by Tracy Wolff
“Get out,” she told him, her voice low and broken.
“I can’t. I need—” You, he almost said. I need you. Which would have been a disaster on so many levels. He could barely admit to himself how wrapped up in her he still was. There was no way he would admit it to her.
“Find somebody else to lie for you.” She threw the words at him. “I won’t do it.”
Her words snapped him out of the sensual haze that had enveloped him the moment he’d touched her. He had a problem he needed a solution for.
Except, he’d already found a solution, hadn’t he? His solution was her. Not just because she was one of the best in the world at what she did, but because—despite everything—he trusted her not to screw him over with this. It was a startling revelation after everything that had passed between them, but that didn’t make it any less true. He knew she’d screwed him over once, knew that she’d stood by and watched first as he’d struggled to find out who was responsible for the diamond theft that had nearly ruined his business, and then again as he’d struggled to cover up for her father and keep him safe despite the industry’s cries for his head.
But this felt different, and though he’d argued against it at first, now that he was here, staring into her eyes, he knew she wouldn’t screw him over. Not on this and, hopefully, never again.
“You owe me,” he told her, standing his ground even as she attempted to shove him toward the door.
She froze. “That’s not fair.”
“Do you think I give a damn about fair right now? My business is on the line. You owe me,” he reiterated. “This is how I want to collect.”
She turned pale, pressed her lips together so tightly that they turned nearly white. She shook her head, stepped back, but the look in her eyes told him he almost had her. “I can’t just drop everything. I have plans—”
At the mention of her date, his patience abruptly ran out. He’d be damned if she turned her back on him because of some other man. Not after last night. And not when he was standing here, almost begging her for her help.
“Break your damn plans,” he growled. “Or—”
“Or what?” she demanded, chin raised in obvious challenge.
He’d been about to suggest taking her straight to the airport after her date, but her obvious belief that he was threatening her pushed him over the edge. If that was what she expected of him, then that was what he’d give her. “Or I’ll break them for you. I’ll break this new identity you’ve assumed wide-open, tell the school, the press, anyone who will listen who you really are. Then where would you be?”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“You’d be surprised what I’d dare.”
“If you did that, you wouldn’t get your expert testimony.”
“Yes, well, according to you, I’m not getting that testimony anyway. So, tell me, what have I got to lose?”
“You’re a real bastard, you know that?” Her eyes were fiery hot as they glared up at him, but that only made the wet sheen of them stand out more. The knowledge that he’d brought this strong woman to tears made him feel like the bastard she’d called him, and for the first time since she’d pissed him off, he wondered if he’d had more to lose than he’d imagined.
“Look, Isa—”
“I’ll do it,” she interrupted, brushing past him. “But then, you already knew that, didn’t you?”
He didn’t know whether to be relieved by her acquiescence or upset by it. His father had taught him from an early age to go after what he wanted—no holds barred—but Marc had always tempered that ambition with care. Until now.
There was a part of him that wanted to tell her to forget the whole thing, to pretend he hadn’t come here and threatened her. But then where would Bijoux be? This article would hit them hard. It wasn’t just about what he wanted or needed. Bijoux employed thousands of people—where would they be if he let the LA Times deal such a crippling blow?
It was that thought that kept him quiet as Isa swept down the hall. “Where are you going?” he asked.
“To pack a bag. If that’s all right with you?” He winced at the tone—and the look on her face. How she managed to look imperious dressed in sweats and a ragged tank top, he would never know.
He didn’t answer her question—he knew a minefield when he heard one. Instead, he settled on a simple “Thank you.”
“Oh, don’t thank me yet. You may think you have the upper hand here, but if so much as one of your diamonds is the wrong composition, I’ll crucify you in the press myself. And to hell with the consequences.”
He watched her go and couldn’t help smiling, despite her very deliberate threat. The fire was back—and he was glad. Despite their past, despite everything stretching between them, he never wanted to be the one to make Isa cry.
Ten
“Which mine are we going to first?” Isa asked as the pilot of Bijoux’s private jet came over the intercom to announce that they would be landing in Kugluktuk in approximately twenty minutes. They were the first words she’d spoken to him since they’d gotten on the plane in San Diego, seven hours before.
“We’ll go to Ekaori today and then tomorrow I’ll take you to Vine Lake and Snow River.”
She nodded, because that was pretty much what she’d been expecting. Ekaori sourced diamonds for numerous jewel companies, as did Vine Lake. But Snow River sourced exclusively to Bijoux. It was the newest diamond mine in the Northwest Territories—had only been operational since 2012—and was owned and operated by Bijoux Corporation itself. If anything suspicious was going on, that was where she would expect it to come from. So much easier to pull off a con—or a heist—when you were the one in control of the source material.
As they descended, they hit pretty impressive turbulence. She tried not to let it bother her—she’d flown into Kugluktuk to tour the mines numerous times in the past few years and it was always the same. They were only a hundred or so miles from the Arctic Circle, and the weather up there, even in the middle of summer, was always unpredictable.
