“The cameras as well as the alarms and motion sensors were disabled temporarily—probably Leon’s doing—but they’d gone on the fritz off and on for a week and the FBI couldn’t prove Hauptman had anything to do with it that night. The technicians said the interruptions could’ve been due to the frequent thunderstorms that June.”
“What if he caused it all to divert suspicion?”
The FBI and Marton had covered all this but what the hell. “Either of the two other guards could’ve arranged the disruptions. But maybe guilt has weighed on the guy all this time and he’s ready to spill his guts.”
“Or another one is. A hopeful thought. Too bad you have to go back to Maine tomorrow.” She stabbed a bite of chicken with her fork. “If Hauptman still lives in Kensington, I can go talk to him.”
His hand jerked, nearly knocking his plate on the floor. “Whoa, whoa. No way.” For someone so logical and careful, how could she be so naïve? “Go interview possible criminals by yourself? Unless you’re more than a research tech at Devlin Security?”
She shut her eyes briefly and sighed. “Nope, strictly an office grind. I have no self-defense expertise at all. You’re right, of course. I’m just antsy. I want to do something.”
“And you can. You told me research is what you do. So research. Get on the ’Net and find out where all these guys are, where they live, what they’re doing now. Everything you can get on them since the Gramornian crown jewels were taken. And don’t—”
“I know. Don’t tell anyone at work about the rings. Hush-hush. But I have to keep my boss in the loop.”
“Better if nobody knows what we’re doing.” How could he trust a man he’d never met?
“Thomas Devlin offered to help, remember, offered the resources of DSF. I think he’ll give me clearance for access to more secure databases. And time to do this research. He’ll be discreet.” She laid a hand on his knee. “You want me to trust you, so you have to trust me.”
If secrecy and security were the man’s business, maybe it would work. But if others started looking for the rings, he could lose all control of the search. And the jewels. Trust her? Maybe this far. “Only Devlin, okay.”
“Then what? You’ll be in Maine.”
“I have some things to finish, a two-week course, some other business.” He’d finish the latest commission. Take leave from his job if necessary. “Then I’ll come back. We might find more names in the second box and notes about Leon.”
“Or something about the puzzle ring.” The tightness of her mouth said she hoped not. “Tell me about finding your ring piece. Where’d he have it hidden?”
He considered. Couldn’t see why not. “Behind the house where I used to live with my mom. I was lucky the present owners weren’t home. The back side of the stone wall abutted a drainage ditch. He’d tucked the ring piece into the stone wall. That niche used to be a drop for him and me.”
“A drop?”
“A secret stash, for notes mostly.”
Her eyebrows winged upward. “You had to pass notes in secret to your dad?”
“When I was a kid, Mom thought she was protecting me by keeping Leon’s profession a secret. We moved from Marseille to Milan and different places in the States, supposedly because of his jewelry-designing business. He did design jewelry, but I knew where some of the supplies came from.”
“Do you look like him?”
“Some. Less now. I’m built like Mom’s family, not wiry like... like a second-story man.” Leon had asked if he worked out. Yeah, he worked out. Exhaustion from running and lifting helped him make it through the night. Maybe making this right would let him sleep.
She’d finished—about half of what was on her plate, as much as she ever seemed to eat—and he followed her into the kitchen with his plate.
“You lived with your mom. They were separated?” She scraped the plates into the garbage and placed them in the sink.
When she moved to cover the casserole and put it away, he took her place at the sink. Might as well earn his keep. And standing closer to her allowed him to breathe her scent. “When I was twelve, she discovered he’d been teaching me certain skills.”
He wouldn’t go into how Leon used to tell him stories about the glamorous world of jewel theft. He attributed the twinge in his chest to too much pasta. Memories of the arguments and his mother’s increased drinking hammered at him. Especially after that day. “She packed me up then and there. We left.”
She took coffee beans from the freezer and shook her head. “What sort of skills was he teaching you?”
