by Lynn Kurland
“Us? She sent it home with you.”
She looked at him frankly. “Share and share alike.”
He shook his head, but he was smiling. “There’s breakfast at the door. Let’s eat, then we’ll be on our way.”
“By train?”
“Heavens no, lass. We’re taking the Vanquish. If I happen to see my brother, I want him to know I’m driving something that runs.”
She watched him go open the door, then shepherd and eject the staff members who had brought them something to eat. She ate, she supposed, though she spent more of her time looking at Derrick than she did putting away breakfast.
He looked at her with a piece of toast halfway to his mouth. “What?”
She shook her head and smiled. “Nothing. Just seeing if there’s a difference.”
He put the toast down. “Think there is?”
She leaned forward, put her arms around him, then kissed his cheek before she let him go and got up to go brush her hair one more time. “I always thought you were amazing,” she threw over her shoulder.
“Hey, come back here and tell me that again.”
She only looked back, smiled, and continued on.
• • •
She had to admit, an hour later as they were driving past the outskirts of London, that the Vanquish was a wonderful way to get around. She didn’t sleep, but she certainly spent her share of time staring aimlessly out the window. The scenery was all kinds of charming, but so was the driver, so she had to admit she felt a little torn. She held his hand much of the time, or shifted a little in her seat so she could study his profile. And she wondered about him, what his life was like when he wasn’t working, what he wanted.
But she didn’t have the guts to ask him any of it.
“Thank you for the list,” she said finally. “Of things you like. Well, you know.”
“About you?” He smiled. “You read it?”
“I did.”
He smiled and continued on. She supposed that the moment to ask him what he wanted out of life was just not the present one, so she settled for simply enjoying the ride, the company, and the scenery.
Derrick’s phone cheeping at her made her jump. He turned it on, then handed it to her. “That’s probably Oliver.”
She looked at the text. “It is. He says the bald guy and the skinny guy are lurking around the theater.”
“Would you ask him if someone could please come babysit my car so no random thug keys it?”
She did, then learned that Ewan had gone north with them and would happily keep an eye on Derrick’s car. She looked at Derrick. “Are you worried?”
“About those thugs?” he asked in surprise. “Well, I’m not sure we can shoot tranquilizer darts into them in this day and age, but no, I’m not worried.”
“Whom do you think they’re working for?”
He shook his head. “You know, this is what I still can’t understand. You were given embroidery and lace by Lydia Cooke herself. No one else could have planted it on you. I thought this pair was after that, but that proved to be untrue, as events have shown. They’re unabashedly interested in jewels and probably in the jewels Lydia Cooke obviously sewed into your bag. But why send the jewels off with you if she was sending those two thugs off after you to retrieve them?”
“Unless they weren’t working for her.”
“But if they weren’t working for her, then how could they possibly have known what you had sewn into your bag?”
She felt her mouth fall open. “Now, that’s creepy.”
He lifted his eyebrows briefly. “Agreed. So, I suppose the question now is, who would be interested in those jewels and might suspect that Lydia was trying to—well, let’s limit her to at least moving them to a different location. Who would know? Who would care?”
She felt something slide down her spine and it certainly wasn’t Derrick’s hand. “Edmund Cooke.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“I thought they were happily married.”
“I’d say that might be assuming too much, but we’ll see.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I am going to crash his rehearsal and chat with him in public. You are going to sit in the car with Ewan and his collection of things he shouldn’t own.” He shot her a look. “Today is my turn, remember?”
She shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
He shot her a skeptical look, then turned back to the road. She considered, then decided that perhaps the occasional romance novel Granny Mary had slipped her might come in handy. She looked at Derrick.
“Hold hands?”
He looked at her in surprise, but didn’t argue. And he left her hand on his leg when he shifted, which was handy, giving her ample opportunity to trace lazy circles on his jeans.
He took her hand and put it back in her lap. “Stop that.”
She reached up and slipped her hand along the back of his neck. He rolled his eyes.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“This will not get you what you want, Samantha.”
“Won’t it?”
He glanced at her, then laughed miserably. “Who are you?”
“Someone who survived Elizabethan cuisine and stood through an entire performance of Hamlet that seemed to last about ten minutes, that’s who. Now, don’t you think I’d be safer right next to you?”
He opened his mouth, no doubt to argue, then sighed. “Very well,” he muttered. “But stop touching me before I run off the road.”
She folded her hands primly in her lap and smiled. “All right.”
He shook his head with a sigh, then concentrated on getting them to where they needed to be. Eventually, he pulled his earphone and mic from off the dash, put them where they were meant to go, then started up the usual drill.
“Peter, how does the area look? Excellent. Ewan, which car park? Aye, that’s close enough. We’ll watch for you—nay, I’ll not run over you, you ass. Oliver, thugs under wraps?” He was silent for a moment or two. “We’ll make for the theater. I’m assuming quarry is there.” He waited, nodded, then looked at her. “I don’t like this.”
“You’d like it less if your car got stolen with me in it.”
