Hidden Legacy

by Sylvie Kurtz

  “I know who wrote the letter. It doesn’t change the facts.” Regs’s eyes were so dark, Lucas couldn’t read him, but his face was a study in controlled anger. “The kid, she’s yours?”

  “Yes, sir.” No point denying it.

  “And you didn’t think that was reason enough to excuse yourself from this case once she got involved?” he asked, bull nostrils flaring in and out.

  “I didn’t find out she was my daughter until the night before we retrieved her.”

  That seemed to throw old Regs for a loop, but he recovered quickly. “I’ll need to speak with the woman again.”

  “No.”

  “This throws a whole new curve to the situation. Maybe a few days in jail will refresh her memory.”

  Lucas leaned his fists on Regs’s desk and stared at him eye to eye. “She was coerced into the crime to save her daughter.”

  “She lied, Vassilovich. She still possibly has information that might prove valuable in catching the Phantom.”

  “She doesn’t know anymore than what she’s told us. The Nadyenka Sapphire is mine. I won’t press charges. You can’t hold her, and you know it.”

  “Was yours. It’s missing, along with the Phantom. Both are part of an ongoing investigation.”

  Lucas straightened, dragged a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well, Fowler should have the case solved by the end of the century.”

  “Watch your mouth, Vassilovich!” Regs rose, scattering his chair backward.

  “She’s gone through enough. She doesn’t need for you to use her just to get back at me.”

  Regs jabbed a finger at the top of his desk. “You lied to me.”

  Lucas slid his credentials out of his shirt pocket and plunked it on Regs’s desk. “Is this what you want?”

  “Yes,” Regs admitted through clenched teeth, then flicked the wallet towards Lucas with the back of his hand. “But rules and regulations have to be followed. There’s going to be an investigation of your actions. You’re on unpaid leave until the case is resolved.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  Regs sat down, rammed his glasses on his face, and flipped open a file. “Plan on receiving a letter of censure.”

  Of course, he’d expected no less from Regan. This letter could close his file permanently. His stomach rolled in a caustic wave. He was seeing red, wanted to fight back, but in this case any reaction would only harm what he was trying to protect—his job and Juliana. He turned to leave.

  “And Vassilovich, stay out of this case. One more foul-up on procedures on your part before this is resolved, and I will bring her in. Do we understand each other?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Silently, Lucas swore. The son of a bitch wasn’t above hurting an innocent bystander just to get back at him. It took all Lucas had not to slam the office door, to walk through the office floor as if nothing were wrong. He was a prince after all, he knew all about regal bearing. His mother had drilled that habit into him and Nadya from a young age.

  He drove too fast, but once in Nashua, he found he couldn’t go back to Juliana in this state. She would ask too many questions whose answers he wasn’t prepared to answer.

  So he did what he always did when the pressure got too tight and he needed to let off the steam—he headed home, donned a pair of running shoes, and ran. He raced through the wooded trails until his muscles burned, his lungs complained, then he ran some more, until he could feel nothing at all.

  He’d let his passion interfere with reason, and now he was paying the price.

  * * *

  Juliana tried not to think about Lucas, but the monotonous task of hand polishing the intricate roses that she could not do by machine gave her mind plenty of space to drift. Something had been wrong. He’d tried to push his concern aside, but she’d seen it in his frown, his fractured attention. Even his unexpected kiss had tasted more of good-bye than I’ll-be-back.

  “I’m leaving for lunch,” Callie called from the doorway separating the store at the front from the back work area. “Can I pick you up anything? I’m going to the deli.”

  “A sandwich would be great. Turkey on whole wheat. Tomatoes, no mayo.” She hefted her purse to her lap and took out her wallet. “Thanks, Callie.”

  “No problem.” Callie placed a box on Juliana’s workbench. “From the lab in California. Just came in.”

  The safety buzzer announced Callie’s departure through the front door. Juliana carefully undid the packaging and oohed at the sight of the stone. The laboratory-grown sapphire was magnificently crafted.

