Family Jewels

by Rita Sable

  Andrevsky snickered. “Get up. Go inside and find the girl. I want my diamond, Hill. You find it. I’ll keep the British agent right here, out of the way.”

  “Idiot,” Hill growled, rising up like an angry bear. “He can’t be left alive. Now give me the damned gun!”

  The mention of Cynthia struck a chord of fear inside Trevor, more than fear for his own life. Neither of these men could be allowed to find her!

  Hill reached out with his uninjured left hand. “Give me the gun, Matt. I’m perfectly in my right to kill this fucking British bastard!”

  “No!” Andrevsky pushed his hand away. “This isn’t how I planned it. Nobody was supposed to die. I shouldn’t have told you anything about my family, nothing about my diamond.”

  Angry red blotches colored Hill’s cheeks. “Your stupid plan didn’t work, did it?”

  “I have the diamond,” Trevor said calmly.

  Both men turned to scowl at him.

  “Hand it over, then,” Hill demanded. “Or by God, I’ll splatter your brains out right here and search your body myself.”

  Trevor had no idea how this would play out. He seriously doubted Andrevsky would fire at him. The man had a repulsed look on his face, held his gun with disdain. But Hill would. He’d been a trained police officer and detective with more than twenty-five years of service behind him before his final promotion to Captain of Police.

  Hill was physically injured, angry and determined to get what he’d come for—a diamond with the key to a fortune that didn’t belong to him. His already puffy face swelled with hatred, his hazel eyes clouded with greed.

  Standing there and doing nothing triggered the next step. Hill swung back to Andrevsky and made another grab for the gun. Andrevsky jerked it away. He was taller than Hill and held the weapon up and out of his reach. Trevor had the insane image of two little boys playing a risky game of keep away. On that one second of their distraction, he reached for his own gun buried almost knee-deep in snow. He froze when he heard the unmistakable click of a bullet being chambered.

  “Stop!” Andrevsky shouted.

  Trevor looked up in time to see him shove Hill away, hard enough to make the heavier man stumble back. Andrevsky had his gun trained on Trevor again, more firmly committed this time. Gone was the disdain, replaced by a new, firmer resolve, a look that would kill if pressed too hard.

  What he saw out of the corner of his eye made Trevor’s blood run cold. No amount of looking death in the face could have prepared him for the vision of Cynthia standing there, the little pistol he’d given her clutched tight between her white-knuckled hands, aimed at Andrevsky. He dared not look at her directly and give her position away to them. She edged closer into full view, barely sparing him a flicker of attention. Her eyes were huge in her pale face and zeroed in on the men who threatened their lives.

  At the same time, as frightened and angry as he was that she’d disobeyed him again, he was very glad to see her.

  “Don’t move!” She sounded much more adamant, more in control than he would have imagined.

  Both men stiffened, their eyes darting sideways. Hill groaned when he saw her and then resumed nursing his injured hand.

  “Don’t turn around, don’t do anything,” she ordered. “I know how to use this gun. So just stop this shit.” She peered around Hill’s big shoulders at Trevor. “Are you okay?”

  He only nodded. Andrevsky still had control of his weapon. Even though it dangled from his fingertips, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to use it now. He was a man being pushed too far and that was infinitely more dangerous.

  With Cynthia standing there, so close, Trevor had to take control of the situation.

  She turned a hard eye on the tall Russian. “You’re the last person I expected to see here, Mr. Andrews…or whatever your real name is.”

  Trevor dared a step closer. “It’s not his real name. Cynthia Lyons, meet Matthias Andrevsky. He is Franjeska’s son. Josef’s nephew.”

  Cynthia twitched as the reality of his identity sunk in.

  “Where is my diamond?” Andrevsky asked her, ignoring what Trevor had claimed only seconds ago, that he had the diamond.

  “I don’t have it anymore, Mr. Andrews…Andrevsky,” she said. “And from what I know now, I don’t even think it belongs to you. You lied to me.”

  The Russian’s face mottled with hot color. “You gave me the wrong numbers!”

