by Rita Sable
He stood up for the introduction and prayed she’d be quick about covering her shock when she recognized him. He struggled to maintain a poker face.
“Miss Cynthia Lyons.” Hill maneuvered out of his chair and came forward at the same time. “This is Agent Trevor St. James from Interpol. He’ll be taking over the investigation of your break-in last night.”
She turned her attention to him and blinked. Her silvery eyes widened, pupils dilated with instant recognition. Her cheeks paled one second and then flushed with pretty color the next.
“Miss Lyons,” Trevor said, carefully extending his hand.
She didn’t put her hand in his. She turned to the captain. “May I go now?”
“Yes.” Hill nodded. “Agent St. James has a few questions for you and then he’ll take you back to your apartment. Do you have a problem with that?”
A ragged breath gusted past her full, pink lips. “No, no problem, Captain. Thank you for helping me. But I’m not going anywhere with this man. Goodbye, sir.”
For the second time that morning she spun on her heel away from him. She marched boldly through the maze of desks and people, a small leather backpack and a purse bobbing against her shoulder with her hurried stride. The boxy chocolate-colored sweater and Burberry plaid calf-length skirt she wore looked bright against the drab office furniture. The skirt hugged her cute little ass.
Trevor couldn’t help the grin that tugged on his lips. “Captain Hill, thanks again for your time. If I need anything, I’ll call.”
“You just remember what I said and we’ll be fine. I don’t want any trouble in my city.”
“I don’t intend to cause any. Bye now.”
Trevor picked up his manila folder and followed her rapid retreat to the elevator. Judging by the way her shoulders rose and fell, she was quite agitated. She punched the elevator button viciously with her thumb. He stepped up behind her. Soft golden highlights played in her light brown hair. She had tied it back in a neat French braid, the tail end falling to the middle of her back.
“I do need to speak with you,” he said behind her ear. “It’s a matter of international concern.”
She turned to face him, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, making them plump up inside her sweater. Remembering the delicious view she’d given him this morning when she plucked those tips with her fingers made his body jump to attention again. His balls tightened uncomfortably inside his jeans.
“Fine,” she huffed. “But I’m sure I can’t give you any more information than you’ll find in that folder. The detectives were quite thorough about questioning me. So? Speak. You have until this elevator gets down to the lobby.”
As if on cue, the elevator doors slid open behind her. She spun around and stepped inside, stabbing the lobby button without waiting for him. He joined her inside before the doors closed on his nose.
Her fragrance came to him then, wafting up in the confines of the elevator. She smelled like strawberries. Ripe, sweet and juicy. His mouth watered at the mere thought of tasting her.
“Miss Lyons, can we start again on fresh footing? I’ll forget this morning, if you will. I do need to question you.”
She lifted her chin, took a deep breath and stared straight ahead at the wall. The twin hot spots of color on her cheeks refused to fade. “Look, Mr.—whatever your name is, I’m behind on my work because of this.”
“Agent Trevor St. James, at your service. I just have a few questions, really.”
“Agent?” Her eyebrows shot up and wrinkled her brow. “Sorry but I don’t have a lot of time. I just want to go home, find my cat and get back to work.”
He lowered his voice. It was easier to fight fire with water. “Miss Lyons, I know you must be very busy. I understand you were embarrassed by the incident I witnessed this morning. Please accept my apologies for that. I should have turned away.”
“Yeah, well. Too late for that.” Her cheeks blossomed with deeper color. “I should have known better than to…” She pressed her lips together and looked away.
He barely managed to keep his hands to himself. He wanted to feel how warm her soft cheeks really were. “I can get a court order that would force you to answer my questions. It wouldn’t take me but a few quick phone calls. I’d rather not do that when this can be solved quickly if you’d just agree to speak with me.”
Her eyes widened for a second, most likely at the words “court order”. People tended to shy away from such injunctions. She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled carefully before she finally gave in. “Okay. What do you want to know?”
Are you married? Are you dating anyone? Can I take you to bed and make love to you all night long?
“Have you eaten breakfast yet?”
Her lips quirked, just a little. The prickly armor she wore began to soften. “Are you buying?”
He grinned. “Of course.”
“Good. Because all I’ve had today is a stale donut.”
Trevor shook his head, barely able to keep himself from laughing out loud. “You Americans really know how to dine.”
“That’s all they offered me when I got here. At least the coffee was good.”
He grinned. “Yes, it was.”
The elevator stopped and the doors slid open to reveal the bustling police precinct lobby. He followed her out, guiding her toward Sgt. Mary Moser’s desk with a light hand on her elbow.
“I’ll collect my things from the clerk and we’ll be on our way. My car’s out front. I’ll leave the restaurant choice to you.”
Chapter Six
“Mmm, an omelet sounds divine. I’ll take one with ham, mushrooms, green peppers, onions and Swiss cheese. Whole wheat toast. And one of your hazelnut cream coffees. Thanks.”
Cynthia closed her menu and handed it back to the waiter standing beside their table. Sitting across from her, the handsome British man she now knew as Trevor St. James lifted an eyebrow after hearing her order.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his lips twitching. “I’ll try the Belgian waffle with strawberries, extra whipped cream and sausages. Coffee, black. Thank you.”