  Like a kid with a new toy, she strode briskly to the vault and took out the other stones she’d reserved for the replica. One by one, she placed them in their respective places on the brooch. All they needed were the setter’s magic touch to hold them in place.

  “That’s a beautiful piece.”

  Juliana gasped and whirled on her stool at the sound of Brent Horton’s voice behind her. Her tweezers clattered to the floor as she placed both her hands over her heart.

  “How did you get in here?” The security buzzer should have announced his entrance. Had she been too entranced by the jewels to notice?

  “The door wasn’t closed all the way. There was no one out front.”

  Ben was off today, and Callie had gone to lunch. How long had she been gone? When would she be back? Doing something so careless wasn’t at all like Callie. Brent Horton wasn’t a threat, but…

  Juliana stiffened her spine and hid her annoyance. She’d have to have a talk with Callie. This was unacceptable, considering the value of the merchandise displayed in the cases. “What can I do for you Mr. Horton?”

  “The ring,” he said, pulling a brown velvet box from his jacket pocket. With his tailored suit, polished shoes, and perfectly coifed hair, he exuded presence. A cowing presence, she decided, cold. Not at all like Lucas’s bone-melting warmth.

  Brent cracked the cover open. “The center emerald fell off. Meredith is beside herself for having lost it.”

  There was no point in telling him I told you so. The customer was always right. She’d let herself be rushed over the project, now she’d have to pay the price. “I’ll replace it.”

  “Yes.”

  “At no charge.”

  “Of course.”

  “You’ll have to leave the ring. It’ll take me about a week to get a replacement stone and have it set.”

  Brent shrugged. “The urgency has passed. Meredith said yes.”

  “Congratulations.”

  His gaze drifted once more to her workbench. The hair on the back of her neck bristled.

  “That piece,” he said, pointing toward the replica. “How much do you want for it?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Horton. It’s a commission for another client.” Carefully, and with a steady hand, she replaced the stones on the tray and covered them with a velvet cloth.

  “I’ll double what he’s offering you.”

  She didn’t like the fever of desire in his eyes. What Brent Horton wanted, he usually got. She wasn’t particularly looking forward to denying him. The repercussions could echo for a while. So she appealed to his own sense of logic.

  “I’m sorry. This has sentimental value to him. Just like getting the ring to Meredith on a particular night was to you.” Gently, she maneuvered her client out of the back and into the front area. The front door, she noticed, was securely closed.

  “Ah,” he said, nodding once. “Of course.”

  He let himself through the counter flap. “How is your daughter?”

  “My daughter?” Her heart did a quick double take. Why would he care? Why would he ask?

  “Yes, you mentioned a family problem.”

  Relief flooded through her. Of course, she’d mentioned family when she’d tried to buy herself more time to finish the engagement ring, and he knew she had a daughter. For an instant, she’d had the highly improbable thought that he was the Phantom. Wrong age. Wrong coloring. She was letting circumstances
spook her out of common sense. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Good, good. I’m glad to hear that.” He paused in front of a case showing off an arrangement of necklaces, earrings, and rings, featuring tanzanite.

  She patted the key ring in her jacket pocket. “Can I show you anything?”

  “No, not today.” He started for the door, then hesitated. “If you should change your mind about the brooch, call me.”

  “Of course.” She held the security button down to release the front door latch.

  “Good.”

  When he passed through the door and next to the discreet marks on the frame, Juliana noticed Brent Horton was an inch shorter than she was.

  * * *

  Juliana paced the length of the living room. Even a game of cards with Albert and a conversation with Ella hadn’t completely distracted her from her worry. With a sudden halt, she snapped off the light on the end table. Why did she care if Lucas hadn’t returned? Just because he’d promised to be back for dinner, and it was now pushing midnight?

  “I don’t care,” she said the empty room. “I really don’t.” Then to prove her point, she marched upstairs to her bedroom.

