Family Jewels

by Rita Sable

  She shook off the mental image of him, naked, bringing such pleasure to her body with his expert touch. Thinking about his loving wouldn’t get her anywhere right now. What she needed to do was diffuse the nasty situation brewing between these two men.

  “Detective, can I have a moment with Agent St. James alone?”

  Sival glanced between her and Trevor, nodded and walked a short distance away to light his cigarette. When he was far enough, she turned to face Trevor.

  “You haven’t been back to your hotel room yet, have you?”

  “No. And you shouldn’t have left it. You gave me your word you’d stay there.”

  She flinched as if he’d slapped her. “I’m sorry but that all changed when I saw Mr. Andrews’ body dragged out of the river on TV.”

  “Cyn, listen to me.” He softened the harsh tone of his voice. “This isn’t over yet and you are still in danger. You’re a key witness. Those men were waiting for you when you got here. By now, they know everything about you, your habits, who your friends are, everything. You must believe me when I tell you the men who were here aren’t the only ones involved. Trust me on that. They were hired help. Just because I took a few out of the picture doesn’t mean this is over.”

  Intense scrutiny flared inside his midnight-blue eyes. She had to look away.

  Guilt covered her like a lead blanket and she didn’t have the strength to crawl out from beneath it. She could almost hear the suction from the black hole her life had fallen into. It was hollow, loud and scary as hell.

  She bowed her head and studied the sidewalk beneath her shoes, then took a step forward and lowered her voice so that only Trevor could hear her confession.

  “I’m sorry, Trevor. When I saw what happened to Mr. Andrews, I thought the best thing to do was leave. That was when I decided I’d caused you enough trouble and that you should know the information I had. It’s on the note I left for you, back at the hotel. And then I put the diamond inside the envelope too. I swear I have no idea what those numbers mean. They don’t even make sense to me. I just want to be done with all this.”

  He went so still, so silent for a moment that she had to look up to see if he’d heard her.

  “I see,” he said with icy formality. “You wrote the numbers down?”

  She swallowed and nodded vigorously.

  “Sweet God, help me to understand why you chose now to let me know this.” His voice sounded raw, so pained that it hurt to listen to him. “Cyn, please get into the car. We’re going back to the hotel.”

  She took a step back, glancing over at Detective Sival. “No, Trevor. I don’t want anything more to do with this. I have…things to do. For my own career. I want my life back the way it was.”

  The muscle in his jaw twitched. “This is what you prefer?”

  She could only nod, too choked up to trust herself to say another word.

  “Very well.” He slammed the passenger door shut with finality. “If I need to speak with you, I’ll contact the detectives for your whereabouts. Do you still have my card?”

  She nodded again.

  “Good. Keep it with you, Cyn. Just in case.”

  He started to reach up, as if he wanted to soothe the throbbing bruise on her temple. She shied away from his hand. Compassion and sadness flickered inside his gaze and then it was gone. Trevor stepped back, opening a chasm wider than the Grand Canyon between them. He walked around to the driver’s side door and got in without looking back. The engine roared to life, the tires squealed under his impatience as he drove away. She watched until the black SUV disappeared into a river of traffic.

  He was gone. A cold feeling of loss and abandonment flowed through her with such force that she trembled. Her body grew numb from the inside out. Seeing him leave, insisting he do so, hurt.

  The stench of cigarette smoke assaulted her nose. She turned. Detective Sival stood quietly behind her, his eyes crinkled in his attempt at smiling without losing his cigarette. “You did a smart thing, young lady, not going with him.”

  She tried to return the smile but failed when her lip began to quiver instead. “I hope so, Detective.”

  “I know so. He’s a loose cannon.”

  No, he’s not! her mind screamed silently in Trevor’s defense. But she couldn’t form words in her dry throat.

  “Come on,” he urged. “Let’s find my partner and get you to the safe house. You must be exhausted.”