“Off and on he had me practice climbing walls and walking across the roof. To strengthen me and build agility for sports, he said, but I knew better. I heard enough to know why they argued about it. Mom caught him showing me how to pick locks.” He’d kept the set of tools Leon gave him. A point of pride they remained unused. And would.
“No surprise you did what your dad wanted. A guy thing.” She dumped coffee beans into the high-tech contraption she called a coffeemaker. When the thing finished whirring like a power drill, she set up the brewing. “Was he a good dad except for... you know?”
He shrugged that off and reached for a bowl. Finished rinsing the plates. His wet fingers brushed hers as he handed her a dish, and her cheeks flushed a nice pink. As she arranged the dirty dishes and silverware in the dishwasher, she kept her face averted. He grinned, pleased he affected her. Not that anything between them should go further than a simple touch.
“Did they divorce?” Her expression held curiosity and interest, not pity or disdain.
He poured wine and leaned back against the counter where she’d set her cell phone in a dock with an iPod. She had games including a Wii. All the toys, this pretty geek. He swirled the dark red liquid in his goblet. “She moved us to Massachusetts, where she grew up, and divorced him. Their agreement was that he’d see me only under her supervision.”
“But Leon didn’t stick to their deal. Again, no surprise.” She shook her head and sipped wine.
“You’re catching on.”
“Your dad made his life seem exciting and adventurous. Heady stuff for a boy,” she said. “And your mom disapproved, so you were caught in the middle.”
“Most of the time it was okay. Going into the relationship, she knew what he was. Then she couldn’t take the secrecy, the unsavory hangers-on, the constant moving.”
“Did they love each other?”
“Love? Is there such a thing? Can’t prove it by me.” He barked a harsh laugh. “She said she loved him. Just couldn’t live with him. Didn’t want me to end up like him.”
And first chance he got, he followed in good old Dad’s footsteps.
He set down the glass with careful control. “Never again. And I’ll prove it if I have to drag Leon’s partners into the FBI office and make them hand over their ring pieces.”
Mara crossed the tiny kitchen and placed her small hand on his chest in comfort, as if she’d read his mind. As if she’d said, “You’re not your father.” Or was he?
In reply to that gesture, he said, “I should’ve known not to trust him.”
The press of her soft palm and the tips of her fingers revved his pulse to a higher gear. He inhaled—the fruity shampoo that permeated the bathroom and the fresh rain scent that seemed to be hers alone—and his blood simmered again.
When she lifted those dark liquid eyes to his, he had to taste her. Her generous words and tender touch seeped into his chest and something shifted. Before whatever it was could take hold, he held her away from him. He was spending another night in her apartment. Best not to start something he couldn’t finish.
“You were only a boy.” She backed up, effectively snapping any connection, probably all in his mind. And lower.
“Does that mean you trust me now?”
Her eyes flashed with irritation. “We’ll see. I know you haven’t been involved in any criminal activity since you got out of prison.”
That much was a
ll he deserved. “I have to head to Maine tomorrow, and we have another box to go through. We might find more suspects. Or the proof you need.” If the FBI didn’t find anything to exonerate Marton, it was unlikely he and Mara would. But he didn’t say so.
“My thoughts exactly.” She poured two mugs of the brewed coffee. She handed him one before doctoring hers.
He waited for her to precede him, watching the sway of her ass as she walked into the living room.
Chapter 7
By the next Friday, Mara’s eyes were blurry from research. All week she’d had a full load of regular assignments—gathering info on known collectors of Chinese artifacts, artifact forgers, and thieves. A fourth fake Han period horse, copies of the stolen one, showed up, this time part of a California collector’s estate. Someone was cheating the cheats. Hard not to smile at the irony—except for the loss of the original horse.
Her lunch breaks and scarce spare time went to researching suspects in the Smithsonian theft—the three security guards and Leon Jones’s usual partner.
She picked up a short stack of file folders and stuffed them and her flash drive into her tote, ready to head home. Online research had given her addresses for two of the three possible owners of ring pieces. She’d find the third eventually. No problem. The second file box yielded no more information than the first.
