“Yes! We know there was at least one copy. Researching the provenance is something I can do in New York.”
He held out his hand. “I don’t want you leaving here with that pin,” he told her.
She opened her mouth to argue, and he said quickly, “You and the girls will be safer with the brooch in my possession.”
She searched his face, unsure of his motives, then shook her head. “I’m doing the research, I’m going to need it. No one knows I have it with me, they think it’s safely hidden in New York. And I’ll make very sure it’s safe.” Reaching for her cell phone, she snapped three close up photographs of the Firebird from different angles. “I’ll email these to you right away.”
She pinned the brooch to the inside of her waistband as she moved toward the steps.
“Just don’t let Rhodes know that you have it.” You fool, he thought, nothing good will come from this conversation.
She swung around, anger flaming on her cheeks. “Why won’t you let this go?”
“Because it’s the right thing, Alexandra.”
“And you don’t care if someone gets hurt?”
“I care,” he said softly. “But I can’t let it stop me.”
“Maybe I was wrong about you.”
“I’m done with breaking the rules, dammit. If I do, then I’m no better than the monsters I’m chasing.”
“It’s my fight, Garcia. My sister!”
“My rules.”
“Do what you have to do, then. I have a flight to catch. I’m leaving.” She spun away from him.
“Alexandra. Don’t walk away from me like this.” I don’t know when I’ll see you again. Without thought, he reached for her, gripped her jacket.
She stopped, swung around, stared at him with defiance.
He reached out to grasp the two ends of the scarf around her neck. Slowly, slowly he pulled her close. Bent to her. He could feel her breath warm on his lips, see his reflection in the shocked mirrors of her eyes. “Stay with me, Chica,” he said hoarsely.
She tensed in his arms. For a long moment there was only the sound of their breathing as she stared up at him. Their eyes locked. Unable to stop himself, he raised his hand to her throat, felt her pulse leap under his palm. He cupped her face, very gently, in his hands. Rubbed his thumb across her lips. Her skin was soft, warm against his.
She made a sound like a sigh and closed her eyes. Her body softened, melted, leaned into him. Very slowly, she raised her face to his.
His lips brushed her forehead. Moved over her eyes, down her cheek.
Desire, sudden and fierce, stunned him.
He tilted her chin, until her mouth was a breath away from his...
Her eyes flew open, and she froze. Then he felt her hands on his chest, hard, pushing him away. “No! Damn, damn. I can’t do this...”
“Alexandra,” he whispered. “Jesus. I shouldn’t have, I had no right to - Bad timing, Chica.”
“God. God.” She spun away, ran toward the steps to the dock. Hoover ran after her, barking.
“Stay, Hoove.” And then, “Don’t do this, Red.”
He stopped, Hoover straining against his hip, and watched her flag a taxi parked at the end of the marina. Watched as she passed her luggage to the driver, the scarf around her neck flashing blue in the morning light, and disappeared into the cab. Watched as the taxi sped away. She never looked back.
Christ, he thought. She’s getting to you. A too-complicated woman with mirrored eyes who loves Puccini and Modern Art and old stained glass. So fine and beautiful. And those damned eyes, the way they held the light… What the devil was he thinking?
The Lab settled with a despondent sigh by an empty chair and turned his head away. Et tu, Hoover?
“Okay, so I blew it. The woman just walked away from me, and I let her go.” Hoover chose not to respond.
Garcia gazed out at the empty pier. All those years, he thought, building her wall of anger and pain. What would it take to bring down that wall? He’d never know. Now she was off to New York, gone for good. And all he had was a Casablanca goodbye. Just without the rain.
For a long time he stood at the rail, still seeing an image of a woman with dawn firing her hair and a dog asleep at her feet, while the sea whispered against the hull and the high clouds tangled in flame.
CHAPTER 41
“...a brooch of gold ful sheene...”
Chaucer
NEW YORK CITY
Stay with me.
Three small words, but so profoundly unsettling.
Alexandra gazed around the narrow, non-descript hotel room tucked away in Manhattan’s Upper West Side. Kicking off her shoes, she dropped her suitcase on the bed as the words played over and over in her head.
