by Rita Sable
But making love in a public parking garage wasn’t the brightest idea in the world. Her safety was his first priority. He needed to bring her to his hotel room, which was registered under his pseudonym and paid for with cash to secure his anonymity. Then he could let his guard down and savor all the wonderful things she offered. There he could explore every silky inch of her sexy body with his hands and mouth at a more leisurely pace.
And maybe pry a bit more information out of her too. As much as he admired her fortitude, he had to find a way to break through.
“No,” he said, taking a deep breath. “We’re not safe out in the open. Let’s go.”
She peeked up at him, looking both shy and seductive. “Where?”
“My hotel room. You’ll be safe there.”
Cynthia bit her lower lip for a moment, her indecision clearly apparent. Slowly, she nodded. Her eyes were still glossy from her previous tears, making the silvery-gray depths shimmer with sweet promise. But she sobered up quickly.
“Can we stop by my place first? I really want to check if Moses came home. He’s not an outdoor cat. I’m worried about him.”
After the way she’d practically melted in his arms the sudden reminder that her cat was still in jeopardy hit him like a splash of cold water. Obviously she cared deeply for this animal.
“Of course. You’ll do as I say, though, understood? I’m not taking any chances with your safety.”
“Okay.” She managed a shaky smile.
He kissed her one last time, gently, just skimming over the plumped satin of her lips before leading her by the hand back to the car. When she was seated he buckled her in himself.
“Wouldn’t want to break the law,” he said in mock seriousness, recalling her earlier admonishment when he didn’t buckle himself in.
Her giggle touched his soul. It was so lighthearted and pure—something he’d had rare occasion to experience in the last few years. She really was an innocent person. He strongly suspected that she was one of those rare citizens who lived, worked and played by society’s rules. She stood by her integrity and defended what she believed was right. He knew beyond doubt that she had no idea what the diamond in question was really worth, the enormous wealth it represented.
Still, if she knew what those cryptic numbers on the diamond represented, would she go after the treasure herself? Reluctantly he admitted he had no way of finding out and that she was much better off never knowing.
Chapter Eight
She sat tense and quiet in the seat beside him when he drove out of the parking garage and rejoined midday traffic. There was no sign of the plain gray sedan that had followed them from the hotel restaurant but that didn’t mean anything. He’d have to change rental cars as soon as possible to throw them off too.
Cynthia guided him through the city to her apartment on Brookwell Street. He kept his attention focused on the cars behind and beside them. The neighborhood she directed him into was tree-lined, older but well-kept and clean. The buildings were brownstones with neat little rows of steps and wrought iron window bars. A group of young girls played jump rope on the sidewalk. He breathed a sigh of relief. So far, no surprises.
She pointed across the street. “There’s an empty parking space right in front. My place is on the third floor.”
“No. Better to park on the next side street and walk in. How well do you know your neighbors?”
Cynthia glanced at him with a noncommittal shrug. “Oh, a little. Mostly I keep to myself. My neighbor directly across from me is an elderly widow. Mrs. Perkins. She’s nosey but in a sweet sort of way. She doesn’t ever leave her apartment except to take her weekly trip to the hair salon. The place next door to me is vacant. The couple on the other side, they’re nice. They moved in about a month ago as newlyweds. They’re both musicians. Violinists with the city symphony, I think. They’re not home much. I don’t know the people on the first two floors except to say ‘hi’ when I see them in the hall. It’s a quiet building, which is why I like it. I need to be undisturbed when I’m working.”
Trevor parked the car. She unsnapped her seat belt and began to reach for the door when he stopped her with his hand on her arm. Even though he hadn’t spotted anything out of place so far, he refused to let his guard down. If her apartment was under surveillance, their appearance should trigger a reaction.
“Not yet. I want to scan the other cars driving by. Especially those already parked here. You never know who might be waiting for you to come home.”
She sat back stiffly. “But it’s daylight. They wouldn’t try anything now, would they?”
“You don’t know that. I prefer safety over sorrow and regret.”
“Better safe than sorry,” she repeated.
He grinned. “Yeah, same thing.”
“How do you do this all the time? Keep your guard up and be so wary about everyone?”
“It goes with the territory. Being an agent, or cop as you call it here, is something you’re either born with or not. I was born cautious and suspicious like my father.”
“So your father is in law enforcement?”
“No. My father’s a farmer who also dabbles in politics.”
She sat quietly, apparently mulling over his answer. That was the most personal information about his true identity he’d ever given out to anyone who wasn’t in his immediate circle. She made him feel entirely too comfortable. He’d have to restrain the urge to let down his guard around her. “It looks quiet, let’s go.”
On the sidewalk he tucked her inside the crook of his arm again, shielding her as much as possible from the light snow that still fell. By the time they reached the front door to her building, she had a frosty crown on the top of her head. She shook off the snow. Rosy color brightened her cheeks and the tip of her nose making her eyes look large and luminous. She had such classic beauty.
Keep your mind on your job, St. James!
“I have my keys in here somewhere.” A slight frown marred her smooth brow while she rummaged in the deep pockets of her purse.
