The Wedding Necklace

by Adrianne Lee

  Craig glanced at his watch, wondering how long C.J. would perpetuate this posturing. Perhaps he should take the initiative and get the meeting underway. He moved toward her, thinking that for all her understated elegance, she reminded him of a fox, parading past the display cases as if they held fat hens, one of whom she would snatch and carry off for supper.

  She gazed up at him. Her eyes had the luminescence of the very predator he'd likened her to, heated, watchful, cunning.

  Reflexively, Craig tensed. “Do you have a buyer for one of our recent acquisitions, C.J.?”

  “Nothing so mundane.” Her voice was pleasantly husky, but she wasn’t a woman who wasted her time flirting. He didn’t doubt the rumors of her sexual prowess, but she wouldn’t have to seek out the younger men, she supposedly preferred. This fox would attract them like hunters. She laid her pearl-gray, eelskin briefcase on “The Collection” case. “My buyer is interested in something closer to your own heart.”

  Unaccountably, his mouth went dry. “And what might that be?”

  “The Purity.”

  Surprise arrowed through him. A number of reasons for this meeting had occurred to him. None included an offer for the Purity. He glanced over his shoulder at Teri. Her face went instantly red as if he’d caught her pocketing one of the Markum Estate broaches. He folded his arms across his chest and stared down at C.J.. “The Purity is not for sale. You know perfectly well that nothing in that case is.”

  “My client is willing to pay more than it’s worth.” Her tone indicated he’d be a fool not to hear her out.

  He’d rather throw her out. But he hesitated, sensing Teri’s eyes on him, sensing her tension. He clamped his jaw as an errant thought struck him. Was the client…Lyssa? He had told her to stay out of his life, meaning that the Purity would also stay out of her life. Perhaps her old friend Teri had helped devise a scheme to get it back. Curious, he said, “How much is ‘more than it’s worth’?”

  C.J. named a price that would ensure a commission large enough to keep her in French and Italian couturier suits, like the dove gray one she wore, for many years.

  Craig smiled, an indulgent lifting of the corners of his mouth.

  C.J. upped the ante.

  Craig was impressed, but not swayed. “Who is this generous client of yours, C.J.?”

  Lifting her eyebrows, she unzipped the briefcase, withdrew a scrap of paper, and scrawled on it. “My buyers pay for my discretion…and this one insists on remaining anonymous.”

  Craig would just bet she did.

  C.J. offered the scrap of paper to him. “This is as high as I’m authorized to go.”

  Craig let out a low whistle of appreciation, but shook his head. “You can’t buy sentiment.”

  “Sentiment?” C.J. snorted, and a contemptuous sneer robbed her face of youth. “What a tender-hearted, soft-headed load of crap. I’ll tell you what sentiment will get you, mister, months of living on cat food, doctor bills up the kazoo, a medical health care system more interested in dollars than human beings, and finally a death that robs you of your last shred of dignity.”

  Stepping back as if she’d struck him, Craig blinked at C.J.. Where had that come from? Deep inside her soul, apparently. A person would have to have lived that kind of tragedy to speak of it with the vehemence C.J. had.

  With her lips drawn into a thin white line, she whirled her back toward him.

  So…C.J. had a weak spot, one she regretted showing him, one that explained the driving force behind her ruthless business techniques. He regarded her expensive clothing again, her pristine lack of jewelry. The suit wasn’t new, but the style was timeless. It declared C.J. Temple wouldn’t chose material items for frivolity, or indulgence and, Craig figured, it was probably a safe bet she had her own future secured. Or was working on it.

  Obviously chagrined at her outburst, C.J. busied herself rezipping her briefcase. Teri, he noticed, had resumed her interest in the Markum Estate. He strode to her side, and was relating a story about one of the rings, wishing they were alone and he could question her about Lyssa, when the gong sounded and Ginger came in.

  Breathless, as if she were late, she nodded at C.J. and Teri and disappeared into the back room.

  C.J. had regained her composure. “If you change your mind, Craig…”

  But before Craig could tell her that wasn’t going to happen, the muted gong sounded again. This time David and Stacey came through the foyer door. Stacey’s face was even more bloodless than usual.