Stay with me.
He’d said those words to her on the cliff in Maine. And on the narrow wooden bridge over the Potomac River, where her sister had died. And again in Middleburg, when blackness threatened.
But this time, it was different. This time, that moment on the boat… When he had touched her. God, when he had touched her. Come so close to kissing her. She had wanted him to – and he knew it. Sweet Mary. That moment could not be ignored, no matter how much she tried. But now here she was, back in New York, and he was back in Washington. How did I let my guard down? she asked herself. And where do I go from here?
The scarf he’d given her was still knotted around her neck. It was the color of lupines. She pictured him, grasping the scarf, pulling her slowly, slowly closer. God. She held the soft wool to her lips, breathing in the sea-scent of him.
With an oath, she pulled the scarf loose. Just keep pushing him away, she told herself. Protect yourself.
A soft knock on the door scattered the images. Just as well, thought Alexandra, opening the door. Her daughter darted like a bright firefly into the room, followed by her nanny.
“Ruby! Oh, Liv!”
“Welcome home,” said Olivia Manning with a broad smile and tight hug.
“It’s good to be back in New York, Liv. I can’t thank you enough for meeting me here.” Alexandra held out her right arm to her little girl. “Come to Mama, Ruby.”
Ruby gave an unintelligible cry as she buried her face against her nanny’s leg. “Hush, Ruby, hush,” crooned Olivia.
Alexandra swallowed. “Will she ever call me Mama, do you think?”
Olivia shook her head. “Of course! She’s been cooped up, that’s all. Too much cloak and dagger and not enough fresh air. Are you sure it’s safe for you to be here?”
“Only Garcia knows I’m at this hotel. Your brother will be with us all afternoon. And Garcia has extra security for Ruby 24/7.”
“You trust him.”
It was a statement, not a question. Alexandra thought for a moment. “With Ruby, yes.”
Olivia just smiled at her. “Nice scarf,” she said. “New?”
Alexandra shot her a don’t-go-there look. “This should all be over soon. I found something, Liv, in Anthony’s stable. A brooch, in the shape of a firebird, hidden by Eve. It’s the best lead we have to my sister’s killer. I have an appointment with an expert on Russian jewelry after we see Ruby’s doctor.”
She lifted her chin and approached her daughter. With a small wince she removed the sling on her arm, determined to use her baby signing. She sat down on the floor in front of her daughter.
“Your Mama’s here now, Ruby,” she said as she signed the word ‘mother’ with her thumb under her chin and fingers spread, and then the word ‘home’ with her fingertips making a roof. “I’ve missed you - and I have a big surprise. We’re going to walk through Central Park and see our friend Doctor Weinberger!”
Alexandra smoothed the crimson curls. Ruby lifted her tear-stained face and smiled shyly.
Alexandra held out her arms and this time Ruby reached for her. Cradling her child against her chest, she inhaled her daughter’s sweet scent and whispered, “When all this is over, Ruby, I’ll find a way for us to be together more. We’re
going to live in a real house, a home with swings, and windows without bars. And we’ll get a dog. A big dog!” She grinned at Olivia as she signed the word ‘dog’ with her middle finger against her thumb.
Olivia made a rude sound followed by a gesture of her own as she pushed the carriage toward Alexandra and held out Ruby’s bright red jacket. “Danny is waiting for you in the hallway. He won’t let you out of his sight. We’ll talk about the dog tonight. Just be careful. Good luck at the doctor’s office.” She tossed the sling at Alexandra. “And put this contraption back on, for goodness sake, I can see you still need it.”
Alexandra signed, ‘thank you, friend,’ as she wheeled her daughter toward the door.
Okay, she thought. It’s just me and Ruby now. The way it should be. So why did she feel as if something was missing?
Stay with me.
* * * *
The wind was bitterly cold and the sky was a dull pewter, turning the skyscrapers along Fifth Avenue to shades of black and gray. A hint of the first snow brushed the late-day air.
