Cleopatra's Necklace (Devlin Security Force Book 3)

by Vaughan, Susan

  Thomas noticed the receptionist straining to listen to their conversation. “I’ll explain further in your office.”

  Percival’s eyes narrowed behind his blue-framed glasses. “Very well. Follow me.”

  Shoulders stiff with resentment, he led them from the nondescript reception area through a door labeled Workshops.

  “He’ll take some persuading,” Lucas murmured.

  They passed through a high-ceilinged, airy space that resembled an aircraft hangar but with partitioned workspaces where artists were shaping the heads of new figures amid smells of warm wax and plaster.

  Cleo’s eyes lit up. She winked at Thomas, then scurried ahead to catch up with the director. “Mr. Percival, is this the famous Madame Tussauds design studio?” she gushed, slipping her arm through his.

  Percival’s pale cheeks flushed the color of cooked shrimp. “Oh, well, yes, this is where our artists and artisans create the figures, Miss, um...”

  “Call me Cleo.” Megawatt smile. “You must be a busy man, but if you’re not too rushed, I’d love a tour.”

  The director’s shoulders relaxed. He leaned closer to Cleo and pointed out a sculpture in progress and described the process. The artist was working from photographs on the head of Churchill for a World War II exhibit but many living celebrities posed for the artists. At each studio cubicle, she softened up Percival with her enthusiasm and perceptive questions. His chest expanded with pride.

  Not hiding something. Pompous and self-important. Thomas chuckled. Cleo Chandler, Secret Weapon.

  By the time the foursome reached the director’s office, Percival couldn’t wait to assist them. He ushered Cleo to the most comfortable seat by his expansive desk. Thomas took a straight chair nearby and Lucas pulled up a folding chair. Cleo crossed her legs and let her shoe dangle from her shapely foot. Her expectant smile held the director in thrall.

  Percival propped his elbows beside his desktop computer and steepled his fingers. He smiled, warmly at her—too warmly, but Thomas let it go. “Cleo—and gentlemen—I’m not sure how I can help you about some stolen item. None of the Tussauds employees could be involved in nefarious business.”

  “We have no information any Tussauds employees are involved,” Thomas said. “First, are any of the wax figures of Cleopatra still here, in West Acton?”

  “None. All are either on exhibit or waiting on the museum site for their unveiling.”

  Del Rio’s metal chair creaked as he leaned forward. “Scotland Yard tells me you reported a couple of break-ins. Tell us about that.”

  The dates coincided with René Moreau’s clandestine visits. Thomas watched for the director’s reaction.

  Percival colored, flustered. He looked to Cleo, who nodded in encouragement. “Our security system serves us well but on two occasions someone overrode the alarms during the night. I alerted the police but nothing was missing so they didn’t pursue the matter.”

  “But did you or anyone here notice anything odd, out of place or changed?”

  Percival’s eyes widened. He opened a desk drawer. “Curious you should mention it. A few days after the first break-in, a cleaner found these stowed behind a heating unit.”

  He laid on the desk two necklaces, high gold-toned chokers bearing a cape studded with jewels. The overhead lights glinted off the dazzling stones.

  Cleo sucked in a breath. Then her gaze sharpened as she peered more closely. She lifted each choker in turn. Shook her head.

  Thomas grimaced. Glitter but not gold. “Mr. Percival?”

  “These were created here to replicate the original found in Queen Cleopatra’s tomb. Our jewelry designers had to work from photographs, you understand, because by then the real artifact had been stolen,” the director said, as if excusing the lack of authenticity. “When none of the museums reported missing necklaces, I sent a memo to the jewelry designers about the matter, urging them to take more care discarding prototypes.”

  Probably fearing he’d be accused of theft if he was caught with them, Moreau had hidden the paste after replacing them with his copy and the real choker. “We’d like you to phone the museums with Cleopatra figures. Speak only to trusted employees.” Thomas tapped the paste necklaces. “Ask them to check if the necklaces in their museums are heavier than these. Much heavier.”