  “Of course I did, because I couldn’t really read them either. I told you that. You tried to use me. Why? Because you couldn’t read those numbers yourself? Just my dumb luck that you picked my name out of your hat. You endangered my life, Mr. Andrevsky. Why’d you do that? All you had to do was come back and pick your damned diamond up and then you would have had it and the numbers.”

  “That is what I planned.” Andrevsky turned to glare his contempt at Hill. “You didn’t need to hire those men. They were murderers!”

  Hill snarled. “Just shut the fuck up, Matt! I did what I thought was best when she screwed up.”

  Cynthia drew in a long breath before she continued her tirade against the Russian. “And to think I actually worried about you when you didn’t show up the next morning. Do you have any idea how terrified I was when I saw on TV how they found your body in the river? Obviously, it wasn’t you. You’re still alive. So, who’d you kill?”

  Andrevsky jerked his head at Hill. “That was his doing. Now where is my diamond, Miss Lyons?”

  She lifted her chin. “I told you I don’t have it. And another thing, Captain Hill, aren’t you ashamed of yourself? My God, you’re a police captain. People put their trust in you. Whatever happened to your honor, your duty to protect the public?”

  Hill didn’t answer, he just scowled at her.

  “What, your police pension wouldn’t be big enough for you? I know what it was. Greed. You got greedy,” she said with solemn finality.

  Trevor admired the firm jut of her chin, her sheer willpower to stay calm, keep up a conversation and maintain their focus on her. She did a pretty good job of getting a confession out of him. With Andrevsky’s attention focused on her, Trevor stole a few precious inches closer. It would take too much time and be too noticeable if he searched for his own 9mm buried in the snow or Hill’s gun. He hoped to snatch the gun out of Andrevsky’s hands before the Russian regained his wits and found the fortitude to try something stupid.

  Fortunately, Hill had become preoccupied with the pain of losing a finger. The big man dropped to his knees and cradled his bloody hand while he moaned and rocked back and forth. A dark red stain smeared the front of his coat and pants and dotted the snow with crimson.

  In the far distance, a siren wailed. O’Rourke hadn’t wasted any time getting reinforcements.

  Andrevsky jerked at the sound. His eyes flinched behind his thick glasses when he saw how close Trevor had gotten to him. Trevor recognized the do-or-die hardened gleam in the man’s gaze and the firming of his chin, one split second before Andrevsky fired.

  The bullet grazed Trevor’s arm with enough force to spin him around and drop him to his knees. It stung like a knife cut. Fortunately Andrevsky’s aim was off and he’d missed hitting serious flesh. Cynthia’s screams sounded louder than the gunshot and that struck fear in his heart. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he scrambled upright, slipped in the snow and came face-to-face with Andrevsky’s gun.

  “No!”

  Trevor heard the fierce determination inside her voice at the same time she pulled the trigger. Andrevsky’s legs shot out from under him, his gun flew up in the air as if in slow motion. The weapon landed at Trevor’s feet in a poof of snow. His own pain forgotten, he scooped Andrevsky’s gun up and moved in to pin the Russian down where he lay.

  Andrevsky had lost his eyeglasses. He blinked owlishly and tears clouded his wide, unfocused eyes. Shock pulled all the color from his skin when he clutched his right thigh with both hands. A bright red hole pierced his pants leg. She’d shot him in the leg, rathe
r than aim to kill.

  The distant howl of sirens grew to an ear-splitting scream as police cruisers sped around the frozen lake on their way to the cabin.

  Cynthia still pointed her pistol at the man she’d downed but her hands shook so much that Trevor doubted if she’d be able to hit anything smaller than an elephant. She glanced up. Her eyes glowed with triumph and she maintained a fierce, determined control.

  “You’re hurt.” She frowned.

  “I’ll be fine. He missed hitting anything important.” Trevor moved closer and gently pried his Beretta from her tight fingers.

  She let go, took a deep breath and then dragged both hands through her loose, still-damp hair. “Are we done with all this now?”

  “Yes. It’s over, darling.”

  “For real this time?”

  His arm stung like the devil but he managed a smile. “For real this time.”

  With his eyes on the two downed men, Trevor reached his arm out to Cynthia. She rushed in to embrace him and buried her nose in his chest.