Alexandra turned down 57th Street and stopped at the corner of Madison Avenue in front of the shop called Tresors de la Veille Russie. They were late. Ruby’s appointment with the specialist had taken much longer than she’d expected. But the doctor had been encouraging... until he’d listed the downside of cochlear implants in his quiet clinical voice.
One day at a time, she told herself as the light changed.
She turned to her nanny’s brother, the retired detective who had accompanied them all afternoon. “Do you want to come in, Danny, or wait by the door?”
He stationed himself by the door as she pushed the buzzer for entry.
“Yes? May I help you, Madame?” The impeccably dressed woman smiled down at Ruby.
“Alexandra Marik from the Baranski Gallery. I have an appointment with Mr. Orlov.”
“Of course. Just a moment.”
Alexandra handed Ruby a cardboard picture book and turned to examine the shop. Tresors de la Vielle Russie was one of several elegant East Side antique dealerships specializing in fine European jewelry and Russian decorative and fine arts. Alexandra gazed at the deep red carpet and subtly-lit glassed cases filled with shining objets d’art.
Aware of the uniformed guard’s eyes on her, she stepped closer to a locked Louis Quinze rosewood cabinet. Displayed on the lighted shelves were enameled snuffboxes, Faberge miniature eggs, glowing icons, a finely carved agate bear. Lacquered boxes, each with its own legend, and a collection of exquisite nesting dolls. Eve’s Matroyoska.
In moments, another doll might twist open to reveal the secret of the firebird brooch…
“See the beautiful dolls,” she said, signing ‘doll’ to her delighted daughter as she bent to remove Ruby’s jacket.
Her eyes moved to the focus of the shop - a superb collection of antique Russian jewelry. An art-nouveau pendant set with black pearls and sapphires by Feodor Lorie, created in Moscow in 1890. Edwardian circular platinum cufflinks set with rubies, silver box by Bolin, St. Petersburg, 1900. And there, displayed on grey satin in a case by themselves, were the jeweled pins. A Victorian snake, an onyx butterfly, a cat with emerald eyes, a platinum polar bear, a pair of dazzling diamond tremblant brooches. But no Firebird.
Alexandra checked on Ruby, now engrossed in her book, and wandered to the shining dinnerware set on a long table.
“This dinner service,” said a cultured European voice behind her, “was made for the dowry of Grand Duchess Alexandra Nikolaevna. She was married in St. Petersburg in 1844 to Prince Friedrich Wilhelm von Hessen-Kassel.”
Alexandra turned with a smile. “It’s very beautiful. I’m Alexandra Marik.”
“From the Baranski, yes. It’s a pleasure.” The manager bowed formally from the waist. He was pale and blade thin, dressed all in black, with a high forehead and a small thick goatee. “Vasily Orlov. Unfortunately, the Grand Duchess died in childbirth before she was able to enjoy her many treasures. How may I help you, Dr. Marik?”
“I need information, please. From an expert on Romanov jewelry.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place,” said the manager proudly. “Our collection is family owned. We began in the 1850’s in Kiev, moved to Paris just before the Revolution, and came to New York on the eve of World War II. Our pieces are of the highest quality.”
Alexandra glanced with appreciation at the glassed displays. “I can see that.” She drew in her breath. “A brooch has come into my possession that I believe could date from the time of the czars.”
“You have my attention, Dr. Marik. Until the Revolution in 1917, the Romanovs ruled in a splendor typified by magnificent jewels. May I see your brooch?”
She pictured the brooch, now securely hidden in the Baranski Gallery vault. No way she’d risk carrying the Firebird on her person when Ruby was with her. She withdrew several professional color photographs from her purse. They would have to do for now. “I have these. All the measurements are included as well. ”
He held up the photographs and caught his breath. “The Firebird! Madame will be delighted.”
Madame? “You recognize it?”
“Of course. Without examining the actual brooch, I cannot say with certainty if it is the copy I’m familiar with – or a similar piece of jewelry. The Firebird played such a distinctive role in Russian history, after all. We find her in oil paintings, music, on Faberge eggs and lacquered Russian boxes. And, of course, jewelry. But you see this distinctive curve of wing, the elongated neck? Very unique.”