The waiter departed. Trevor took a sip of ice water, his blue gaze scanning the beautifully furnished restaurant called Norma’s, inside the Le Parker Meridien Hotel. For a Tuesday it had the usual crowded atmosphere, relaxed and ritzy-casual. Just noisy enough so that you couldn’t tell one conversation from the next.
“Norma’s is known as New York’s best choice for breakfast,” she told him, openly admiring the way his mouth moved when he swallowed. He was dressed to kill in all black. He’d handed his leather bomber-style jacket to the coat check girl when they came in. A cable-knit zip-neck sweater covered his broad shoulders and molded his chest. It just had to be cashmere and looked very soft and touchable. A pair of formfitting black jeans encased long muscular legs down to heavy rubber-soled boots.
Thankfully he’d locked his dangerous-looking gun inside the glove compartment of the rental car.
“This place is a good choice, Miss Lyons. It reminds me of Selfridges in London. They have a wonderful Sunday brunch I enjoyed with my parents as a child. I always ordered the strawberry crepes. I have a passion for strawberries.”
“With extra whipped cream?” She slanted him a nervous smile.
His gaze turned intense, focused on her lips. “Of course.”
“You can call me Cyn. I’m not a formal person.”
“Sin?” Trevor swirled his water goblet making the ice cubes clink playfully. “As in sinful?”
Heat rushed into her cheeks and the tips of her ears grew so hot they positively sizzled. “No. C-y-n, as in short for Cynthia. It’s my nickname. Only my parents call me Cynthia anymore. They moved to Hawaii last year to retire in the surf and sun.”
The waiter returned with their coffees. Hers looked like dessert. A frothy concoction dressed with more whipped cream and chopped candied hazelnuts on top. She scooped the sweet crunchy bits into her mouth.
“Mmm, wonderful.
I really missed this. I haven’t been here in at least two years.”
“Why not? It’s a nice restaurant.”
She laughed and then quickly covered her mouth with her napkin. He was still a stranger and she was acting like she’d known him forever. An undercurrent of much stronger emotions appeared to be caged inside him, the exact opposite of the cool, in-control surface he presented. There was danger and mystery lurking inside this man. He watched her for a long moment, unnerving her with his intensity.
The only thing her traitorous mind could think about was what would it feel like to run the tip of her tongue over his chiseled lips? Dig her fingers into his glossy dark hair.
“Sorry. I really shouldn’t feel so comfortable with you. I’m giving away too much information. After you pay the bill for our breakfast you’ll know why I don’t come here often.”
“I’m glad you feel comfortable with me, Cyn. I’m no danger to you. But I do have some questions. So, if you don’t mind, let’s get started. Tell me about your acquaintance with Matthew Andrews?”
She blinked at the rude reminder of danger. Her happy mood sulked into a dark corner of her mind. “Why is everyone so interested in my client? He’s just a man who wanted an item of value certified for insurance purposes. That’s all there is to it.”
“How did he contact you?”
“By phone. He picked me from the little ad I put in the yellow pages. I guess his choice was random but he wanted to make certain I was GIA certified first. Which I am, of course. I’ve never met him before.”
“And this item of value. Was it a diamond?”
She looked away, glancing over people at other tables. How long could she hold off answering this question? If she acted nonchalant, would he get the hint and lose interest? Doubtful. The sharp focus in this man’s eyes said he wouldn’t be fooled and he was persistent.
“I didn’t give the police any specifics, Agent. You won’t get any either.”
He leaned forward and smiled, slowly. Confident and seductive. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”
“Suit yourself.” She sipped her coffee and returned his smile over the rim of her cup.
“Tell me about the diamond. Detailed, if you would please.”
Cynthia put her coffee down, wiped her mouth and leaned back in her chair. “Uh-uh. You need to tell me something first.”
“Certainly. What do you want to know?”
“Who do you work for? I mean, who do you really work for? This is all very weird stuff.”
“What’s so weird about it?”
“Well, to begin with, a madman with a switchblade broke into my apartment. I can’t identify him by sight, only by voice, which really doesn’t help the police any. His face was covered. I have no idea how he got past my security system. Even worse, I don’t know how he knew that I’m a jeweler, or that I have a safe. He doesn’t resemble any of my other clients. Besides, I don’t flaunt my business or location.”
“He threatened you with a switchblade? How charming. Start from the beginning, please.”
She swallowed the thick knot that reformed inside her throat. “It started around midnight last night. I’d been working late and fell asleep at my desk. Something woke me, a noise maybe but I’m not sure. All of my alarm buttons were green so I put it off thinking I was just tired. When I was in my bedroom I heard breaking glass from my living room window. I hid in the bedroom hoping and praying whoever it was would just take what he wanted and leave. But he didn’t. He came into my bedroom and cornered me. God! I was never so freaked out in my life.”
“Understandable. Please, go on.”
“It happened so fast. The only weapon I had was a golf club.”
“A formidable weapon,” he nodded.
“Yeah. I bought it for my dad’s birthday next month. But I don’t think I can give it to him now.”