“I suppose you have a point there.” He looked at her briefly. “You know that thing you were doing before?”
“The give me what I want because you can’t help yourself thing?”
He nodded. “Do that again later.”
She smiled, because he was so utterly charming, she could hardly keep her hands to herself.
Fifteen minutes later, she was walking with him along the river, past houseboats, and down to what she assumed was the rehearsal theater for Edmund’s latest.
“How are we going to get in?”
“I thought I’d pretend I was my brother.”
“Well, there is that.”
He got them inside the building with no trouble and inside the theater with only a puzzled frown as their reward. They made it halfway down the aisle before things took a turn she couldn’t say she’d expected, though Derrick didn’t seem terribly surprised by at least part of it.
“Edmund straight ahead,” he murmured. “And, oh, look, there’s Lydia doing her best harpy imitation.”
“No, I think that’s your brother staggering around up there on stage.” She watched him for another moment or two, then shook her head. “He’s terrible.”
“Aye, he is.” He nodded toward the wings. “I think that one there is Lydia Cooke.”
“Could be.”
“I’m not sure this can get any dodgier,” he said grimly. “I imagine you know what I’m thinking about now where you’re concerned.”
She looked around, then froze as she watched a couple get up from where they’d been sitting several seats away from the aisle where she was currently standing. Obviously they’d been watching the rehearsal as honored guests.
“Um, Derrick?”
“What?”
> “It just got worse.”
“How’s that, love?”
She pointed. “See those people over there?”
He looked, then froze. “Tell me they aren’t who I think they are.”
“Oh, they are,” she said. She had to take a deep breath. “Those are my parents.”
He swore.
She was fairly sure she had, too.
Chapter 28
Derrick cursed, thoroughly and at length. He was actually quite happy to have a live mic taped to his cheek, because that made interrogating possible miscreants all that much easier.
“All right,” he breathed, “which one of you saw Samantha’s parents and didn’t bother to tell me?”
“Not I, said the fly,” Oliver intoned solemnly.
“Not I, said the fish,” Peter added cheerfully.
“I’m going to kill you both,” Derrick whispered furiously. “Slowly, painfully, and happily. And if you don’t think I’m going to, think again.”
“We’re keeping an eye on the thugs backstage,” Oliver said. “What else do you want from us?”
Derrick supposed it was better not to say. He thanked them briskly, then turned to the most immediate of the problems facing him presently. That would be Edmund Cooke himself, who was looking as if he’d just seen a ghost. His mouth was working, but only babbling sounds of misery came out.
“Edmund,” Derrick said pleasantly. “It’s been a bit, hasn’t it?”
“Derrick Cameron,” Edmund managed finally. “What are you doing here?”
Derrick pulled Samantha behind him, just in case, then looked at the man who had ruined his life. “Oh, a bit of this and that.”
Edmund licked his lips nervously. “I heard you have a job hunting down little vintage knickknacks.”
“Something like that.”
“Why are you here, then?” Edmund said with a sick attempt at a smile. “It isn’t as though I have any, is it? Vintage things, that is. Or anything of value, really—”
“You damn well do!” shrieked a voice from the darkness.
Derrick considered stepping in, then decided the smartest thing he could do was step back and let Lydia have at her husband. At least that way he would see for whom the jewel thieves were working, if they were actually working for someone and not operating on their own.
Only Lydia didn’t leap for her husband, she leapt for Samantha.
“Give me your bag!” she screamed.
A knife flashed in the semidark.
Derrick reached out to disarm Lydia only to have her flinch a little, as if something had hit her in the back. She looked at him, made a feeble stab with the blade, then her eyes rolled back in her head. He caught her wrist to keep the knife away from his chest, then caught the rest of her before she collapsed. He carefully laid Lydia on the ground and made a production of putting the knife well to the side of her.
He also managed to remove the very tiny dart with approximately five minutes of downtime out of her flesh and disentangle it from her sweater before Edmund stumbled over.
Derrick stood up, then put his hand behind his back. He felt Samantha carefully take the dart out of his hand. He assumed she would stick it in something that didn’t include either her flesh or his. He looked at Edmund who was hovering over his wife, but not reaching down to see if she was well.
“She fainted,” Derrick suggested.
“Is she still breathing?” Edmund asked, sounding as if he very much hoped she wasn’t.
Derrick squatted down and felt for her pulse, which was strong and steady. He took the knife, rose, and handed it to Edmund. “I think there are enough witnesses who will testify that she was holding this. You might want to find a place to keep it safe.”
“She’s crazy,” Edmund stated.
Derrick wasn’t about to pass judgment, but he was happy to get rid of the knife. He also did the bobbies the favor of taping Lydia’s wrists together with the duct tape Samantha handed him. He put Lydia into one of the seats, then taped her there as well. No sense in leaving her free to do more damage. Then he turned back to his business with Edmund.
He pulled out of his pocket the clear bag of gems that belonged to the man in front of him. He watched, mildly interested, to see what Edmund’s reaction would be. He’d been turning over a suspicion or two during the trip from London, but he hadn’t cared enough to even give voice to them.