Marc, she noticed, was making a valiant effort not to notice the turbulence, either. He kept working, one hand scrolling through the touch screen on his laptop while he glared at the screen. But his other hand was clenched around the armrest as if his will alone was the only thing keeping the plane in the air.
It didn’t surprise her that the turbulence made him nervous. He was such a control freak that putting his fate in the hands of someone else had to grate, even at the best of times. Doing it now, as the plane dropped and bucked, had to be awful for him.
Before she could think twice about it—and about all the reasons she was still angry at him—she leaned forward as far as her seat belt would allow and placed her hand over his tense one. Then she squeezed gently.
He was sitting directly across from her, so when his eyes jerked up at the contact, they clashed immediately with her own. She didn’t say anything and neither did he, but she felt him relaxing a little more with each swipe of her thumb across the back of his hand.
“We’ll be down soon,” he said, his voice a little deeper, huskier, than usual. As if she was the one who was nervous.
“I’m not worried.” Which was a big, gigantic lie—she was totally worried. Not about the turbulence or landing safely, but about being here, with Marc. About how her hand was still resting on his and how good it felt to touch him. About the fact that, despite everything he’d done—and everything she’d done—there was a part of her that still wanted him. That would always want him.
The thought stung, had her stomach clenching and nerves skittering up her back. Because the only thing stupider than letting Marc Durand into her bed last night would be letting him back in again tonight. He didn’t trust her, didn’t want her—hell, he wasn’t above blackmailing her when the situation called for it. So why on earth did her body sti
ll respond to him? Why on earth did she want to comfort him when he had never done anything to comfort her?
Feeling like an idiot—or worse, a dupe—she started to pull back. But Marc’s other hand covered hers, trapping her fingers. “Please,” he said. “Don’t.”
Again their eyes met, and though she didn’t see nervousness in his gaze any longer—he wasn’t a man who tolerated weakness, in others or himself—she did see something that had her breath catching in her throat. That had her errant nerves turning from ice to a dark and sensual kind of heat.
That should have had her sitting back, getting as far away from him as she possibly could. When things had gone bad with them last time—when she’d begged him not to prosecute her ailing father even knowing the request meant he’d lose so much of what he’d worked for—it had nearly killed her. Not the icy walk in the winter rain after he’d kicked her out, though that had been no fun. No, what had nearly destroyed her had been the knowledge that she had hurt Marc irreparably.
Because of his parents, who had always cared more for money and status than they ever had for him and his brother, Marc trusted few people. But he’d trusted her, had believed in her, and in the end she had torn that trust to pieces by picking her jewel thief father over him.
It wasn’t her proudest moment—was, in fact, one that still kept her up some nights. But what else could she have done? Her father was old, frail, dying. How could she have turned on him? How could she have let him spend the last year of his life in prison when he’d dedicated his life to giving her the world? To showing her wondrous places and things and teaching her that money wasn’t important. Adventure was. People were. Yes, he’d turned her into a thief at an early age, but that wasn’t all he’d been. And though she’d rejected that lifestyle when she’d met Marc, that didn’t mean she could reject her father. He’d been a great father and she’d loved him very much.
And so she’d turned on Marc—or, at least, that’s how he saw it. She’d begged him to understand, begged him to love her as she’d loved him, but that hadn’t been possible. Not when all he’d seen was her betrayal.
Outside the plane window, the ground grew closer, lush with greenery as far as the eye could see. The first time she’d flown to Kugluktuk had also been summer, and she’d been astonished at the lack of snow and ice, had figured that this far north the ice would never melt.
But that wasn’t the case. Though the mountains in the distance were still covered with white—and pretty much always were—the land down here was verdant and alive. And would be until the end of August, beginning of September, when temperatures dropped significantly.
Not that it was exactly warm here, even in mid-July, she admitted after the plane had landed and they took the stairs down to the tarmac. The temperature was about fifty—or so her phone said—but the fiercely blowing wind made it feel a lot colder.
She shuddered and pulled her jacket more tightly around herself as she thought longingly of the woolen scarf she’d left on her bed. Since it had been in the high sixties the last time she’d been here in July, she’d figured she wouldn’t need it. Big mistake—and one she probably wouldn’t have made if she hadn’t been so annoyed at Marc while she was packing. After all, it didn’t take a brain surgeon to remember that weather near the Arctic Circle was bound to be unpredictable.
Something warm brushed against her neck and she jolted, glancing behind her.
“Here, take mine,” Marc said as he wrapped a black cashmere scarf around her neck.
“It’s okay. I’m—”
“Freezing. You’re freezing. And since I’m the reason you’re here to begin with, the least I can do is try to keep you warm. Now, come on.” He took her overnight bag from her and, with a hand in the center of her back, guided her toward the waiting helicopter.