  She hesitated before allowing Sival to lead her to the plain blue sedan he and Marsh used. He put her suitcase in the trunk then opened the door and ushered her inside. Weariness invaded every cell of her body, making her feel heavy and boneless at the same time. She slid gratefully into the backseat.

  Sival leaned down and gave her what he probably thought was a friendly pat on the knee. “You just relax, Miss Lyons. I’ll take good care of you.”

  His dark eyes focused on her backpack and his hand lingered on her knee a second too long. A shot of warning flared into her numbed brain like the bright flash of a camera when you didn’t expect someone to take your picture. Did he think she still had the diamond?

  She scooted toward the center of the backseat out of his reach. “Thanks, Detective. I’m okay now.”

  He smiled, showing more of his nicotine-stained teeth than she cared to see before he closed the door. She watched him walk away out of the corner of her eye and then followed his path in the rearview mirror. Every nerve in her body scrambled to sudden alert for some reason. Her skin prickled as if ants crawled over her. Why? She was with a police detective, New York City’s finest. Certainly she was safe with them, right?

  In the mirror, Cynthia saw Sival pull his partner, Ed Marsh, away from the uniformed police officers on the scene. The two men stood with their heads bent close together and with their backs to the car so she couldn’t see their faces.

  The tiny voice inside her head, the one that warned of danger, urged her to flee. Her logic argued. Why? What was wrong?

  Cynthia glanced in the mirror again. Both detectives were speaking to the police officers now. She reached a hand to the door. Sival turned around to look at the car. Cynthia gasped and jerked her hand back. Was he able to sense her thoughts of fleeing? Wasn’t it common knowledge that police detectives had unusually honed instincts? She waited until he turned his attention away again. The urge to disappear into the crowd and get as far from them as possible became a demand she couldn’t ignore. The car was situated near the edge of the crowd. Those people standing closest were still craning their necks to get a better view of the tow truck and the blood-splattered van passing by them as if on parade.

  Sitting inside the car muted the noise on the street. The hum of her own blood pounding through her ears sounded much louder. The interior smelled of Sival’s stale cigarettes and the cold, greasy aroma from a bag of half-eaten French fries left on the dashboard. Nausea returned with a sour bite on the back of her tongue.

  Slowly, she scooted across the vinyl seat to the opposite door, closer to the crowd. She forced herself not to panic, to act calm before she opened the door and then stepped out. Neither the detectives nor the police officers noticed when she got out of the car. The people standing around paid no attention. With her heart in her throat, Cynthia ducked under the barricade tape and pushed her way through the crush of people standing there.

  When she broke through the crowd, she walked quickly to the subway station at the end of the street and didn’t look back.

  * * * * *

  Trevor parked in front of the hotel with a screech of tires and left the engine running. The valet attendant grabbed the driver’s side door as he swung it open in his haste.

  “Park it, sir?”

  “No,” he growled at the young man. “Leave it up front. I’ll not be long.”

  His cell phone trilled inside his front pocket as he hurried through the lobby toward the elevators. O’Rourke’s number showed up on the ID.

  “Where are you?” he demanded.

&n
bsp; “Tricky little minx she is, boyo. She slipped away from them exactly the way ya predicted.”

  He tamped down the relief that surged through his body at the news of Cynthia’s escape from the detectives. He didn’t trust them and apparently she didn’t either. Not the way she tried to make him believe. Turning away from her had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. It accounted for why he’d gotten lost driving back to the hotel. His mind had been fried to a crisp fighting off his demons. By the time he realized he wasn’t driving toward the hotel, he was halfway to the Bronx.

  The elevator doors opened and Trevor stepped aside to let a couple with a young boy clinging to both his parents’ hands walk out. Most likely he’d lose his cellular signal inside the elevator. He opted to wait for the next one and finish his conversation with O’Rourke on Cynthia’s whereabouts first. The diamond inside the envelope in his hotel room could sit a little longer.

  “Where is she?”

  “I had to leave my car,” O’Rourke said. “She took the underground again and went straight to her apartment. Funny thing, though, she never went inside.”

  “She doesn’t have a key for it yet. Where did she go then?”

