by J. D. Robb
"Silly's the word. I'm so sorry." Her voice sounded perfectly natural, with just a hint of laughter in it. "This isn't for sale. It's not part of the stock."
"But it was on the shelf, right back there."
"It belongs to a friend of mine. He must have set it down without thinking. I had no idea it was there." Before the woman could object, Laine set it on the shelf under the counter, out of sight. "I'm sure we can find something along the same lines that will suit your sister. And if we do, it's half off for the disappointment factor."
The half off stilled any protests. "Well, there was a cat figure. Siamese cat. More elegant than the dog, but still kitschy enough for Susan. I'll go take another look at it."
"Go right ahead. Now, Mr. Wainwright, where would you like your pieces shipped?"
She finished the transaction, chatted easily, even walked her customers to the door.
"Nice sale, boss. I love when they keep finding something else, adding it on."
"She was the one with the eye, he was the one with the wallet." It felt a little like floating, but Laine got back to the counter, lifted the dog. "Jenny, did you shelve this piece?"
"That? No." Lips pursed, Jenny walked over to study it. "Sort of cute, in a ridiculous way. A little flea market for us, isn't it? It's not Doulton or Minton or any of those types, is it?"
"No, it's not. I imagine it came in one of the auction shipments by mistake. I'll sort it out. Look, it's nearly five. Why don't you take off early? You covered for me for more than an hour this morning."
"Don't mind if I do. I've got a craving for a Quarter Pounder. I'll swing by the station and see if Vince is up to dining at Chez McDonald's. I'm as close as the phone, you know, if anything else pops to the surface and you want to vent."
"I know."
Laine shuffled papers until Jenny gathered her things and headed out the door. She waited another five full minutes, doing busywork in case her friend doubled back for any reason.
Then she walked to the front, put up the CLOSED sign, locked the door.
Retrieving the statue, she took it into the back room, checked those locks. Satisfied no one could walk in on her unexpectedly, she set the statue on her desk, studied it.
She could see the glue line now that she was looking for it, just a hint of it around the little cork shoved into the base. It was good work, but then Big Jack was never sloppy. Beside the cork was a faded stamp. MADE IN TAIWAN.
Yes, he'd have thought of little details like that. She shook it. Nothing rattled.
Clicking her tongue, she got out a sheet of newspaper, spread it on the desk. She centered the dog on it, then walked to the cabinet where she kept her tools. She selected a small ball-peen hammer, cocked her head, swung back her arm.
Then stopped.
And because she stopped, she realized, without a single doubt, she was in love with Max.
On a breath, she sat, staring at the dog as she set the hammer aside.
She couldn't do it on her own because she was in love with Max. That meant they would do it together. And so whatever came next together.
And that, she thought, is what her mother had found with Robert Tavish. What she'd never really had with Jack, for all the excitement and adventure. Her mother had been part of the team, and possibly the love of Jack's life. But at the core, they hadn't been a couple.
Her mother and Rob were a couple. And that's what she wanted for herself. If she was going to be in love with someone, she damn well wanted to be half of a couple.
"Okay then."
She rose, got bubble wrap from her shipping supplies. She wrapped the cheap ceramic dog as carefully, as meticulously as she would've wrapped antique crystal. Over layers of bubble wrap, she secured brown shipping paper, then nestled the package into a tissue-lined shopping bag, along with a second item she'd taken from her stock and wrapped.
When the job was complete, she arranged for the shipping for her final sale of the day, then filed paperwork. At precisely six o'clock, she was at the front door waiting for Max.
He was fifteen minutes late, but that only gave her time to calm completely.
He'd barely pulled to the curb when she was walking out, locking the door.
"You're always on time, right?" he asked her when she got into the car. "Probably more like always five minutes early."
"That's right."
"I hardly ever am, exactly on time, that is. Is this going to be a deal with us down the road?"
"Oh yes. You get this initial honeymoon period where I just flutter my lashes when you show up and don't say a word about your being late. After that, we'll fight about it."
"Just wanted to check on that. What's in the bag?"
"A couple of things. Did you have any luck with the key?"
"That depends on your point of view. I didn't find the lock it fits, but I eliminated several it didn't."
He drove up her lane, parked behind her car. "How come Henry doesn't zip out his dog door when he hears a car drive up?"
"How does he know who it is? It could be someone he doesn't want to talk to."
She got out, waited for him to pop the trunk. And beamed at the bucket of fried chicken.
"You bought me chicken."
"Not only, but the makings for hot fudge sundaes." He lifted the two bags. "I thought about shrimp cocktail and pizza, but figured we'd both be sick. So just the Colonel and ice cream for you tonight."
She set the shopping bag down, threw her arms around his neck and crushed her mouth to his.
"I can hit up the Colonel every night," he said when he could manage it.
"It's those secret herbs and spices. They get me every time. I decided I love you."
She watched the emotion swirl into his eyes. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Let's go tell Henry."
Henry seemed more interested in the chicken, but settled for a quick wrestle and a giant Milk-Bone biscuit while Laine set the table.
"You can eat that sort of thing on paper towels," Max told her.
"Not in this house."
