“Oh, what the hell,” he said, pulling out the small box that held the sapphire. “You handled those tweezers real well yesterday, just like a pro. Need a loupe?”
“No, thanks. I brought my own this time. I didn’t want to take a chance on dropping yours again.”
Besides, only an idiot used the same distraction twice, but pointing that out wasn’t any part of Kate’s agenda.
He grinned. “You didn’t do any harm. You can go looking for a loupe in my lap any old time you want to.”
Kate didn’t think her acting skills were up to answering. Then she thought of Lee, missing for five months, almost certainly dead, and—Don’t go there, she told herself roughly. Crying doesn’t do a damn bit of good, especially now. Suck it up. You have a job to do.
“You’re way too kind, Mr. Purcell,” she said hoarsely. “I felt like such a fool.”
“You felt just fine from where I was sitting.”
She swallowed hard and fished in the pocket of her jacket. When her fingers wrapped around the cool curve of the loupe, it steadied her. She took out the small 10x magnifying glass and looked at Purcell expectantly.
He waited, hoping that she would come around the glass like she had yesterday. He’d really liked squeezing that firm ass between his thighs and the heavy display case.
She didn’t move.
“View’s better from here,” he said.
She shook her head. “No, you’ll just get me all flustered again. I have to keep my mind on my business.”
“You sure, honeypot?”
“That you’d get me flustered? I sure am.” And this time I might not be able to stop myself from parking my foot in your crotch. “You have a way of making a woman forget what she’s doing.”
He laughed. “So they tell me.”
He took the clear top off the box, nudged it toward her, and handed her a pair of jeweler’s tweezers.
Ignoring the slick feel of his fingers rubbing over her palm, she positioned the tweezers and picked up the thirty-carat stone. Holding the loupe to one eye, she brought the sapphire closer until it was in focus.
The color was everything a blue sapphire should be. The inclusions didn’t detract from the brilliance. The cut was superb.
Show time.
She set the gem back in its box and simultaneously fumbled with the loupe. It smacked against her collarbone and slid down between her breasts. She gave a stifled little shriek and went after the loupe with her right hand. As she fished around in her bra, she flashed more skin at Purcell.
She needn’t have worried about holding his attention. He was staring at her breasts so hard he was sweating.
“You turn me into all thumbs,” Kate said, smiling at Purcell, “but—”
The rest of her words were lost in a gasp as large masculine fingers closed over her left hand, all but crushing it.
“C’mon, get a move on it,” said a rough, impatient voice. “We’re late. I’ve been looking all over hell for you.”
Kate went cold as she glanced up into a stranger’s hard gem-blue eyes.
Chapter 7
Scottsdale
Tuesday
9:40 A.M.
Sam Groves dragged his prey away from Purcell’s booth and out into the hotel lobby.
“Let go of me,” Kate said in a low, furious voice.
“Or you’ll scream?” he asked without interest.
She said something under her breath.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said. “Don’t want to call attention to yourself, do you?”
“Mr.—”
“Groves. Sam Groves.” He crowded her against a potted plant the size of a delivery truck and took a credential holder out of his hip pocket. A badge flashed gold. “Special Agent, FBI. Any questions?”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“That’s my question.” He turned over her hand, the hand that he hadn’t released from his grip. One blunt finger traced the delicate bump of wax or glue or whatever had held the stone out of sight in her sleeve until it was time to make the switch. “A quick scrape, the stone drops, and it’s switched before the mark knows what happened.”
She gave him a look that said his deodorant had failed her sniff test.
“Open up,” he said, “or I’ll have to hurt your fingers.”
“You already have.”
“You’re making me cry.” He squeezed harder. “Open up.”
“How can I?” she retorted, struggling quietly, uselessly against his grip.
Her dark brown eyes glared up at her captor. If he was bothered by her, attracted to her, or repelled by her, he didn’t show it. His attitude made it real clear that he wasn’t going to be distracted by a little skin. If anything, he looked bored.
But not careless. Her fingers were white and the hidden stone bit into her flesh from the force of his grip.
He replaced his credentials and moved his hand to her wrist without giving her a chance to escape. “Open up.”
With an odd smile, she uncurled her fingers. A forty-carat emerald-cut blue sapphire gleamed on her palm.
“Surprise, surprise,” he said. “Something stuck to your delicate little fingers. Who are you going to sell this to?”
“No one.”
“Yeah? You’re just switching stones for the hell of it?”
“Something like that.”
“You must think I’m as stupid as Purcell.”
Kate met Sam’s cool blue eyes straight on. The man might be a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. Normally, she would have been attracted to his intelligence and old-fashioned male strength. Not today. Today she wished she’d never met the son of a bitch.
“I’m sure you’re very bright for a federal robot,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean you’re right. I’m not a thief.”
Sam’s dark eyebrows rose. He’d met some confident con men in his time, but she was something else.
Federal robot.
He almost laughed. If she only knew how wide of the mark that shot was.
“Not a thief, huh?” he asked lazily. “That blue stone in your hand says you’re a liar.”
“You’re assuming that the stone is valuable enough to be worth stealing.”
“I sure am.”