  “Around to the side alley. Had herself a good look around down there. Do ya have any idea why she’d do that, St. James?”

  Trevor sighed. “Yes. She’s looking for her pet cat. The animal disappeared after her apartment was broken into. Cynthia’s quite attached to him. Did she find him?”

  “Poor lass,” O’Rourke said, clucking his tongue into the phone. “No, she came out and headed straight up the street, then hopped the city bus. I barely managed to catch a taxi.”

  “Don’t tell me you lost her. Where’d she go?”

  O’Rourke stayed quiet for one unnerving moment too long. Trevor grimaced, knowing what the man would be saying, fearing it just the same. “Go on.”

  “First she went to another pawn shop. Came out from there in a hurry. Then she took another taxi and stopped at a rental car shop, outside of Brooklyn. I waited, watching for her to come out. I’m sorry, St. James. She drives faster than you do through this city.”

  Trevor’s heart sank to his shoes. “You lost her.”

  “I’m afraid so. The taxi driver and I almost came to fisticuffs over his driving skills, or lack thereof, compared to hers.”

  “Blast it all to bloody hell!” He stared at the cell phone, wishing he could reach through it to strangle O’Rourke. But it wasn’t really the Scot’s fault.

  A woman dressed in a chic business suit joined Trevor to wait for the elevator. She gave him a dirty look. He moved farther away without apologizing to her for his swearing. Trevor closed his eyes and tried not to think how scared Cynthia must be, if she didn’t even feel safe with the police.

  “What do ya want me to do now, St. James?”

  He took a deep breath. “She has a brother in Chicago, her twin actually. I believe she said his name was Paul. Paul Lyons. He’s traveling in Italy right now. Find him. I want his phone number, home address, everything. She could be driving to stay at his place, or maybe he knows where she’d go to lay low. Perhaps there’s a friend or other family member here in New York or on the East Coast within driving distance.”

  “Will do,” O’Rourke said. “Did ya retrieve the numbers from the stone yet?”

  “No. I met up with some traffic delays on my way here. I’m at the hotel now. I’ll call London to confirm the numbers and then check out of the hotel. I’ll meet you at your place for follow-up.”

  “Then what? Are ya planning to chase the lassie down?”

  Trevor didn’t answer. The way O’Rourke worded it, as if he encouraged Trevor to do so, made him realize he did have ulterior motives where Cynthia Lyons was concerned. He wasn’t ready to stop stirring the feelings that brewed between them.

  “She’s still in danger,” he agreed. “Doesn’t matter that she gave me the diamond, the people after her won’t know that. And I’m not going to announce it to anyone.”

  “Not even the police captain? He should pull his men off, ya know?”

  The insane horror he felt when he saw the man’s knife pinned at Cynthia’s soft throat returned and solidified into cold anger—the kind of calm fury that made men do strange things.

  “They would have killed her, O’Rourke. As easily as they popped two into the man we pulled out of the water this morning. Whoever’s after her believes she still has the key to that account. I’ll find her first.”

  “Ya’d use the lassie as bait, man?”

  “No!” Trevor lowered his voice. “No. I’ll be with her.”

  O’Rourke groaned loudly into the receiver. “Why not let the American police handle that problem now, St. James? Or, are ya staying involved for other, more personal reasons?”

  Trevor ground his teeth together. He couldn’t find words to explain how or even what he felt for Cynthia. He just knew he had to find her and protect her. “I’ll let you know if revenge is as sweet as they say it is.”

  “Are ya emotionally involved with her, man? Can’t say that I blame ya for that.”

  “Yes. No. Dammit! I don’t know, O’Rourke. I haven’t had much time to think about it. Got to go.”

  He snapped his cell phone closed. O’Rourke’s demented, amused chuckle echoed in Trevor’s ears, long after the elevator doors slid shut.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The farther north Cynthia drove into upper New York, the heavier the snow fell. The compact-sized rental car wasn’t equipped with snow tires. Even with the window defroster on high, she still had to stop every few miles to scrape icy snow off the windshield wipers when they crusted over. The fact that she hadn’t driven a car in almost a year and had never driven one through more than six inches of fresh snow, didn’t help matters either.