He held one photograph to the light. “You do know that the original Firebird brooch disappeared from St. Petersburg - Leningrad, in those days - sometime during the Cold War? So many treasures did. But even a good copy, with fewer, lesser stones, would be a very valuable piece.”
“Yes. I researched the brooch earlier today, looking for more information. I know there is at least one copy, probably several. That’s why I’m here. What more can you tell me about the original?”
He gazed at her for a long moment. “I can show you,” he said finally. He stepped to a rosewood cabinet, unlocked the door and removed a large art book. A moment later he found the page he sought and held out the book to her.
Alexandra gazed down at a formal wedding portrait of a czar and his veiled, bejeweled wife. “Nicholas and Alexandra,” she said softly.
“Yes. 1894. Their wedding in the Winter Palace.” He handed her a small magnifying glass. “Look closely at the brooch on the breast of her gown.”
“It’s the Firebird,” she breathed.
“Yes, the original Romanov brooch. The finest quality diamonds and rubies. But it has a gruesome, bloody history, I’m afraid.” He glanced down at Ruby.
“It’s all right,” said Alexandra. “She won’t - understand you.”
Vasily Orlov set down the book, turned back to her. “When the Revolution began, members of the Czar’s court began to hide the Romanov jewels, which, of course, were worth a king’s fortune. Many were smuggled to the nuns in Tobolsk. Others were hidden in the Swedish embassy in St. Petersburg and just surfaced in Stockholm a few years ago. On the night that the Czar and his family were executed, the women had gems sewn into their clothing. The jewels deflected many of the bullets. There were rumors that the Firebird was found hidden in the Empress Alexandra’s gown.”
Without speaking, Alexandra removed the brooch’s velvet pouch with the LP stamp from her purse and held it out to Vasily Orlov.
“Leonard Pfisterer?” he murmured in a shocked voice. His eyes darkened, and he looked at her closely. “Historically and artistically, the original Firebird brooch would be priceless. I must ask how this brooch came into your possession?”
Alexandra heard the suspicion in his voice and hesitated. “A gift given to my sister,” she said finally. “Clearly, by your reaction, the provenance is questionable. I questioned it as well, that’s why I’ve come to you. The brooch I have may well be an excellent copy. But it’s very impor
tant that I trace the provenance.”
“We made a small repair on a copy of the original Firebird brooch some months ago.” His eyes moved to the telephone. “But the owner would never have parted with such a treasure.”
“I assure you, Mr. Orlov, my sister believed her brooch to be a gift. Of course I will do the right thing. If I could just speak with the copy’s owner?”
“Surely you understand that I cannot give out that information. The privacy of our customers must be respected at all costs.”
“Please, Mr. Orlov. I’m sure the owner of the brooch you mentioned would want to know that I am in possession of a similar firebird jewel.”
The manager looked down at his elegant manicured hands, then reached to smooth Ruby’s curls. “Your daughter is very beautiful,” he murmured. He held out his hand. “May I examine the photographs again?”
“Of course.”
Vasily Orlov held the Firebird’s image to the light. “This is magnificent. If I didn’t know better...” He looked at her.
Alexandra locked her eyes on his. “If you believe the ownership to be in question, then we both should find out the truth. A moment ago you mentioned someone you called Madame? The owner, I trust?”
He was silent for a moment. “A favor,” he conceded, “one colleague to another. And I do, after all, know where to find you.” He permitted himself a small smile. “If you will wait a few moments, Dr. Marik, I will call Madame. With her consent, I will arrange a meeting between you.”
The manager disappeared into the office.
Given its history, thought Alexandra darkly, the real brooch would be priceless. No wonder everyone wanted it. But one person wanted the Firebird because it held the secret of Eve’s death.
She sank to her knees next to Ruby’s stroller. The child stirred as her mother planted a kiss on her shining hair. “Your Aunt Eve would be very proud of us,” said Alexandra, her fingers moving to make the word ‘happy’ in front of Ruby’s eyes. Ruby smiled in delight.
Unless he’s calling the police.
“Dr. Marik?”
Firebird Page 30