  Craig braced himself, hoping neither would bring up Lyssa and what he’d discussed with Stacey this morning, not in front of C.J. and Teri.

  David said, “There was a hit and run in the alley out back.”

  “Didn’t you hear the ambulance and the sirens?” Stacey wailed.

  But they’d heard nothing. This room was soundproof.

  “It’s unbelievable,” David said, helping Stacey out of her raincoat and into a chair. “A couple of women were run down. One of them was that Lyssa Carlyle.”

  Teri gasped.

  Craig thought his heart had stopped. Lyssa? What was she doing here? Outside this building? Run down? “Is she…?”

  Ginger stood in the doorway to the back room, her eyes wide, her face pale, apparently waiting for an answer to the same question.

  David shrugged. “All we know is that they’ve been taken to Virginia Mason.”

  Stacey seemed still to be seeing the horror. “There’s blood all over the pavement.”

  Ginger jammed her hand against her mouth as if to stifle an outcry.

  “Oh my, God.” Teri hurried for the door. “C.J., I’ll call you from the hospital.”

  “Wait, Teri, I’m coming too.” Ginger ignored Teri's obvious chagrin at the suggestion and hurried into the back room, emerging a second later with her coat and purse.

  Craig was opening the door for them. “I’ll drive you,” he insisted, not caring that his cousin and his lawyer and C.J. were gaping at him in total surprise.

  Minutes later, the Lexus was speeding up Spring Avenue, racing for what Seattlites call Pill Hill. Their destination, the Virginia Mason Medical Center, was, depending on traffic, about five minutes from the office.

  The tension inside the car was palpable. Craig had wanted an opportunity to ask Teri whether or not Lyssa was the buyer C.J. had for the Purity. He no longer cared. God, don’t let her injures be serious. Or fatal.

  His pulse thumped against his temples, and his scalp prickled. Sitting beside him, Teri seemed in as bad shape as he. Her eyes looked huge, hollow, and her thin mouth dipped toward her chin, pulling deep grooves in her cheeks. In the rearview mirror, he could see Ginger was chewing a nail to the quick. He wished he could tell them Lyssa would be all right, but he couldn't get Stacey's words about the blood on the pavement out of his head.

  At the hospital they were told that Lyssa was unconscious, undergoing tests. Ginger went to find a telephone.

  Relegated to a waiting room, Craig paced like a caged tiger, barely aware of the fear ridden expressions of the young man and older woman seated in the corner, not even noticing Teri leave, until she returned with two Styrofoam cups of coffee.

  Handing him one, she said, “I know caffeine as a tranquilizer is irrational, but…”

  She trailed off. Craig didn’t notice. The wheels of his mind were churning like the fear in his gut. Was this a third attempt on Lyssa's life? Was this his fault for talking to Stacey? Like a voracious insect the notion gnawed through his long-held perceptions of his cousin and his lawyer, shredding his respect, his trust of them. A sour taste layered his tongue. Was he the betrayer or the betrayed? Were David and Stacey undeserving of his suspicions? Had they witnessed the aftermath of the accident as they'd claimed? His jaw clenched. Or…had one or both of them been in the vehicle that had run the two women down?

  Ginger returned, and Craig was glad for anything that pulled him away from his ugly musings. “Did you call your family?”

  “What?
Oh…no. Not yet.” She glanced uneasily at Teri. “I hoped to have something to tell them first. Have you heard anything more?”

  “No.” Why didn’t someone tell them something? His grip tightened dangerously on the soft cup. “What’s taking so long?”

  A woman doctor dressed in surgical wear entered. Craig looked up expectantly, but the grim-faced surgeon stepped past him toward the couple in the corner. The news for these people would not be good. Would they soon get similar news of Lyssa? His over-stressed heart raced. He set his coffee on an end table and started out of the room. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  A male doctor, whose hairline and waistline had both slipped, blocked his path. “Lyssa Carlyle’s family?”

  “Here,” Ginger said, the word sounding more like a squeak.

  “How is she?” Panic squeezed Craig’s chest. “Is she going to be all right?”