  “Thank God,” she mumbled into his sweater. “Take me home, Trevor.”

  Epilogue

  Cynthia lay facedown on their honeymoon bed. Trevor reached for the soft ropes anchored to the headboard and slid them over her wrists, gently drawing her arms out of his way. He allowed some slack before he tightened the ropes. She liked some room to struggle when he tied her up.

  The large white diamond that crowned her wedding band flashed with wild brilliance. He took a moment to admire the stone. After learning of the harrowing ordeal Cynthia had endured to protect the gem, the Steinbrunn heirs had insisted she keep it. She’d been speechless at first, right before she’d shrieked with joy, astounded and enthralled.

  Of course, he’d offered to buy her a new diamond, or any other gem she desired for her engagement ring. But she’d insisted this one was meant to be. It was the stone that had brought them together, after all.

  Watching Cynthia set the Russian white diamond into the ring she designed for herself had taught him a new respect for the delicate precision her work required. He was most proud to wear the simple platinum band she’d created for him as well.

  He moved off the bed, stepping over the sheets that had already been kicked off and pillowed on the teakwood floor like clouds of pale silk. From the open window a warm, tropical breeze blew in and fluttered through the gauzy, floor-length curtains. The balmy morning wind brought with its teasing warmth the lush perfume of hibiscus and bougainvillea and a hint of tang from the ocean not far beyond that.

  After testing her wrist restraints he moved down to her legs, spreading them wide open, tying her ankles to keep them apart. The pink slit of her sex glistened with moisture beneath the lightly tanned globes of her ass. His cock burned with the need to sink into her sweet, wet channel again. He couldn’t get enough of her.

  She turned her head to watch him. He caught the glimmer of Cynthia’s eye from between the strands of her hair. Her cheek rounded with her soft, lazy smile.

  “Are you going to torture me with that feather again?” she asked.

  Trevor reached over to the dresser and picked up the long peacock feather in question. Twirling the stem between his fingertips, he let the early Jamaican sun strike jewel tones of emerald, sapphire and gold on the wispy plume. When he danced the feather’s fringy tips over her butt, she uttered a muffled gasp.

  “Not yet.” He twirled the delicate feather down the soft skin inside her thighs.

  She moaned appreciatively. “What are you waiting for?”

  “Breakfast.”

  “I’m not hungry. For food, that is.”

  “I need my strength,” he chuckled. “I’ve ordered breakfast to be served in bed today.”

  “What?” Cynthia squirmed against her restraints and struggled to lift herself up on her elbows. “Oh, honey. You better untie me.”

  He grinned and allowed the peacock feather to dip and slide into the wet crease of her pussy. His beautiful wife bucked under the subtle torture.

  “Trevor!”

  “Shh,” he whispered. “I hear footsteps in the hall.”

  “Oh, no. At least cover me up. I don’t want the servants to see my naked butt like this.”

  A soft knock at the door made her eye him desperately. Trevor dropped the feather across her legs and then did the gentlemanly thing, he scooped up the discarded bed sheets and tossed them over her. Only the tips of her toes peeked out from the bottom.

  He grabbed a navy blue silk robe from a chair and tied it at his waist. The thin, tropical-weight fabric did nothing to hide the straining curve of his erection. He shrugged off a concern for propriety. The servants would just have to get used to his constant arousal and frequent indulgence in making love to Cynthia.

  When he opened the door, Walter Oglethorpe stood proudly in the hall, carrying a bamboo tray with the breakfast Trevor had ordered. The man had served his family for nearly thirty years. Trevor wasn’t surprised that his parents had insisted Wally accompany him and Cynthia on their worldwide honeymoon.

  This was the man who’d taught him how to tie his shoelaces and doctored his knees when he’d scuffed them. In many ways Trevor considered Wally his surrogate father, having spent more time in the butler’s company during his turbulent teen years when he couldn’t speak to his own parent about his hopes, fears and dreams.

  That familiar trust, along with his careful attention to travel details was exactly what a newly married couple needed, his parents insisted. The sixty-year-old butler also owned the supreme poker face.

  “Good morning.” Wally stepped lightly into the bedroom.