She should pull away—she knew she should. After all, she was still furious with him for forcing her to come up here when she was still reeling from the way he’d made love to her and then walked out on her. He’d all but admitted that he’d had sex with her in an effort to get her out of his system. And then he’d blackmailed her into coming here to look at his diamond mines.
She should be telling him to go to hell, should be running as far and fast as she could in the opposite direction. What she shouldn’t be doing is taking his scarf—and melting into his touch.
With that thought firmly in her mind, she pulled away. Started walking faster. And did her best to ignore the way she could still feel the imprint of his hand burning against her back.
The helicopter ride to the first mine was short—and a lot less windy than any she had ever been on before. Of course, that was because Marc had access to the best of everything—including a top-of–the-line helicopter that felt about as luxurious as a limousine.
They came into Ekaori from the north. She saw the huge, circular pit mine from quite a ways out. Her first glimpse of the mines from the air always startled her and today was no different. It looked much more like a whirlpool carved into granite than it did a functioning mine. But the huge opening in the land was because of the surface mining that had been done for years, before the diamonds had been exhausted and they’d been forced to expand underground.
They landed on the helipad right next to the main building and Marc climbed out first, before extending a hand to help her. She didn’t need his help, but she took his hand anyway. Out of politeness, she told herself as she moved past him. Not because she wanted to feel the brush of his warm skin against her own.
The general manager of the mine was obviously expecting them—he was waiting right next to the helipad, with a huge smile on his face as he greeted Marc. She’d been to this mine no less than five times and had never seen Kevin Hartford up close, let alone had him meet her helicopter. But then, she’d never traveled with the head of the largest responsibly sourced diamond corporation in the world, either.
Marc had obviously told Kevin what she would need, because after a few minutes of polite chitchat in the outer office, he took her directly into the lab, where technicians laser cut a serial number and the lab’s symbol—a small polar bear cub—directly onto each and every jewelry grade stone. It was the first step in a long series that enabled regulators, and consumers, to track a diamond from the mine through production all the way to the store where it was sold.
Kevin also handed her a large binder with printouts of every serial number given to every diamond that had gone from the Ekaori mine to Bijoux in the past three years.
There were a lot of numbers.
He then led them to the screening plant, where they watched as thousands of pounds of rock were screened by machines and then by people for kimberlite deposits, the substance that created most diamonds. After the kimberlite was separated out, a second, more involved screening took place to find the actual diamonds.
She took samples from the rock and the kimberlite so that she could map the mineral content when she got back to GIA. Part of her wondered if the sampling was superfluous—after all, she had mapped the mineral content of this mine, and all the mines up here, numerous times, as had any number of other diamond experts. But Marc’s business was depending on her doing this completely by the book, and so she would do just that. After nearly costing him his business once, she would be as careful as possible during this trip.
Though she would never admit it to him, especially after he’d blackmailed her into helping him, she did owe him for what he’d done for her father—and for the hit Marc had taken. The least she could do was make sure that her investigation of his diamond sourcing was beyond reproach.
By the time they were done with their tour of the lab and business facilities, it was too late to go down into the mine. Which was fine with her—she’d been in this diamond mine before and there was nothing new she needed to see. Besides, all the important documentation and identification work began once the
stones were pulled from the rubble and tagged as either industrial or jewelry grade.
Marc hadn’t said much during their time at the lab, taking a backseat as she asked questions. But once they were back in the helicopter, he turned to her and said, “I know you didn’t want to do this, but I really appreciate you coming up here with me. I knew you were the right choice from the very beginning, but after watching you today, I’m so appreciative that you agreed to help me.”
He looked and sounded completely sincere, and though there was a part of her that couldn’t help wondering about his motives, she couldn’t help responding to the warmth in his voice—and his eyes.
“I’m just doing my job, Marc.”
“I know. With the way I coerced you into coming, a lot of people would consider you justified in using the opportunity to retaliate. You could destroy me if you wanted to and it would be no less than I deserved for how I’ve treated you.”
“I would never do that!” She was shocked that he’d even think it. “I don’t lie, especially not about something like this—”
“I know,” he said again. This time, he was the one who covered her hand with his own. “What I’m trying to say, and obviously doing a crappy job of it, is thank you. I’m grateful for your help.”
She stared at him for several seconds, completely nonplussed. This Marc, humble and open and kind, was the Marc she’d fallen in love with all those years ago. The Marc who’d held her and laughed with her and made plans for a future with her. And though she’d promised herself just that morning that she would never let her guard down around him again, Isa could feel herself wavering. Could feel her resolve crumbling as quickly as her defenses.
Which was why, when the helicopter landed in the back parking lot of one of the two hotels in Kugluktuk, she quickly gathered her things and stepped outside. While Marc spoke with the pilot about picking them up in the morning, she made her way into the hotel and registered for their rooms.
By the time he made it in, she had the keys to both rooms in one hand and her overnight bag in the other. She held one key out to him. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning,” she told him with a forced brightness she was far from feeling.