She fancied it up in a way he found sweet and female. Her colorful plates turned the fast-food chicken and tubs of coleslaw into a tidy celebration.
They had wine and candles and extra-crispy.
"Would you like to know why I decided I love you?" She waited, enjoying the meal, watching him enjoy it.
"Because I'm so handsome and charming?"
"That's why I decided to sleep with you." She cleared the plates. "I decided I might love you because you made me laugh, and you were kind and clever and because when I played the next-month game, you were still there."
"The next-month game?"
"I'll explain that later. But I decided I must love you when I started to do something by myself, and stopped. Didn't want to do it by myself. I wanted to do it with you, because when two people make one couple, they do important things, and little things, together. But before I explain all that, I've got a present for you."
"No kidding?"
"No, I take presents very seriously." She took the first wrapped item out of her bag. "It's a favorite of mine, so I hope you like it."
Curious, he ripped the protective brown paper off, then broke into a huge grin. "You're not going to believe this."
"You have it already?"
"Nope. My mother does. Happens it's one of her favorites, too."
It pleased her to hear it. "I imagine she was fond of Maxfield Parrish's work or she wouldn't have named her son after the artist."
"She has a few of his prints. This one's in her sitting room. What's it called again?"
"Lady Violetta About to Make Tarts " Laine told him as they both studied the framed print of a pretty woman standing in front of a chest and holding a small silver pitcher.
"She's pretty hot. Looks a little like you."
"She does not."
"She's got red hair."
"That's not red." Laine tapped a finger against the model's reddish-gold hair, then tugged a loc
k of her own. "This is red."
"Either way, I'm going to think of you every time I look at her. Thanks."
"You're welcome." She took the picture from him and laid it on the kitchen counter. "All right, now for the explanation as to why I decided I was in love with you and decided to give you a present to commemorate it. This couple in my shop today," she continued as she set the shopping bag on the table. "Upper class, second– or third-generation money. Not wealthy but rich. They worked as a team, and I admire that. The signals, the rhythm. I like that. I want that."
"I'll give you that."
"I think you will." She lifted the package out of the bag, retrieved scissors and went patiently to work on the wrap.
"While they were in the shop, buying some nice glassware, a gorgeous display table and a very unique chess table, the wife part of the team spotted this other piece. Completely not her style, let me tell you. But apparently her sister's. She got all excited, brought it to the counter while I was ringing up. She wanted it, but it wasn't priced. I hadn't priced it because I'd never seen it before."
She saw the jolt of understanding run over his face. "Christ, Laine, you found the pooch."
She set the unwrapped statue on the table. "Sure looks like it."
12.
He picked it up to examine it, just as she had. Shook it, just as she had.
"It looks like an ordinary, somewhat tacky, inexpensive ceramic dog." Laine gave it a quick tap with her fingers. "And just screams Big Jack O'Hara to me."
"You'd know." He hefted it, as if checking weight while he looked at her. "You didn't just bust it open and see for yourself."
"No."
"Big points for you."
"Major, but if we stand here discussing it much longer I'm going to crack, scream like a maniac and smash it into lots of doggie pieces."
"Then let's try this." Even as she opened her mouth to protest, he smacked the statue smartly on the table. Its winsome head rolled off so that the big painted eyes stared up in mute accusation.
"Well." All Laine could do was huff out a breath. "I thought we might do that with a little more ceremony."
"Quick is more humane." He dipped his fingers into the jagged opening and tugged. "Padding," he said and had her wincing as he smashed the body on the table.
"I have a hammer in the mudroom."
"Uh-huh." He unwrapped the layers of cotton, pulled out the small pouch. "I just bet this is a lot more upscale than anything I ever got out of a cereal box. Here." He handed her the jewelry pouch. "You do this part."
"And major points right back at you."
The buzz was there, that hum in the blood she knew came as much from holding something that belonged to someone else as it did from discovery. Once a thief, she thought. You could stop stealing, but you never forgot the thrill.
She untied the cord, pulled open the gathered top and poured a glittering rain of diamonds into her open palm.
She made a sound. Not unlike, Max noted, the one she made when he brought her to orgasm. And her eyes, when they lifted to his, were just a bit blurry. "Look how big and shiny," she murmured. "Don't they make you just want to run out and dance naked under the moon?" When he lifted an eyebrow, she shrugged. "Okay, just me then. You'd better take them."
"I would, but you've got them clutched in your fist, and I'd rather not have to break your fingers."
"Oh, sorry. Obviously, I still have to work on my recovery. Ha ha. Hand doesn't want to open." She pried her fingers into a loose curl and let the diamonds drip out into Max's open palm. When he continued to stare at her with that lifted brow, she laughed and let the last stone drop.
"Just seeing if you were paying attention."
"This is a new aspect of you, Laine. Something must be a little twisted in me because I like it. Maybe you could clean this mess up. I've got to go get a couple things."
"You're taking them with you?"
He glanced back at the doorway. "Safer for both of us that way."
"Just so you know," she called after him, "I counted them, too."
She heard him laugh and felt another click inside her. Somehow fate had tossed her the man who was perfect for her. Honest, but flexible enough not to be shocked or appalled by certain urges that still snuck up on her. Reliable, with a flicker of the dangerous about him to spice it up.