  “Morning, Wally. Please set the tray on the dresser.”

  Trevor led the way and had to smile at the man’s crisply ironed, short-sleeved, white shirt and knee-length shorts. The linen clothes were no doubt donned in deference to the heat and extremely casual lifestyle of Jamaica. At home in England Wally wore a house uniform of gray suit, white shirt and silver tie. Now he also sported a freshly sunburned forehead beneath his short crop of dove-gray hair. Trevor would have to remind him to wear a hat to save his pink scalp.

  “I trust you and the lady slept well?” Wally asked conversationally. Not once did the butler’s eyes stray to the bed where Cynthia lay silently, hidden and no doubt—mortified—beneath the sheets.

  “Yes, we did.”

  Wally set the bamboo tray down and laid out plates, silverware, a coffee service and cloth napkins. Trevor plucked the neatly folded newspaper from the pile of correspondence beside the napkins and quickly scanned it for information from New York City. He was pleased when he found nothing new.

  The city’s inhabitants had been shocked by the scandal of Police Captain Darren Hill’s conviction for hiring the thugs who’d attacked her. Together with Andrevsky, the two men had agreed to use Cynthia to obtain the numbers to the Swiss bank account because she worked alone. They had figured she would be eager for the little job of reading those numbers and not raise a ruckus when the diamond was never retrieved. Andrevsky had thought he would be doing her a favor by letting her have such a valuable rare gem for free.

  When those numbers turned out to be wrong Hill had gone behind his childhood friend’s back to obtain the stone for himself. He’d hired the burglar known as Nut Cracker. When he failed Hill hired more men to hunt her down. Andrevsky had cooperated with investigators and helped convict Hill, who’d been sentenced to fifteen years in prison. In exchange for his confession Andrevsky avoided jail but earned two years of probation and community service.

  After Wally finished setting up their breakfast, he tucked the empty tray beneath his arm and turned to face Trevor. “The letter your lady was expecting has also arrived,” he said, smiling. “I hope the news will be good.”

  There was the slightest movement beneath the pile of sheets on the bed. A flicker of humor danced in Wally’s eyes. He’d taken an immediate liking to Cynthia, the new Lady St. James, and coddled her as much as Tr
evor allowed.

  “Thank you, Wally. I’m sure she’ll be happy.”

  “Do you need anything else?”

  “Not now.”

  Wally nodded. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

  When the door closed again, Cynthia’s head popped up from beneath the sheets. “My letter! Open it. What does it say?”

  Trevor dropped the newspaper on a chair and speared a juicy slice of papaya with a fork. “Don’t you want to eat first?”

  “No, no.” She wiggled and tugged at her restraints. “Gimme the letter first. Please, I’ve only been waiting for this for two excruciating months.”

  “Well, since you’re at my mercy,” he said and took a bite out of the sweet fruit. He chewed thoughtfully, drawing out the suspense for her. “I’ll indulge you with this one request before I ravish you with my teeth.”

  “Anything, anything. Just open the letter. Please, Trevor? I’m dying to know!”

  He picked up the FedEx Priority envelope addressed to her. Ripping the envelope open, he withdrew the letter and scanned it silently. Cynthia quivered with nervous anticipation.

  “Hmm,” he murmured.

  “What? Oh no, please tell me I placed? Please tell me I at least got a fourth place ribbon?”

  He shook his head. “I’m so sorry, darling. You didn’t get fourth place.”

  “Oh.” She swallowed loudly. “Honorable Mention again?”

  “No, not Honorable Mention.”

  Her eyes clouded. She turned her face away to look out the window. A sharp pang of guilt knocked on Trevor’s heart for teasing her with something that meant so much to her. “Would you like me to read the letter to you?”

  “Sure,” she said, still looking out the window.

  He stepped around the bed so that he could see her face.

  “Dear Miss Lyons.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “You need to let them know you’re married now.”

  She smiled softly, bravely putting aside her disappointment. “I will. Read it.”

  He cleared his throat. “The judging panel of the American Jewelry Designer’s Annual Contest is pleased to inform you that your ring design, titled ‘Freedom’, has won the category and received the first place ribbon—”