  The doctor regarded him with a flicker of curiosity. “She’s got a mild concussion and a wrenched ankle, but otherwise, she’ll be fine.”

  “Thank God!” Craig was amazed at the jubilation he heard in his own voice, amazed at the intensity of relief washing through him. When had Lyssa Carlyle crept under his skin and into his heart? But what about the blood Stacey claimed covered the alley? The doctor had mentioned nothing about cuts. “I thought Lyssa was hit by a car?”

  The doctor lowered his voice. “The other young woman.” He gestured toward the couple leaving with the surgeon. The gray-haired woman held onto the young man as if she were attached to his side, moving clumsily, weeping softly against his arm.

  Craig felt a lump the size of a tennis ball in his throat. It might have been Lyssa. If he was right, it was supposed to have been Lyssa.

  Teri drew the doctor's attention. “Can we see Lyssa now?” He said, “The police are with her, but they should be done soon.”

  “Well,” Ginger said the second the doctor had strolled from the room. “I’ll get back to the office.”

  Craig stopped her. “I think your boss can spare you the afternoon, under the circumstances.” Cripes, she was related to Lyssa. It would be more appropriate if he left, but he wasn’t budging and he didn’t care what either of them, or anyone else, thought about it. “Surely, you want to see your cousin.”

  Ginger looked completely flustered. “No, really, I have some phone calls--”

  “Call from here--”

  “I’d rather not.” Ginger hurried from the waiting room squelching any further protest.

  Craig glanced at Teri. “What was that all about?”

  She shook her head and sighed. “Who knows?”

  But Teri did know. Craig could see that, and he could see she had no intention of satisfying his curiosity.

  “You don’t have to stay on my account,” she said. “I can take a taxi, or even walk back to my office.”

  “That’s all right. I want to talk to Lyssa.”

  Teri arched one brow, interest filling her soft blue eyes. Craig took a swallow of coffee and sank to the plastic sofa. She wouldn’t satisfy his curiosity, so why should he satisfy hers?

  Lyssa felt as if she’d rammed her head into a concrete wall, but she thanked Heaven for every throbbing, thumping ache. The other woman would never ache again; the image of her body flying over the minivan like a jettisoned pilot flashed into Lyssa's mind. She blinked against the sudden onslaught of dizziness. And fear.

  “Your pulse is a bit erratic.” The nurse holding her wrist was frowning. “Try and relax.”

  Relax? At the moment, that was as impossible as thinking clearly. She’d remembered being followed. The police officer had listened, quietly taking notes, then declared that she hadn’t been the one run down, that only bad timing had put her on the spot.

  She knew he was wrong.

  But she’d been unable to make him understand. Words jumbled inside her head and came out wrong. If only she hadn’t fainted, hadn’t banged her noggin on the pavement. Didn’t have this headache. She closed her eyes, but a man’s voice brought them flashing open. Was it really--? “Craig?”

  “Feeling up to some company?”

  “Please.” Lyssa’s heart beat quickened. How had he known to come? Anxious to speak to him, she pushed up from the pillows. Dizziness attacked, robbing her words, and blurring her vision, and all that came out was a groan.

  “I know just how you're feeling,” Craig said. She grimaced. Pain flickered in her eyes, and rage boiled inside him. He wanted the person who’d done this to her, who’d killed that other young woman. Who’d meant to kill Lyssa.

  Her vision cleared as he walked to the edge of the bed, his gaze locked with hers. He looked wonderful; his blue-black hair disheveled, his enticing mouth puckered in a frown, his black-brown eyes full of concern. She felt encouraged. Maybe she could make him believe the danger she was in. That the Purity was in. “Craig, I have to tell you--”

  “Hello, lady.” Teri peered around Craig. “How are you feeling?”

  “Teri?” Startled, Lyssa flinched and pain zipped around her skull. She winced. “How did you know about my accident?”

  “I was at Rival Gems.”

  “Oh?” Lyssa said.

  “C.J. had business with Craig.” Teri’s face pinkened, and her eyes darted nervously, guiltily. Despite his worry for Lyssa, Craig again found himself wondering if she was the client C.J. had for the Purity. Teri moved toward the bed. “The doctor thinks they’ll be releasing you tomorrow. Why don’t you come and spend the rest of the weekend at my apartment?”

