my breath coming a little faster. Infinitesimal movements pulsed through him, through me. A ripple of muscle in his left leg, a quiver in my belly, a nudge from his genitals, a pulse—known onl
y to me—from my own.

  "What excuse will you find this time?" I whispered.

  "For what?"

  "For turning away from me. I'm not a child anymore. I'm not going to be married."

  "They were never excuses," he said

  "No?" Boldly, I touched my tongue to his lower lip, very lightly, and the contact sent a bolt of sensation through my lower back so strong that I nearly felt as if I'd drop straight to the floor.

  "Sylvie," he whispered, not moving. "Be careful."

  "Yeah? You just want me to pretend? You don't really want me to kiss you?"

  He raised his hand to the side of my face. "Look at me."

  I raised my eyes. Every cell in my body boiled with a decade of wanting him. He caught my chin in his hand, held me still. Looking into my eyes, he imitated my movement, his tongue flashing over my lower lip. I made a sound, clutched his upper arm.

  He did it again, this time more slowly, just a drag of the tip of his tongue along the round of my lip, a hot, measured gesture. "I have always tried to simply keep you safe," he said, and our eyes were locked, his greeny-gray, mine surely molten with my thoughts.

  "And what," I whispered, my lips bumping his, "will you do now?"

  "What do you want me to do, Sylvie? Hmmm?"

  I closed my eyes. "I don't know."

  "That has always been the trouble. You are not sure, and I will not risk losing you." His lips touched mine, very very lightly. "Once done," he said, "it cannot be undone."

  "I know," I said, and hated the fear in my voice, the wavering. "Let me go."

  He straightened. "Give me a moment."

  At that, I smiled up at him. "At least it's gratifying to know that you do find me somewhat appealing."

  "You could not have doubted that."

  "Oh, but I have," I said. "Often."

  He shook his head, took a breath, took my hand casually. "Do not doubt your allure, Sylvie."

  "Thank you." We headed out into the main concourse, and they were calling for us to board Flight 329, with service to Munich and Bucharest. As we approached the area, he reached out and took my hand in his, not the grasp of a guardian to his ward, but that of a man to a woman. He didn't look at me, but I folded my hand around his in return, and held it until we had to go, single file, through the gate.