Nothing incriminated her father. Nothing cleared him either.
“Devlin give you time off for this project, Mara?”
She looked up to see her friend Sandi at the cubicle entrance. Also a researcher, Sandi sympathized with Mara’s situation.
“Didn’t ask. Not yet anyway,” she said. “I’ll wait and see if it’s necessary.” She aimed to turn in her reports early so if they had to travel, she could take personal days.
“I saw Cortez Jones’s photo. Even holding a number in front of him, he looks hot.” Sandi winked, waggled her water bottle and the fountain of brown curls on top her head. “I’d sure want to spend some days with the guy. And nights.”
Mara rolled her eyes. “We’re just working together. That’s all.”
“Sure. Sure.” She didn’t sound convinced. “What’d you find on your list of suspects?”
“Background checks, current addresses, jobs, finances, families. Nothing suspicious. One person has died.”
“Guess they won’t be much help.”
Sandi’s lighthearted attitude was contagious, and Mara joined in her laughter. “Gotta count on the families.”
“Well, good luck. Let me know if you need any help. You could introduce me to the hottie.” She strolled off, tossing this last over her shoulder.
Like that was gonna happen. Cort’s reasons for not trusting were valid. And she’d sworn both Sandi and her boss to secrecy. If Cort knew she’d included her friend, he’d have a cow, to quote her sister, but she needed Sandi’s expertise in using the unfamiliar databases. And she might need her help again.
She picked up the tote and her hand-painted Anuschka bag. The chirp of her cell phone had her huffing. When she saw it was her sister, she almost let it go to voice mail. But no. She set down her bags.
“Hey, Cassie.” They hadn’t seen each other since collecting their father’s file boxes. She’d returned them to the basement but Cassie hadn’t been there. “What’s up?”
“You met with that ex-con again yet?”
She felt her shoulder muscles stiffen. Cassie refused to refer to Cort as anything but that ex-con or him. “Cort’s coming in another week. I told you that.”
She heard Cassie blow out a breath. “You haven’t gone off on your own to see the others, have you?”
Mara scowled at her sister’s implication, mostly at herself because Cassie was right. But Cort had talked her off that ledge. Then memories of the behemoth who’d attacked her had kept her double-locked in her apartment with the new security system coded in and set. “No way. He and I will do that together.”
“Good. You never think anything bad will happen. Amazing for someone who researches criminal stuff. I’m afraid. You can’t trust him. I don’t like it either way.”
She was used to her sister’s criticism but it rankled. “I’m okay. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
“Good. That’s good. Well...”
The hesitation meant something was up. Cassie hadn’t phoned only to check on her. “What’s going on, sis? Is it Livvie?”
“Livvie’s fine.” Ah, the catch of breath, her sister’s pause for effect. “I’ve met a guy.”
Of course. Ever since her divorce, Cassie’d swung from down in the dumps to a peak of on the hunt so she could flaunt some guy in front of her ex. Mara sought patience.
“Hold on a sec,” Cassie said.
Mara heard a male voice in the background. Here we go again.
But she mustered up some enthusiasm. Maybe Cassie would focus on romance instead of ragging on Livvie and her. “Hon, that’s great. Is that his voice I heard?”
Cassie laughed. “That’s just the cable guy. Some problem with connections. They’re checking every box on the street.”
“I don’t have much time but tell me the important stuff. Where’d you meet him? What’s he like? And I don’t mean the cable guy.”
Her sister’s raspy chuckle hummed through the line. “Good thing. Met André at work. He came to my desk to open a checking account. We’re going to play tennis and have dinner tonight. He’s sophisticated and sooo charming. Looks like that hot French guy who’s on Devious Maids, Gilles something, but a little older, forty maybe.”
“Gilles Marini? Whew, I’m heating up just hearing about André.” True, but that condition had nothing to do with Cassie’s new guy.