  “Thanks, but…” Lyssa's voice sounded as weak as she felt. “Have speech…tomorrow at…conference.”

  Craig said, “Would you like me to contact someone at the Four Seasons and cancel that for you?”

  “No thanks. I’ll manage it.”

  But would she? he wondered. Would she be allowed to even leave here alive? “Do the police know who did this?”

  "No, but I gave…description…van.”

  Craig stood as stiff as a board. “Did you see the driver?”

  “No. Police said hit and run is hard to prove.”

  Which meant the maniac after Lyssa would get away. Yet again. Cold swept Craig.

  Teri touched the back of Lyssa’s hand with a fingertip. “I’m just grateful that you’re going to be all right.”

  Lyssa nodded. “Me, too.”

  “You’re looking awfully tired, and I have to get back to the office, but I’ll be in Seattle on Sunday afternoon, at Pike Place Market. Maybe we can get together. I’ll meet you for dinner or lunch or just coffee. So call, okay?”

  Lyssa said, “Sure.”

  Teri glanced at Craig. “Are you coming?”

  “Uh…not just yet.”

  “Oh?” Teri was openly curious.

  But Craig owed her no explanations. He withdrew his wallet, offered her some bills. “For a cab.”

  “No, no, I can manage.” She backed reluctantly from the room. “Thanks for the lift.”

  As soon as Teri was gone, Craig returned to Lyssa’s bedside. How did he broach this subject without further alarming her? She spared him the trouble. “It was not a random hit and run. Someone was following me.”

  Craig’s neck prickled, the same creepy sensation he’d had in Belmont when he’d wondered how the attacks on Lyssa at Windance could have been random. Now he knew they weren’t. “Did you see who it was?”

  She swallowed as if there were something stuck in her throat. “No. But I sensed someone watching…all the way…from hotel to your building.”

  There was a pleading look in her eyes. Craig nodded. “I believe you.”

  A sign of relief slipped from Lyssa and she leaned back on the pillows, closing her eyes momentarily. “Thank you.”

  He waited until she seemed ready. “Were you coming to see me?”

  “Yes. About Purity. Figured out why the faux and my agreement with Wayne were stolen.”

  Craig could not look at her injured face and keep denying to himself tha
t both of these items existed. “Why?”

  “Someone is planning…to steal the Purity.”

  “You better explain.”

  Haltingly, Lyssa told him of her conclusion that someone intended switching the two necklaces. It made sense. But why these attempts to eliminate her? Unless…He asked, “Do you know who plans to steal the Purity?”

  She drew a ragged breath. “No.”

  “But the person must suspect you know?”

  Fear swam in her eyes. “I guess.”

  “Did you tell this to the police officer?”

  “No. But I told him I was being followed. He didn’t believe me.”

  “That settles it then. You’re not staying here. I’ll send the nurse in to help you dress, then I’ll find your doctor and get you checked out.”

  An hour later, Craig had her settled in his condo, in one of his black tee shirts, in his bed. “If you need anything…”

  “Like to talk a minute.” Lyssa inched over and gestured for him to sit on the bed.

  He hesitated.

  “Getting a crick in my neck…staring up at you.”

  “You promised you were going to stay out of my life.” His voice was husky, the words whispered as, against his better judgement, he sank cautiously to the bed and gently lifted a lock of her golden hair off her cheek. His fingers grazed her warm skin and his gaze traced her face as if she were some precious gem he'd just discovered. “And now here you are…in my bed.”

  Lyssa’s heart did a slow roll. Lord, he smelled wonderfully of spicy aftershave and coffee. Unbidden her gaze fell to his mouth, and her windpipe constricted as she remembered the feel of that mouth on hers. “I never promised.”

  “Of course, you did.” Even with a purple goose egg marring her forehead, this woman enthralled him. Perhaps it was her sea green eyes, as mystically warm and inviting as forbidden pools. Craig’s gaze fell to her mouth. Or those pouty lips. Instantly he recalled the taste of those lips, recalled the flesh tingling passion that had shot through him each time he’d kissed them, that was shooting through him now. “I remember.”