  Percival cocked his head, his mind obviously making the connection. “Heavier, like real gold. You mean, like the stolen, the real—”

  “Right. This is all confidential, Mr. Percival. I hope you understand the sensitivity involved.”

  “Certainly, certainly. But that’s ten museums. All those phone calls. I’m a busy man. I could e-mail them.”

  Thomas shook his head. “We don’t have that kind of time.”

  Cleo cleared her throat. “Thomas, don’t I remember a reward for aiding in the recovery of Cleopatra’s necklace?”

  “Reward, ah, yes.” So far neither he nor the insurance company had offered a reward but why the hell not. He pulled an amount out of the air.

  The amount of cash scrolled across Percival’s keen gaze. He swallowed, hard, twice, his Adam’s apple nearly bounding out of his throat. He furiously tapped computer keys. “Ah, it appears possible to rearrange my schedule so I can make those calls.”

  ***

  Crystal City, Virginia

  Max Rivera watched with satisfaction as Arlington police officers led away the man in the DSF green security uniform. Plastic cuffs bound his hands.

  Several employees including other security officers stood by, relief obvious on their faces. The tension that had pervaded the company ever since the lockdown seemed to leave the building along with the guilty party. Had he fought this for only a few days? Seemed like a year.

  “Show’s over, y’all.” Max pivoted on his crutches to head back to the office.

  As the gawkers scattered, Mara Marton headed toward him.

  “Epic, Max! You got the hacker.” She bumped fists with him. “Wait. Was that Dinkins?” The recognition crimped her forehead into a frown.

  “Ed Dinkins. Same guy who dissed your fiancé last May.” He thought back to Devlin’s cold wrath at the security guard’s mistreatment of an invited guest.

  “Mr. Devlin slashed his pay grade,” she said. “The reason I put him on the list I gave you of possible turncoats. But I didn’t think he had the skills.”

  “He doesn’t. He’s not the actual hacker. Just his mole. One of Gaspar’s IT geeks figured out he inserted the malware with a USB drive. Too basic a tech level for most of the DSF staff. Dumb sumbitch bragged to a couple guys about a big windfall, he’s driving a new Lexus, and he stowed the drive in his employee locker.”

  “Revenge and money. Big motivators.”

  “And tend to inflate arrogance over brains.” He grinned as Mara accompanied him into the elevator. “The state of Virginia, the Feds, and whatever European country is involved will wrestle each other for a piece of these crooks. Dinkins is looking at misdemeanor and felony charges that’ll probably net him ten years in this country alone.”

  “Couldn’t happen to a more deserving guy. And the malware?” She punched the button for their floor.

  “Mostly cleaned up. Having the USB drive with the code sped up the process. I just notified the boss Gaspar has blocked and locked out Zervas’s computer genius.”

  On the executive offices level, they passed through the reception area on the way to Devlin’s office. Max nodded to the admin, who was on the phone.

  “All this is good news.” Mara took one of the upholstered chairs in front of the big desk. “I can return to business as usual. But I doubt it’s why I’m here. Why did you summon me, my liege?” She performed a hand flourish.

  “I do like the sound of that, but you’re the only one who gives me my due respect.” He sank onto the desk chair and propped his crutches against the wall. The aroma of fresh French Roast came from the tray at his elbow. He poured the fragrant brew from a carafe into two mugs. “Or are you off coffee a
ltogether?”

  “Not when it’s the good stuff.” She stirred in cream and sweetener. “I didn’t know Francine stocked anything but Mr. Devlin’s tea. Looks like she’s joined your fan club.”

  “I must be doing something right.” He inhaled the steam from his mug. “Here’s the thing. Thomas needs the expert used for the Cleopatra necklace sent to the Big Apple. Sunday. For an authentication. Strict secrecy.”

  Mara leaned forward, her eyes bright with excitement, to take the note he slid toward her. “The Met. Way too amazing. Oh, yeah, I can set that up. No problem. I’ll get on it right away.”

  Max stood when she did but whacked his cast against the desk. “Damn. No business as usual for me until this damn leg is healed. But Thomas should return by Monday so I can turn over the reins. All this decision making gives me headaches.”