She’d remained hot ever since Cort nearly kissed her. Fantasies of his hard mouth and harder body warming her inside and out filled her thoughts whenever she wasn’t focused on work. Knowing he was so the wrong man didn’t make any difference to her body. Whenever he phoned to check on her research, his low, rumbling voice caused the same rev of her heartbeat, the same tingle she’d felt when she pressed her palm to his solid chest and his eyes went to smoke. Was this how her mom had ended up married to a man she didn’t love? Did the heat of passion mask their basic incompatibility?
She chatted a moment longer before begging off. She promised herself to be all business when Cort arrived. Clearing her father and finding evidence for the FBI had to be her priority. Not drooling over a guy, like Cassie. Or going soft in sympathy.
She exited the building and drove across town, taking side streets to avoid rush-hour traffic. And to shake anyone following her. Mr. Devlin had explained how to watch for a tail. A DSF tech guy searched her car for a GPS tracker and found nothing, thank goodness.
Cassie’s warnings were unnecessary. She knew to be careful. If they didn’t trust each other, following up on any attraction was out of the picture. Trust or no trust, she needed to know more about what made Cortez Jones tick. And how involved he was in his father’s nefarious business before they robbed the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History. The bare facts she’d researched and her short acquaintance with him didn’t begin to address his motives then. Or now.
***
Cort tested the finish. Solid and dry. Good. On his own time, he’d busted ass finishing this commission. Six chairs to match the cherry dining room table built for a regular customer in Connecticut last year. Now he could pack them up to deliver on his way to D.C. He flicked off the workshop lights and headed across the dooryard.
His time back in Maine had dragged like a load of logs behind a skidder. Assisting a guest instructor from Vermont in a course on boxes with inlays kept him hopping from nine to four through the work week.
His mind kept wandering to Mara Marton. They’d spoken on the phone while he was away. Usually about what she was uncovering on their suspects and once about her new security system, but whenever he heard her low, sexy voice, the world went away.
He rammed a hand over his hair as he
passed through the shade of a spruce tree. Shit, he wasn’t the kind of guy a classy woman like her should get involved with. She deserved better than hooking up with an ex-con, a loner who lived a hermit’s existence. Special Agent Kaplan had accused him of hiding in the woods. Yeah, so? But starting on the road to changing things made him hunger for sunlight and a new beginning.
When he opened the cabin door into the darkened living room, he walked into a battering ram. The blow dropped him to all fours and knocked all the air from his lungs.
He gasped for breath. His stomach rolled. Three sets of legs in dark trousers and polished shoes surrounded him. Brutality wasn’t the usual FBI tactic. Who then?
Meaty hands dragged him upright and held his elbows in a vise.
“Merely a tap, Mr. Jones. I hope I now have your full attention.” The deep voice held the merest trace of a foreign accent.
A click and the table lamp beside the sofa came on, better illuminating the intruders. The fiftyish man watching him with deep-set black eyes pointed a black automatic pistol at his belly. Close-cut hair either white or pale blond. A military demeanor that implied who’d sent him. His two playmates could’ve been his clones, except for the eyes. No intelligence and cunning, only the empty eyes of professional muscle. Years since he’d faced the type but he hadn’t forgotten the soulless look.
Cort straightened his shoulders and affected an air of confidence. “I told the duke’s man I was searching for the crown jewels. He didn’t have to send his enforcers.”
The man withdrew a pack of Marlboros from an inside pocket of his black leather jacket. He smiled thinly, revealing bad teeth. “I am aware of the duke’s efforts. The prince’s younger brother is competent but conventional and irrelevant. Allow me to introduce myself.”
The words threw Cort into Mick Jagger’s song. It would be a mistake to underestimate this man whether he was the devil or merely imitating him. Cort’s nerves crawled like a nest of spiders.
“I am Colonel Yerik of the Gramornia Security Police, under the command of His Excellency Prime Minister Turkof.” He made a small bow and clicked his heels together. “The prime minister has a different priority.”
Ring of Truth (Devlin Security Force Book 2) Page 6