“The stone’s only real value lies in the time a cutter spent on it.”
“Oh, yeah, right,” he said, not bothering to hide his impatience.
Kate’s chin tilted up. The more her heartbeat settled down from being caught, the madder she got. “I can prove it.”
“How?”
“Pick a dealer. Any dealer. Show them the stone and see what they say.”
For a long moment, Sam simply looked at his unexpected captive. She had the kind of classy face that made a man want to please her, dark eyes that looked earnest, fine bones, rich black hair, and an unmistakably female shape that the loose clothing couldn’t hide. Overall impression was of fresh, businesslike femininity. Intelligent too. Quick in more than one sense of the word.
If he hadn’t seen her pull the switch himself, he would have believed her innocent act.
But he’d seen the switch.
Then he remembered just how much eyewitness testimony was really worth—slightly less than a handful of warm spit. Three eyewitnesses would earnestly tell you that the guy was tall, short, average, thin, fat, average, hairy, bald, average, and looked just like you.
He glanced at his watch. The strike force meeting wouldn’t start for another twenty minutes. Whatever else the woman might or might not be, she was more interesting than the pages of the catalogue he’d been thumbing through since the booths opened at nine. She smelled better too.
And there was always the chance if he crowded her hard enough, she might volunteer some interesting leads into the gem-fencing community. So far the strike force hadn’t done much but spend public funds following leads that didn’t pan out.
“Okay, Ms….”
“Natal
ie,” Kate said quickly, hoping her mother wouldn’t care if her name was borrowed.
“You have a middle and a last name?”
She’d already decided that Smith or Jones was a nonstarter. So she grabbed the first words she thought of: her profession and her mother’s maiden name. “Cutter. Middle name Harrison.”
“All right, Ms. Natalie Harrison Cutter. You have any ID?”
She was ready for that too. “Up in my room. You aren’t going there.”
Sam decided to let it go for now. Without releasing his grip on her, he plucked the stone from her palm. “We’ll just walk back to the conference room and see what some dealers think of this stone.”
“Let go of me,” she said, tugging against his grip.
“Not unless you’d rather wear handcuffs. I’ve seen you move, sweetheart. Quick and slick.”
Kate locked her teeth together against the anger and adrenaline that wanted to spill out in a rush of scathing words. “Typical condescending FBI,” she said distinctly. “Sweetheart.”
The left corner of Sam’s mouth tilted up. “You know a lot of us federal robots, do you?”
“Let’s say I’m familiar with the breed.”
“The kind of familiarity that leads to contempt?”
Kate’s sideways look said it all.
He grinned. “I like your style.”
“I’ll change it.”
“Come with me, Ms. ‘No ID’ Natalie. We’ll see how wide your sassy streak is.”
“If I were a man, you wouldn’t call it sassy.”
“If you were a man, Purcell wouldn’t have been so busy looking at your tits that he took his eyes off the main point—gems. What goes around, comes around. Sweetheart.”
She shot him a dark glance, saw that she was being baited, and gritted her teeth.
Then she followed him because there was no other choice except to be dragged behind like a sulky child.
Sam selected the second booth on the left, well away from Purcell. The woman behind the counter was neatly turned out in a Southwest-style jacket and black slacks. Her gray hair was cut close, as were her nails. Gems were arranged in the case like a rainbow. While not a very original design, the multicolored arc of gems was striking.
“Good morning, ma’am,” Sam said. “Beautiful display you have.”
The woman smiled, responding to the approval and warmth in his voice. The fact that the rest of the package was male and easy moving didn’t hurt. She might have been old enough to be his mother, but her eyesight was just fine.
“Thank you,” she said. “We try to please.”
Kate bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming—or laughing. Sam was reeling the woman in the same way Kate had reeled in Purcell.
Only Sam didn’t have to undo a single button.
Life really isn’t fair, Kate thought angrily. Why couldn’t he have been as sleazy as Purcell? But, no. He’s a one hundred percent pure FBI male. Clean-shaven. Confident. Condescending.
Oh, lucky me.
“I’m sure you do just that,” Sam said, smiling at the dealer. “If you’re not too busy, I need your opinion on something.”
The woman waved one hand. “If a line forms behind you, I’ll kick you out. Until then, how can I help you?”
Sam held out his hand, palm up. The sapphire glowed like a huge blue eye stolen from an alien idol.
The woman’s breath came in with an audible sound.
“I say this is worth a lot of money.” Sam tilted his head toward his captive. “My sweetheart here doesn’t think so. Can you settle the argument for us?”
“That looks like the stone Mike Purcell was bragging on.”
“Purcell?” Kate said quickly. “We didn’t get it from him. My, uh, sweetie won it in a poker game last night.”
“Yeah, she gave me hell on the half shell when I got in late,” Sam said.
“If you’d come home a winner,” Kate said with lethal sincerity, “I wouldn’t have cared when you got in.”
“Hey, fifty-eight big ones for a stone like this is winning in any man’s book.”
“May I examine it?” the dealer asked, pulling a black velvet pad closer and reaching for loupe and tweezers.
“Sure.”