  Ringing announced he had a call. “If it’s the boss, he might need you to do more.” When he saw the phone screen, his shoulders fell. “Text message with more instructions, but for me. Shit, he meant he’s coming back to the country, but not to this desk. He needs time to wrap up his case.”

  The corners of her exotic eyes crinkled. “Looks like you get to keep the corner office and Francine’s French Roast for a while longer, amigo.”

  ***

  Andie Devlin checked her hair in the bathroom mirror, then hurried to the condo kitchen. Almost six p.m. For once in her life, she was ready on time.

  She dropped her keys in the new red handbag she’d bought to celebrate. In the old days she’d have scored oxycodone or some worse shit. Hell, in the old days she’d have had nothing to celebrate.

  The ringing of the house phone made her jump. Damn, was Frank canceling on her? Figured. But the number on the small screen was her brother’s. Again.

  Ring.

  She gnawed on her lower lip. Doc Olsen kept ragging on her about talking to him. “Have you talked to your brother yet?” she’d say almost as often as Thomas called. And he’d called every day since he left, sometimes more than once.

  Ring.

  Now that she had news—good news—maybe she could answer. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

  Ring.

  She reached for the receiver. Yanked back her hand.

  “Hey, Andie, sorry I missed you,” Her brother’s smooth, deep voice began as voicemail kicked in. “I want to give you a heads-up. You might see Cleo and me on the news Monday—”

  Andie needed to hear no more. She snatched up the receiver and punched the button to cancel the message. “Thomas, I’m here.”

  “Andie, oh, kid,” he said, his voice burlap rough, maybe with shock—and no wonder. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”

  She swallowed, breathed. Clutched the receiver with both hands. “What’s this about the news with Cleo? Cleo Chandler, that Cleo?”

  “That Cleo. A complicated story. I’ll tell you the long version later. The condensed version is this. Her father sent me to protect her. A gang of criminals think she has the necklace from Cleopatra’s tomb.”

  Gang. Necklace. “What are you talking— Facebook. The picture she posted?”

  “Right. We’re on the trail of the necklace. There’ll be a press conference in New York. I didn’t want you to be blindsided.”

  Too late. “Good. That’s good. Thanks. And Cleo’s okay?”

  “She’s fine. I’ll make sure she’s safe. We’re together.”

  Together? But— Before she could voice the questions flying through her brain, he spoke again.

  “Andie, I’ve been concerned about you, but I didn’t want to crowd you. Is everything all right there?”

  He didn’t sound like the domineering brother she’d accused him of being. He sounded caring and warm. The tension inside her eased. Now, tell him now. “Better than all right. You mean you don’t know?”

  A pause. “Know what? What are you talking about? Was Dr. Olsen supposed to tell me something?”

  He doesn’t know. No tails, no phone taps? She’d been paranoid, and all this time he’d kept his promise. He’d offered his trust but she hadn’t trusted him. She swallowed hard.

  “Tommy, I— You wondered what I did all day before my shift at the bar, right?” She didn’t wait for his response, needing to let it all out in a rush before a panic attack shut her down. “I’ve been going to school for two years. Yeah, I know, I hate school. But I made it through. In May I finished the degree in social work I started a long time ago. As of yesterday I have a job at the Arlington Family Services Clinic. With only a B.S., I have to work under supervision but I’ll be doing something important—working with families of kids who screwed up their lives with drugs. Kids like me. I start in two weeks.”

  “My God, Andie, I’m blown away. I can’t tell you how proud I am, how proud Mom would be. And Dad. Why did you keep this from me?”

  She shook her head, then smiled, knowing he couldn’t see. “I was afraid I’d fail. I needed to see if I could keep it together, make it all work.”

  “I’d have helped.”

  “You did help, financially. The doc took care of that. I made it this far, Tommy.”

  “Feels good to have you call me my old name again, sis. My hat’s off to you. I’ll be home in a few days and we’ll celebrate.”