“Why not? Certainly he’d be proud to swing it after you tell him it saved your life.”
She grimaced. “It’s got blood on it.”
“Ah,” he said. “In that case, I suggest buying another one for him and keeping this one. So, what happened next?”
“My cat had been hiding under my bed. He probably sensed this guy lurking around. I don’t know. Cats have this paranormal sense when things are about to go wrong but I didn’t catch on until it was too late. Anyway, my cat attacked the guy’s legs and then I hit the bastard crook over his head with the golf club.”
Trevor’s lip twitched, as if he found this particularly amusing. “Very quick and appropriate action on your part,” he said. “And you did cause him injury?”
Cynthia nodded once. “He escaped the same way he came in, through the broken window. I think he may have a cracked skull because he was bleeding a lot. And he deserves it.”
“Most definitely.” A muscle ticced in his jaw. “Are you sure you didn’t tell someone you were working on a special diamond?”
“What? No! I don’t do that. Let me tell you this, Trevor St. James, secret agent man, or whoever you really are—my clients appreciate and expect my confidentiality. I won’t give that up so easily. My integrity and my career depend on their belief in me as a professional jeweler.”
She’d allowed her voice to rise. He glanced around with a calm, steady eye. “Of course I understand that.”
“Good,” she groused.
“You were very brave, Cyn. I’m relieved and happy you came to no harm.” He sipped his coffee.
She waited for him to continue, expected him to.
“I work for Interpol, the largest international police organization in the world. You could say I’m a cop of sorts.”
“A cop of sorts. What kind of ‘sorts’?”
He reached for his wallet and flipped it open. Then he slid the photo ID from Interpol across the tablecloth. Without touching it, she memorized every detail she could garner from that little bit of information. He had shorter hair in the photo but the eyes and mouth were the same. Hard and penetrating. She picked the card up to hand back to him.
“What exactly do you do for Interpol?”
Trevor tucked the card back into his wallet. He sipped again, his mouth moving while he savored the coffee before swallowing. “I worked in the Fine Art Recovery division seven years ago when I was first recruited by Interpol upon graduation from university. Three years ago I transferred to the Precious Gems and Commodities division. I track down and recoup lost and stolen gems, jewelry, icons.”
“Ooo-kay.” She wasn’t entirely appeased by his careful synopsis of his job but reassured enough to let go of one layer of panic and at least a half layer of doubt. He had yet to explain what, specifically, he wanted from her. “So, why are you so interested in Mr. Andrews? Or is it…oh my God. He stole it!”
“No. Mr. Andrews bought a dozen diamonds legitimately at a diamond market in Amsterdam.”
Her eyes widened. “A dozen? He only gave me…” She let the slip of words die on her tongue.
“He gave you a single diamond, correct?”
Cynthia thought she saw the barest flicker of triumph in his eyes. “Feel free to speculate all you want, Agent.”
“Very well.” Trevor nodded. “What I want to know is how Mr. Andrews knew exactly who to contact in Amsterdam for the diamonds he sought. I don’t suppose he told you that?”
“I don’t know. Why not ask him?”
The waiter came by and refilled Trevor’s coffee cup. Cynthia stared at him. Conjecture swirled in the icy blue depths of his eyes, as if someone had stirred the water and created a vortex in them. She could get lost in that gaze. The force of it made her want to squirm in her chair.
Was he thinking again about the hot tub scene this morning? He said he’d forget about that. Somehow, she didn’t think he could—because she couldn’t either. Her pulse quickened at the thought of what it would be like to make love to this man, to kiss that handsome mouth and let his tongue flicker across the aching tips of her breasts.
She coughed t
o cover her sudden discomfort, hiding her mouth and most of her flaming cheeks behind a cloth napkin.
Trevor didn’t seem to notice. “I would be more than happy to speak with Mr. Andrews. However, he’s missing. If I knew where he was, I would ask him. You’re the last person to have seen him, Cyn, hence, the interest in you now. We suspect the man who broke into your apartment knew what Mr. Andrews had given you.”
All the blood in her body pooled down into her feet. “How could a burglar know that? Even if Mr. Andrews was into something illegal he wouldn’t want his own property stolen before it was insured. That just doesn’t make any sense. And just because he’s missing doesn’t mean anything. What if he had a family emergency? I know he’ll be coming back to claim his property.”
Trevor smiled, a gentle curve of his lips. “A nice assumption but Mr. Andrews doesn’t have any family in the United States. He’s not even an American citizen, despite living here for more than forty years.”
“Neither of which are crimes in this country.” She focused on stirring the melted whipped cream froth into her coffee. “But it does explain his accent. Where’s he from? My guess was Eastern Europe. Germany or maybe Poland.”
“Russia.”
“Oh.” She prided herself on not reacting too visibly to his news. So her client and his diamond were from the same country. Why did this all leave a bad taste in her mouth?
Their food arrived on a little cart pushed by the waiter. He set each dish down and lifted the domed silver covers with a flourish, allowing fragrant steam to curl into the air. Cynthia hardly noticed. Her previous hunger had all but disappeared now that she suspected her client of being involved in something dangerous, whether he wanted to be or not. Whatever it was, it involved her now, too.