  She didn’t care. Couldn’t care. The only reason she was on edge was because of Briana, she rationalized. Briana had asked about Lucas. She’d wanted him to tell her another one of his made-up adventure stories.

  And Juliana had had to lie—again.

  That’s what had had her pacing. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind. She wasn’t worried. He was a grown man. He didn’t owe her anything.

  But he did owe Briana. Juliana would not let him hurt his daughter.

  She made quick work of her bedtime routine, then slipped into bed, punched her pillow, and closed her eyes. A minute later, her eyes were wide open and staring at the ceiling. “The least you could do is call!”

  Then the stairs creaked. The house settling? Heart beating hard in her throat, she forced herself to stay calm and listen. There it was again.

  The Phantom? No, what could he possibly want with her?

  A small squeak. And another. Rhythmical. Stealthy. Like someone climbing stairs. Then a long pause.

  Quietly, she reached for the baseball bat she kept under her bed and gripped it with both hands.

  A silhouette, tall and dark stood at her bedroom door. Familiar.

  Her rhythm of her heart changed from fear to anticipation. Her skin warmed. “Lucas?”

  “I didn’t mean to wake you.” His voice floated like a soft breeze, low and intimate.

  Swallowing hard, she released her stranglehold on the bat, and slipped it in its place beneath the bed. “I’m not used to having people creep around my house in the dark.”

  “I didn’t think you’d hear. I wanted to be sure you were all right.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” She sat up, holding the sheet and blanket in front of her. “You could have called.”

  He was silent, and in the silence, she sensed sadness.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, tightening her grip on the sheet and blanket.

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t shut me out.” She tried to make her voice light and fell short of the mark. “Please.”

  He smiled, but even in the dark, she couldn’t miss its flatness. “I’m here. You’re there.”

  She drew her knees up and hugged them, clamping at the sudden, fierce need to have him lie next to her. She shook her head and frowned. “Lucas—”

  “It’s all right, Jewel. I know you’re not ready.”

  He was wrong. She was more than ready. She was hot, wet, melting fast—which was exactly why she couldn’t lift the sheet in invitation. The memory of how good their lovemaking had been was still too dangerous. She was too vulnerable now, too easily hurt. If she gave in, she’d lose what little stability her life still had.

  “What happened in Boston?” she asked, willing him to go, wanting him to stay.

  “I was put on leave while bureaucrats who haven’t hit the street in years sift through my actions on this case.”

  And decide his fate. A shiver ran through her. “Your job—”

  “Is up in the air.” He shrugged. The gesture was careless, like that of someone pretending he didn’t care. His job was him. If he lost it, what would he do? She shifted uncomfortably.

  “What about the Phantom?” she asked, resting her chin on her raised knees. Had all their hard work to get the replica made been for nothing?

  “I’m still going after him.”

  Of course. He couldn’t let go. Giving up wasn’t in his nature. He wouldn’t stop until the Phantom was behind bars. Then he’d move on to his next case. If not for the FBI, then for someone else. Where would that leave her and Briana?

  “The sapphire arrived today,” she said, ignoring the pulsing in her lips for his kiss, the yearning of her body for his touch. “I’ll be sending the brooch out to the setter tomorrow. Louis promised to have it done quickly. A day or two.”

  “Great. I’ll need for you to make a small nick in one of the facets.”

  “Why?”

  “To prove to the Phantom he’s got the wrong brooch.”

  Hop, skip, and jump. Plan ahead. Know thine enemy better than thy self. “That’s why the Phantom was asking about a flaw? He thinks the original has a nick?”

  “Yes.”

  “What next?” She longed to cast off the blanket. She was much too hot under the covers.

  “Time to contact my friend at the Boston Globe and play my bluff.”

  “And then?” She could feel her aching pulse beat in her neck, at her wrists, at her ankles. Once, just once, it wouldn’t hurt, would it? She could get this insane fever out of her body, get a fresh hold on reality.