The dealer put the loupe to her eye with one hand. With the other, she used the tweezers to pick up the stone and bring it into focus in front of the loupe. She studied it intently for a long moment, shifted a tiny gooseneck light to a better angle, and looked again.
“What are you looking for?” Sam asked.
“Pear-shaped bubbles or curved growth lines,” she said absently. “They’re sure signs of a synthetic.”
“See any?” he pressed.
“Not yet.”
Sam gave his captive a sideways look that was just short of predatory.
The dealer set aside the loupe. “I have a spectroscope on the counter behind me…?”
“Sure, use it,” Sam said. “I want to be real certain. Unless it will harm the stone.”
“None of the tests I use are destructive to the gem.”
“You have a microscope too?” Kate asked.
“Of course.”
“Then just cut to the chase,” Kate said. “If the stone is a Chatham synthetic, you’ll still get the black bar at four hundred and fifty on the spectroscope, just like a natural.”
The dealer gave Kate a speculative look and passed up the spectroscope for the binocular microscope. She set it on the countertop, put the sapphire in the stone holder, and bent over the eyepieces.
“What will that tell you?” Sam asked his captive.
“If she uses that microscope very carefully—”
“I’m GIA certified,” the dealer interrupted mildly. “I know how to use a microscope.” She glanced up at Kate. “What am I going to see?”
“Hexagonal or triangular platinum platelets,” Kate said succinctly.
The dealer looked at Sam. “Why are you wasting my time? Your girlfriend knows more about sapphires than most of the people in this room.”
“He doesn’t trust me,” Kate said. “That’s why we’re not married. Just sweethearts.”
Sam buried a laugh. Damned if the quick-tongued little con didn’t appeal to him.
The dealer turned back to the microscope. She gave the stone a good look before she finally straightened. “I’m afraid your, um, sweetheart is correct. The stone isn’t worth what you paid for it.”
“Yeah? How come?” Sam said, disappointed. “Sure looks good to me.”
“Do you know much about colored gems?” the dealer asked.
“Nope.”
“Like I told you, sweetheart,” Kate said. “It’s pretty, but it’s not worth breaking a sweat over.”
“No problem,” he said easily. “I’m always willing to learn. And sweat.”
Kate rolled her eyes.
The dealer smiled. “The stone is a Chatham synthetic. Uncommon, yes, thank God. All the other synthetics fail the spectroscope test.”
“You mean that stone isn’t a sapphire?” Sam asked.
“Oh, it’s blue sapphire, no question.” The dealer looked at Sam’s expression and sighed. “Obviously, you have trouble believing in the expertise of a woman. There are a lot of male specialists who could do a formal appraisal of this stone, but it will take several days to several weeks and cost you hundreds of dollars.”
“Help me out here,” Sam said, frowning. “It’s really a sapphire?”
Subtly, Kate tested his hold on her wrist. No change. No discreet escape possible.
Hell.
“Blue sapphire, yes,” the dealer said. “Sapphires come in all colors except red.”
Sam made an encouraging sound.
“When sapphires are red,” the dealer said, “they’re called rubies. Both sapphire and ruby have essentially the same specific gravity and—barring the impurities that give color—the same chemical composition.”
He managed to look intelligent and conf
used at the same time. It was one of his best faces for questioning people. “So why isn’t this, uh, blue sapphire worth anything?”
“It’s synthetic,” the dealer said patiently. “Man-made. When you buy gems, you’re buying color, rarity, and clarity. The synthetics only have two out of three.”
“Not enough to be in the money,” Sam said.
“No. Although this is quite well done,” she added, handing back the stone. “The cut is exquisite. Unusual to see that kind of exacting work in synthetic goods. Most of them are machine cut and polished according to a bean counter’s formula for maximum return.”
Damn right it’s exquisite, Kate thought. I cut it myself.
And that was one bit of news she wasn’t sharing unless she had to.
Sam made a rumbling, grumbling kind of sound that managed to be cuddly rather than fierce. He shoved the stone deep into his jeans pocket. “Why would anyone put all that effort into a fake?”
“Synthetic,” the woman corrected instantly.
“Whatever.”
“There are several possibilities.”
“Such as?”
“Well,” the dealer said, “the most likely explanation is that the owner of a natural blue sapphire of that size might have an identically cut synthetic and wear it instead of the more costly stone. It’s a way of keeping down insurance rates.”
Sam nodded.
“It’s also a way of protecting valuable stones from thieves,” the dealer continued. “Most gem thieves, particularly the South American gangs, couldn’t tell glass from synthetic from natural.”
Sam managed not to grimace over the mention of South American gangs. He heard enough of that song from his supervisory special agent and from Ted Sizemore.
You’d think that there was only one nationality of gang on the whole frigging planet.
“Really?” Sam asked. “I wouldn’t have thought gem thieves were that stupid.”
“There are one or two real smart ones out there,” the dealer said unhappily. “I’ve heard rumors that some dealers were making decoy shipments to thwart those hijackers when there were some particularly fine gems to protect. Perhaps your well-cut stone came from one of those decoys.”
“Thanks for your time,” Sam said, turning away.
The Color of Death Page 3