  He called her sis, not kid. The pride and affection in his voice made her breath catch. She brushed away the tears leaking down her cheeks. Confessing all to her brother would make talking to her dad easier. But not until Thomas came home for moral support. “I’ll hold you to that promise.”

  “One more thing. Andie, these crooks are dangerous and clever. I had Max send in a team to check over the condo for bugs and phone taps. All was clear but they didn’t find your cell phone. Until you can get that cleared, be careful what you say. Don’t mention anything about this call, including Cleo. To anyone. Okay?”

  She hadn’t thought much about her brother’s work in security but now security had a whole different meaning. A personal meaning. “I promise.”

  Now she could use some BFF support. “Tommy, is Cleo there? Can I talk to her?”

  Chapter 24

  London

  THOMAS LISTENED AS Cleo talked to his sister. They supported each other, and being unable to connect had chafed. Gratified, he relaxed against the headboard of the St. James Hotel’s king-size bed.

  The hour had been late when the three of them left the West Acton building, too late to fly to New York. After days on the move, exhaustion dimmed Cleo’s eyes. And now Big Ben would be chiming midnight.

  The Madame Tussauds production director’s search had located the missing necklaces—one on the wax Cleopatra in the Las Vegas museum, and the other in Berlin. Once he shared the information with the Centaur Task Force, engines turned at a fast pace. They would stop an assassination and have a good chance of snaring Marco Zervas. The CTF would come out golden and the original necklace could return to the Cleopatra’s Tomb exhibit.

  If it all worked. He refused to let himself think it wouldn’t.

  Other matters were working out. Max had identified the mole who’d fed the spy software into the DSF system. Hell, Thomas should’ve fired Dinkins when he screwed up in the spring. Luring lost clients back to the company would mean lots of schmoozing, but the necklace’s return would help put DSF back on track.

  He tuned back in to Cleo’s conversation with Andie. Hearing his sister sound positive instead of angry amazed him. If only she could hold it together.

  “Hey, Andie, you go have fun tonight. Talk to you soon.” Cleo ended the call and handed him his secure phone. She walked fingers up his bare shoulder before laying her head there and snuggling closer beneath the silk coverlet. “Thanks for that. It means so much to me. Andie too. I knew about the social work degree but not about the new job.”

  He pulled her closer. “I hardly know the new Andie I just talked to. Thanks for being there for her. I’ve been too tough.”

  “You were scared for her. And she shut you out. I kep
t urging her to level with you but she insisted on soloing. She didn’t want you to know we talked either. She’s leery of being managed.”

  Something he needed to keep in mind when dealing with both females. “What did you mean about having fun tonight?”

  “Oh, she had to go because her date just rang the doorbell.”

  “Date.” He nearly surged upright. “Did she say who?”

  “Hoo boy, Mr. Overprotective Boss never left the building.”

  “Hard to break old habits.” He slid farther down and kissed her deeply, drinking in her sweet energy. “And when I forget, I know you’ll call me on it.”

  “You got that right.” She smoothed back an unruly lock from his forehead. “You’re forgiven for your skepticism where Andie and men are concerned. In the past she hasn’t been too discriminating.”

  “And don’t forget the long reach of Centaur.”

  “No worries, Thomas. Her date’s a guy she met on campus. A casual dinner, no big deal. She’ll be fine.”

  She sounded much more confident than he felt. With Andie, he was never sure. Those kinks in his shoulders were tightening.

  Rolling over her, he bracketed her slender body with his arms. He nuzzled her hair, absorbing her scent, her warmth and reveling in the press of her breasts against his chest, the friction of her body against him. “Not Andie I want to think about. Time for total focus on the woman in my arms.”

  “Total focus,” she murmured against his mouth. “I do like how that sounds.”

  ***

  New York City

  Cleo savored her third mug of coffee. Caffeine was the only thing keeping her awake and upright. They’d flown from London to the States two days ago and jet lag was a bitch. Putting more distance between her and Mimi twisted emotions—worry and guilt and fear—inside her. Not that she could do anything for the present.

  Waiting to set the bait in their trap, she sat in a private lounge in the Metropolitan Museum of Art—a remarkably bland room for such a rich setting.