  “Then we wait for the fish to bite.” He tapped the door frame once. “I’ll stay in Briana’s room.”

  “That’s fine,” she said, lying down once more. Knowing he was only a wall away, she would get no sleep at all.

  * * *

  The newspaper trembled in his hands. How dare he! How dare Vassilovich play him for a fool! Willy hurled the section away.

  “What’s wrong?” Cindy asked, poised to refill his coffee cup. He swatted her hand aside.

  “Nothing!”

  She shrugged, returned the pot to the coffee maker, then filled her glass with a hiss of diet Pepsi. “If you say so.”

  He lurched up and strode to Bijou’s basket where he crouched to examine the brooch. Bijou wagged the stump of her tail and grinned. “Bring me the paper.”

  Cindy sighed loudly, screeching her chair back to obey. “Why’d you throw it away if you were going to need it?”

  “Just bring me the damned thing.” What a loathsome creature she’d become!

  She launched the newspaper section in his direction. He scrambled the messy pages until he found the article he needed. Following the words with his finger, he paused at the key sentence. He picked up Bijou, who gave a small yelp of protest, and carried her to the counter where light from the window spilled bright. Turning the brooch this way and that, he peered into its surface.

  Then with a growl of rage, he tore the brooch from the velvet collar, ripping the cloth and breaking the clasp. Bijou whined and scampered back, her feet slipping on the counter’s smooth surface.

  “It’s all right, old girl.” He petted the dog’s head and cradled her in his arms.

  With a mighty heave, he pitched the brooch across the kitchen. After denting a faded flower on the wallpaper, the pin skittered beneath the harvest gold refrigerator. He kissed the top of Bijou’s head. “No wonder it didn’t work. It was a fake. A fake! The bastard gave me a fake!”

  Vassilovich would pay dearly for his deception.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Cindy asked.

  “I’ll get him. I’ll get him for this. You’ll see. We’ll get the real Sapphire, and you’ll be fine.”

  Carefully, he returned Bijou to her basket and settled her under the blanket.
She shivered, her little bones rattling. “Hang on for just a bit longer. I know just how to get it back.”

  He plucked the small case from beside the door, unlocked the clasp. Perusing the contents, he chose his new skin. Suburban dentist. Yes, that would work. “I want you to wait right here. Is that understood?”

  Having Cindy here would serve two purposes—keep Bijou company, and keep Cindy out of trouble until he could deal with her. She was getting too fidgety, and that could only mean trouble.

  “But of course,” she said mockingly, not bothering to lift her gaze from the crossword puzzle she worked.

  He flashed her a look of pure hatred.

  Within half an hour, he had his skins in place, he had changed, developed a plan, and a rental car waiting for him a few blocks down. He took a small black case from his duffel bag, stuffed it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

  Now all he needed was for Special Agent Vassilovich to play his part.

  Willy smiled. But then what else could the bastard do? Willy knew just which string to tug, and what reaction he’d get.

  “You’ll get a phone call,” he said. “Play along with whatever happens.”

  When he got no answer, he thwacked the back of her head. “Did you hear me?”

  “Yes, I heard you,” she said, rubbing her thin hair into a small rat’s nest. “Phone call. Play along.”

  Tomorrow. He would lose her tomorrow—after she’d outgrown her usefulness.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, finally deigning to look at him.

  “Out.”

  “How long will you be?”

  “A while.”

  Chapter 13

  From the desk he’d taken over in Juliana’s workshop, Lucas contacted Detective Harrison Monroe of the Stamford Police Department, who reluctantly parted with the particulars of the Blackstone case.

  “No one saw anything,” the detective insisted. Which wasn’t unusual where the Phantom was concerned. He had a knack of fitting into any crowd as if he belonged. “One minute the opal was in its display case, the next it was gone. The glass wasn’t broken. Too many fingerprints on the outside glass from gawking guests to make out. None on the inside.”