She could make this work, she mused as she swept the broken shards into the center of the newspaper. They could make this work.
He came back in, saw she'd put the dog's head on a lace-edged napkin, like a centerpiece. After a double take, he snickered.
"You're a strange and unpredictable woman, Laine. That sure suits me."
"Funny, I was thinking the same about you, except for the woman part. What've you got there?"
"Files, tools." He set the file folder down, opened it to a detailed description of the missing diamonds. Sitting, he took out a jeweler's loupe and a gem scale.
"You know what you're doing with those?"
"Take a case, do your homework. So, yeah, I know what I'm doing with them. Let's take a look."
He spread the diamonds on the pouch, selected one. "It's eye-clean." He held it up. "No inclusions or blemishes visible to my naked eye. How about yours?"
"Looks perfect."
"This one's a full-cut, weighing . . ." He laid it on the scale, calculating. "Whew, a whopping sixteen hundred milligrams."
"Eight gorgeous carats." She sighed. "I know a little about diamonds myself, and about math."
"Okay, closer look." Using a small pair of tongs, he lifted the stone and studied it with the loupe. "No blemishes, no clouds or inclusions. Terrific brilliance and fire. Top of the sparkle chart."
He set it to the side, on a small scrap of velvet he'd brought down with him. "I can cross the eight-carat, full-cut, Russian white off my list."
"It would certainly make a wonderful engagement ring. A little over the top, and yet, who cares?" His expression, one of mild horror mixed with hopeful amusement, made her laugh. "Just kidding. Sort of. I'm going to pour us some wine."
"Great."
He chose another diamond, repeated the routine. "So, does this talk about engagement rings mean you're going to marry me?"
She set a glass of wine by his elbow. "That's my intention."
"And you strike me as a woman who follows through on her intentions."
"You're a perceptive man, Max." Sipping her own wine, she ran a hand over his hair. "Just FYI, I prefer the square-cut." Leaning down, she brushed her lips over his. "A nice clean, uncluttered look, platinum setting."
"So noted. Should be able to afford one considering the finder's fee on these little babies."
"Half the finder's fee," she reminded him.
He gave her hair a tug to bring her mouth back to his. "I love you, Laine. I love every damn thing about you."
"There are a lot of damn things about me, too." She sat beside him while he worked. "I should be scared to death. I should be racked with nerves over what's happening between you and me. I should be terrified knowing what it means to have those pretty shiny rocks on my kitchen table, aware that someone's already been inside my house looking for them. And could come back. I should be worried sick about my father—what he'll do, what Crew will do to him if he finds him."
She took a contemplative sip of wine. "And I am. Under here," she said, with a hand on her heart. "All those things are going on under here, but over it, and through it, I'm so happy. I'm happier than I've ever been in my life, or expected to be. The worry, the nerves, even the fear can't quite outweigh that."
"Baby, I'm a hell of a catch. Nothing for you to be nervous about on that score."
"Really? Why hasn't anybody caught you before?"
"None of them were you. Next, whoever—and we'll assume it was Crew—broke in, tore the place up looking for these didn't find them here. Not much sense in coming back to go over the same ground. Last, your father's managed to land on his feet all his life. I bet he's still
got his balance and agility."
"I appreciate the logic and common sense."
She didn't look like she was buying any. He considered showing her the snub-nosed .38 strapped to his ankle, but wasn't sure if it would reassure her or scare her.
"You know what we've got here, Ms. Tavish?"
"What have we got here?"
"Just over seven million—or one quarter of twenty-eight point four million in diamonds—almost to the carat."
"Seven point one million." She said it in a reverent whisper. "On my kitchen table. I'm sitting here, looking at them, and still I can't really believe he pulled it off. He always said he would. 'Lainie, one day, one fine day, I'm going to make the big score.' I swear, Max, most times he said it he was just conning himself. And now look at this."
She picked up a stone, let it sparkle in her hand. "All his life, he wanted that one, big, glittery take. He and Willy must've had the best time." She let out a breath, set the stone back with the others. "Okay, reality check. The sooner those are out of my house and back where they belong, the better."
"I'm going to contact my client, make arrangements."
"You'll have to go back to New York?"
"No." He reached for her hand. "I'm not leaving. We finish this out. Three-quarters of the pie is still out there. Where would your father go, Laine?"
"I don't know. I swear to you I don't have a clue. I don't know his habits and haunts anymore. I cut myself off from him because I wanted so much to be respectable. And still . . . God I'm such a hypocrite."
She rubbed her hands over her face, dragged them back into her hair. "I took money from him. Through college, a little here, a little there. There'd be an envelope stuffed with cash in my mailbox, or now and then a cashier's check made out to me. And after I graduated, too. A little windfall out of the blue, which I dutifully banked or invested. So I could buy this house, start my business. I took it. I knew it wasn't from the goddamn tooth fairy. I knew he'd stolen it or bilked someone out of it, but I took it."
"You want me to blame you for that?"
"I wanted to be respectable," she repeated. "But I took the money to build that respectability. Max, I wouldn't use his name, but I used the money."