  The darkness unnerved her. Funny, she never realized how very dark the country was, compared to the continuous light in the city. Her hands and shoulders burned from the long fight to keep the car on the road and out of the ditch. If she slid off a curve, she’d be stuck until another car passed by. It was late enough at night that most of the farmhouses she’d passed were dark, their occupants deep in slumber. She didn’t have her cell phone with her. Or a blanket to keep warm, or food and water to survive a long, freezing night out here alone. The prospect of frostbite spurred her on, slowly putting mile after mile behind her.

  When she turned off the county road and onto the resort property, a huge swell of relief washed through her. She laughed, feeling giddy with her accomplishment.

  Harold Snyder, the manager of the Little Saranac Lake Resort was the only year-round resident. He lived alone in the first cabin. He wasn’t pleased at all when she knocked on his door at midnight. The porch light flicked on, nearly blinding her. He scowled at her through the window. She’d never known him to be a very friendly person to begin with. At this late hour, she was happy he answered the door at all. When he opened the door, his thinning, white-floss hair stood up on one side of his head and sleep wrinkles creased his already leathery face.

  “Hi, Mr. Snyder. Sorry to wake—”

  “You’re late.” He handed over the key and slammed the door shut.

  “Sorry to wake you. Thanks for the key.” She made sure to say it loud enough for him to hear through his door. So much for welcome back.

  Cynthia returned to her little car and drove another two miles on the winding, snow-covered dirt road around the frozen lake to her parents’ cabin. She began to relax at the first sight of the cozy, three-bedroom log structure tucked inside the protection of old oaks and towering pines.

  She hadn’t been here in five years. Except for the thick blanket of snow, everything was as she remembered it. A curl of steam rose out of the roof vent, indicating that the furnace had been turned on earlier. Inside it would be comfortable and warm.

  And safe.

  She parked right in front so she wouldn’t have to stomp through too much snow. Once the optimistic light o
f morning embraced the cabin she planned to shovel the front porch and walkway, since Mr. Snyder hadn’t done that for her. Performing a few domestic chores would restore her good humor and help to eliminate the tension that burned like a hot poker between her shoulders. No doubt she’d find plenty of small tasks to keep her hands and mind busy.

  Happy memories returned, of long summer days spent here with her family. The lake was always cool and refreshing. She and Paul had learned how to swim, paddle a canoe and fish here. They’d tied a tire swing on the sturdiest oak and spent hours flying through the air on it, pretending to be Superman and Wonder Woman. At night, her father would make a fire in the pit and they’d toast marshmallows and weenies on sticks while her mom read aloud from the great adventure classics of Jack London and Ernest Hemingway.

  Inevitably, she’d fall asleep curled up against her brother. Dad would carry her to bed. He’d leave the curtains open the way she liked. Then, just before she drifted back off to sleep, she’d gaze at the velvety black sky and pretend the stars were diamonds, waiting for her to grow up so she could collect them.

  Shit! A lot of trouble nipped on her heels now because of her passion for precious gems. Diamonds in particular.

  It had to stop. No more running away from her problems. Doing so never solved anything and usually made things much worse. There’d been plenty of opportunities yesterday to trust Trevor, heed his warnings and give him that damned diamond.

  Along with her need to protect her client’s property, her real desire had surfaced as well. She’d allowed the pure, alluring beauty of that perfect stone to cloud her judgment. Standing in the snow up to her calves, shivering while she stared at the cute little cabin that held so many memories for her, Cynthia realized she’d coveted the Russian white diamond for herself.

  It doesn’t belong to you!

  All of this trouble could have been avoided if she’d just believed in Trevor from the beginning. He hadn’t tried to pry or lure the stone from her. He’d respected her desire to shield her client, trusted her and then committed the ultimate sacrifice on her behalf.