She opened the outer door and once inside the tiled entry, she headed for a wall of tiny mailboxes. She shoved another little key into her mailbox and pulled several letters and catalogs out of the square metal container. Cynthia took a moment to go through them.
“Bill, bill, bill, junk, more junk. Oh and a postcard from Mom and Dad.”
She flipped the card over and quickly read the short message. “Hmm. I’m glad they’re having a great time.” She hugged her mail to her chest. “Ready to go up?”
“Sure.” He started to guide her over to the single elevator.
“Wrong way.” Cynthia balked. “I take the stairs. It’s only three flights and one way I get exercise.”
“Very well.” He took her hand and led her up the stairs.
The stairwell was narrow, the steps carpeted with thin, brown-speckled fabric that quieted their tread. On the first-floor landing Trevor understood the layout of this building more clearly and how the apartments were arranged. A short, well-lit hallway split off into four separate living quarters. There were no windows that would allow natural daylight in, or give an intruder easy access.
He continued up to the second floor with her, still holding her hand and leading the way. “How did the guy last night get into your apartment?”
“Through the window. I don’t know how he got past the bars outside. Or how he climbed up the wall to the third floor. The police should have figured that out.”
Trevor frowned. More than likely the burglar came down from the roof. Less chance of detection and easier to escape. He leaned over the railing and looked up through the center of the stairwell. “Do you have roof access from these stairs?”
“Yes. I go up there sometimes in the summer to lie in the sun.”
That made his pulse jump. He imagined Cynthia’s luscious curves spread out under the hot sun, wearing nothing but tiny scraps and strings to cover the most intimate parts of her body. Being an American, he
doubted if she sunbathed nude but the thought of it made his mouth water and his blood run hot.
She pulled him to her apartment door. Black-and-yellow-striped crime-scene tape with the words “Police Line—Do Not Cross” emblazoned on it still hung from the doorjamb. She ripped it down and bunched it up into a large, crinkly ball.
He held out his palm. “Give me your key.”
Cynthia didn’t hesitate. She held up the key in question and he took it from her. “Stand by the wall, away from the door.” She stepped back, eyes wide. He slipped his hand under his jacket and grabbed the butt of his gun. His heart had already shifted into high gear, prepared for any surprise. With a firm shove, he pushed the door open.
Aside from being very cold inside her apartment, it was quiet. So far, so good. A large board nailed over her window blocked out all the daylight but not the frigid air. She reached over to the wall and flipped the switch.
The lights flared on. “Damn,” she muttered behind him, rubbing her hands together. “It’s freezing in here.”
The faint sheen of black powder used for fingerprinting coated the walls and most of her furniture. Broken glass still glittered on the carpet beneath her window.
“Oh, this is just great,” she groaned, looking around with wide eyes. She placed her backpack and purse on the dining room table with care. “Do you think they could’ve cleaned up after themselves? What a freaking mess!”
A quick tour of her small apartment told Trevor nobody lurked in the closets or under her bed. Satisfied, he took a more thorough look at the place. She stood by the kitchen entry and waited for him with her arms crossed.
“Your apartment’s clear,” he confirmed. “I’m sorry you have to come home to this. Most times during an investigation, the focus is to collect evidence, not keep things tidy.”
“Yeah, well, I pay my taxes. You’d think I could get that much from it.” She hugged herself and exhaled a ragged breath. “I’m gonna look for my cat. Make yourself comfy.” She moved off down the narrow hallway and called out, “Moses? Are you in here, baby?”
Trevor took the opportunity to wander about while she went in search of her pet. He stepped inside a small bedroom that she’d transformed into a workroom dominated by a large desk. Pages of drawings fastened with tape adorned the wall, each one depicted a different ring with a large center stone inside. They were fanciful and unique designs, not the usual round band with prongs surrounding a gem that sold in countless jewelry stores in every shopping mall. No, these were creations for art, for museums. She’d colored some with markers to indicate the type of metal or stone. Behind her desk stood a small forge for melting gold or silver and an acetylene gas torch. Delicate hand tools hung from the walls or sat in an orderly fashion on shelves.
After a few more minutes of calling for her cat, Cynthia returned, her shoulders drooped with sadness and what he could only guess was fatigue. Her arms were crossed again, her face pale. He wanted to gather her close and take the shock and pain away.
“I have to call my landlord and let him know what happened, if he doesn’t know already. He’ll need to get that window fixed right away or I’ll freeze to death in here. And I should call Paul. At least leave a message for him since he’s out of the country traveling this week.”
A ping of concern knocked on Trevor’s conscience at her mention of calling this man. Trying not to sound too jealous he managed to ask, “Who’s Paul?”
Her surprised glance flew to his and softened for a moment. She smiled wearily. “He’s my brother. My fraternal twin. We’re very close, even though he lives in Chicago now. He’s an international finance lawyer and travels a lot out of the country. Lucky guy, he’s in Italy right now.”
“I see.” Trevor caressed her soft, pale cheek with his knuckles. “Why don’t you collect some of your things? Clothes and any of your supplies you want to take. You’re not staying here.”