Edmund took the bag, then his mouth fell open.
“How—”
“Your wife sewed them into Miss Drummond’s purse, they were discovered, and we’ve been working diligently to get them back to the proper owner.”
“But . . . how did you know that owner was me?”
“Because that’s what I do,” Derrick said coolly. “In that little knickknack business I own.”
Edmund looked shattered. He took a deep breath. “I hired, um, unsavory types to, ah, follow Miss Drummond.”
Derrick wasn’t surprised. He held up his hand to keep Edmund from saying anything else. “Oliver, send those lads on their way. I’m sure Mr. Cooke will be depositing payment into their accounts in the morning. No reason for them to hang about unnecessarily.”
Edmund stared at him in surprise. “Who are you talking to?”
“None of your business,” Derrick said. He looked at the man who had taken from him what he’d thought he wanted the most. “That’s over with. Back to business. Have a look at those stones.”
Edmund looked at them, counted them, then looked at Derrick in astonishment. “They’re all here. All four dozen—but—” He gasped, then he let out his breath slowly. “They’re not separated.” He looked around himself frantically. “Lights!” he shouted. “Turn on the bloody houselights!”
“Edmund, Edmund,” Derrick said with exaggerated concern. “Don’t get so worked up about this.”
“You idiot,” Edmund snarled, “they’re all mixed up.”
Derrick frowned. “All mixed up?”
Edmund made a noise of impatience. “The regular stones with the other ones.”
“What other ones?”
Edmund shot him a look of disgust. “What, you don’t know this? There are thirty-six regular stones, then twelve that are magical.”
Derrick would have smiled, but it was obvious to him the man in front of him was absolutely serious. “Magical?”
“Lights!” Edmund bellowed, then he took a deep breath. “One of my ancestors had these stolen from him by his son. He had them given back to him by a . . .” He looked around, then leaned closer. “By a young woman who he was convinced was a fairy. He had tried to give her twelve in gratitude for the return of the rest, but she had them delivered back to him. He was told they were covered in fairy dust, something that was certainly true given that she had sprung up from Faery through a ring in the grass.”
“Oh,” Derrick said, drawing the word out as long as possible to give himself time to come up with something else to say. “Interesting.”
The houselights went on and Edmund rolled his eyes and stomped off to a spot where the lights were actually of some use, then started to poke at his inheritance.
Derrick leaned his head back. “Fairy dust?”
“I told Granny they were fairly dusty,” Samantha said with a snort.
“Fairly dusty, fairy dusted—what’s the difference?”
“Apparently a family legend,” Samantha said. “And that didn’t take him long, did it?”
Derrick had to agree that it hadn’t. Edmund had the gems divided into two hands. He came to a stop in front of Derrick and looked at him.
“I owe you a debt I cannot repay,” he said, sounding as if the words were being pulled out of him by Victorian dental pliers. “I’d like to give you one of these.”
“Four,” Samantha said promptly.
Edmund gaped at her. Derrick had to admit he did the same thing. But Samantha Drummond was on fire. She looked at Edmund Cooke coolly.
“We’ll have four, because there wer
e four of us involved in getting you your inheritance back. And we’ll have four from the fairy dust collection.” She picked up the plastic bag and held it open. “Put the regular ones in here.”
He did, looking at her as if he feared she would hurt him if he didn’t comply.
She zipped up the bag, then handed it back to him. “Now, pick four from the other hand.”
“That’s a lot of money,” he managed.
“I’m sure the original fairy would consider counting the cost to be terribly gauche. You cost Derrick his career because of your cowardice. Make it up to him right now.”
Derrick could only stand there and marvel at her. Had he ever wished she would just stand up for herself a bit more?
He had the feeling he might live to regret that wish.
Edmund looked, then gingerly flicked the four smallest stones away from the rest of them. Derrick supposed he would have only been surprised by anything else. Edmund looked at those four for several moments in silence, then held them out.
“Thank you.”
Derrick accepted them only because Samantha elbowed him so hard in the ribs.
“It might pay your rent for a few months,” Edmund added.
Derrick winced at that because Oliver’s snort had almost deafened him. He saw the police coming in the side door and supposed he would be in for it now. He sighed and shoved the gems into his pocket.
“Derrick,” Samantha warned.
He fished them out and handed them to her, then watched her shove all four into one of her jeans pockets.
“How is this different?” he asked with a frown.
“I checked my pockets for holes this morning.” She looked over to her left. “Looks like Lydia’s coming out of her little nap.”
Derrick wasn’t sure he cared what she had to say, so he took Samantha’s hand and pulled her back out of Lydia’s sights. It was interesting, however, to listen to Lydia rage with decreasing coherence at her husband. Samantha leaned close to him.
“I believe she just called me a Girl Guide. Is that sort of like a Girl Scout?”
“Hmmm,” he agreed. “And isn’t that interesting that she intended to sell the lace then decamp for France?”
“And that she stole the gems just out of spite,” Samantha said. “I don’t think she likes Edmund very much.”