She caught his hand from her face and held it, studying his palm, running her fingertip along his lifeline. “I, um, need to ask you something, Trevor, before we get involved any further than we are.” A deep, rosy blush stole up her neck and face as she spoke.
“You want to know if I’m married or attached?”
Her head snapped up, her eyes worried and wondering. “Yes. Are you?”
“No. My last serious relationship was more than three years ago. And what about you, Cyn? Any jealous men I need to know about?”
A lopsided grin lit her face up with a delightful mixture of mischief and eager sensuality. “Only Moses. But he’s neutered.”
“Lord, help him,” he said, wincing for drama. “But good to know.” His errant cock twitched inside his pants at the thought of her pretty mouth going down on him. “No boyfriend?”
“I broke up with my boyfriend last week as a matter of fact. Our relationship ended on mutual terms, although not amicably. Actually, it had been over for a long, long time.”
“I’m sorry.” He brought her hand up for a light, chivalric kiss. “Get your things, darling. Make your calls. While you do that, I’m going to visit the roof and look around the building. I’ll lock the door behind me and be right back.”
Her apartment door clicked shut and locked behind Trevor. Cynthia listened for his footsteps in the hall. She heard none. How could such a big man move so quietly? Had he really left to investigate the rooftop like he said? Or was he waiting to see what she was going to do next?
Cynthia tiptoed to the door, twisted the lock open and peered up and down the hallway. No sign of him. She closed and locked it again.
What had she gotten herself into? A part of her desperately wanted to trust this man. She was incredibly attracted to him, more so than she’d ever been to anyone else. He made her feverish with lust and his kisses sizzled through her body right down to the soles of her feet.
Better be careful that lust doesn’t override your common sense.
Reminding herself to be careful, she walked into her studio and checked the cordless phone. No messages. She carried the phone with her to the living room to survey the damage done to her window while she called her landlord. When his answering machine picked up, she stamped her foot in frustration.
“Doesn’t anyone answer their phone anymore?” she grumbled softly before the recording ended. She left the landlord a detailed message to fix her living room window.
Then she dialed her brother’s cell phone. His answering message didn’t help her mood either. “Oh, for the love of God,” she groaned aloud. When it beeped, she took a deep breath to sound calm.
“Paul, it’s me. Now don’t panic. I, ah, had a little break-in at my apartment. I’m okay, so don’t worry. Please call me when you get this message. I’ll be staying at the downtown Hampton Hotel for a day or two. I don’t really know how long. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love ya’. Bye.”
Cynthia clicked off and halfheartedly dropped the phone onto the sofa cushion. Her gaze settled on the backpack and purse she’d left on a dining room table.
That damned diamond was in there. She had a sudden urge to examine the stone again. She picked up the backpack and walked to the bathroom for some guaranteed privacy. No telling how long Trevor would be gone.
Chapter Nine
After locking the bathroom door behind her, Cynthia rested her backpack on the edge of the sink and yanked the zipper open. She tossed yesterday’s clothing into the dirty clothes hamper standing in the corner and then lifted the black velvet jeweler’s case out.
Her case was as long as her hand and two inches wide. Carefully she pried the lid open. Snuggled safely inside were individual, thickly padded spaces called “stalls”, designed to keep gems from touching each other. A diamond could scratch a ruby, the ruby could scratch topaz—like naughty children, they had to be separated for their own good.
Filled with gems, the collection became a “stable”. It allowed her to see them all without the hassle of resorting to traditional paper packets. Beneath the bright light of her ba
throom, the gems winked at her with dazzling beauty in all colors of the rainbow.
Inside their myriad facets, she saw personalities and characters waiting for a chance to be expressed through individual pieces of jewelry. It didn’t take much for her imagination to jump into high gear and begin creating a necklace for the ruby, a bracelet for the citrines, dazzling earrings for the sapphires and emeralds. Cynthia could stare at these beauties all day long, fantasizing about designs for each one.
The ring she planned to create for the design contest called for a stone of great beauty—and it didn’t reside in her collection. Her frustration from the night before resurfaced like a bad memory. Not having a clear idea yet for the ring design nagged at her.
Sighing, she carefully pried the first layer up, stuck a finger inside and wiggled the Russian white from its inner hiding place. The gem popped out into her hand, cool and hot at the same time.
Time ceased. For just a moment, the world didn’t exist. She held her breath and stared in awe at this single, blindingly beautiful gem. The diamond was such a bright white that it appeared almost blue. The facets flashed with a fire that burned from within. She plucked the diamond from her palm and held it between her thumb and forefinger.
Elemental highly compressed carbon, that’s all this stone really was.
And to think that somebody had tried to kill her for it. Why? This diamond wasn’t worth that much!
Then again, one hundred thousand dollars wasn’t chicken feed either.
She rolled it around in the curve of her palm for a moment, admiring the stone’s playful brilliance. Too bad Mr. Andrews hadn’t inquired about setting this rare gem into a piece of jewelry. Working with the Russian white would have been such a thrilling task. She could get goose bumps just thinking about it.