by Tracy Wolff
Marc: Also, I had a really nice time. Hope you did, too.
A nice time? He’d had a nice time? What the hell was that supposed to mean? A trip to the park was a nice time. Going to a movie with a friend was a nice time. Totally fabulous, completely toe-curling, absolutely mind-blowing sex was not a nice time. It wasn’t close to being a nice time. And while she’d already established that she didn’t know what it was, she definitely knew what it wasn’t. And it simply was not a nice time.
Shouldn’t Marc know better than to call it that? Especially if he wanted more fabulous, toe-curling, mind-blowing sex in the near future. Which, judging by the way he’d kissed her goodbye, he absolutely did. Although why he’d want sex with her when it was merely “nice,” Isa didn’t know.
She debated answering him, debated sending him a text that was as innocuous and insipid and soul-crushing as the ones he’d just sent her. She could tell him what a “nice time” she’d had, as well. Might even mention how much she’d enjoyed the seven orgasms—not that she’d been counting—that he’d given her. She could even say that she looked forward to running into him sometime at GIA. That would certainly get her point across.
But in the end, she did none of those things, because the truth was, she didn’t have it in her to play games with him. She never had—she just wasn’t the kind of person who enjoyed dangling a guy on a line simply to watch him squirm. It was why she and Marc had done so well together in the time they’d been a couple. He’d never been interested in artifice, either, had always been a straight shooter. Or at least until now. Until he’d sent her a text that said he hoped she’d had a nice time.
As if.
Though she’d originally flopped into bed with the hopes of catching an hour of sleep before going to work, she was now way too wound up to even think about sleeping. Her brain whirred at a hundred miles a minute as she tried to figure out just how big a mistake she’d made in sleeping with Marc, not just for one night, but two.
So instead of taking a nap, or sending him a return text, or relaxing after what had been a mentally and physically grueling thirty-six hours, she forced herself to get up and go into the bathroom for a quick shower.
After drying her hair and putting on a quick swipe of mascara and lipstick, which was all the fuss and muss she had the energy for today, Isa settled herself at her kitchen table with her laptop and a cup of coffee. Once there, she pulled up all the known data she had on the diamonds coming out of Canada—including the composition of impurities from the different mines. And then she got to work.
Besides serial number and mine symbol, the impurities were the best way for a gemologist to determine where a diamond actually came from. For example, African diamonds had impurities that were made of certain kinds of sulfides while Russian diamonds had impurities made largely of nitrogen. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you looked at it, Canadian diamonds had neither—and very few impurities in general when compared to other diamonds in the world. This was good for the Canadian mine owners, because while the diamonds coming out of Canada only accounted for about three percent of the bulk sales of diamonds worldwide, they also accounted for over eleven percent of the revenue. This was due to their exceptionally high quality and low level of inclusions.
Which was very nice for Bijoux and all of the other companies with mines in Canada, but it certainly was a pain for gemologists trying to prove definitively that a diamond came from any of those mines. Which wasn’t to say that it couldn’t be done. It could. Just not in the normal way used to identify most diamonds.
The first thing she had to do was check the serial numbers on a wide range of the diamonds in Bijoux’s vault, making sure that they matched up exactly to the ones from the Canadian mines. She had the binder, but she also had a USB stick with each of the serial numbers on it—she inserted it into her computer and downloaded the information into a program on her hard drive that would allow her to easily match up the numbers from the mine with the numbers on the diamonds in the Bijoux vault.
Next, she pulled up all the documentation on which levels were mined at which times, including the exact dates each level was declared extinct. As she did this, she checked to make sure that she had the exact mineral makeup of the soil found at each level. In most cases the soil compositions were similar or identical, but every once in a while one of the lower levels differed significantly from what was above it. Tomorrow, when she was in the lab, she would compare the silt samples she’d taken with her previous documentation—and then she’d look at the makeup of the Bijoux diamonds and ensure the probability that they came from these mines.
It was an important step in the process—both were—but the fact of the matter was neither would give her, or Marc, the definitive answer they were looking for. Diamond sourcing was a tricky business, made so by the nearly identical mineral composites of the stones no matter where in the world they were found, and by the less than up-front business dealings so many of the world’s diamond traders engaged in.
Which left her with one final thing she was looking for—one final thing to try. It couldn’t be forged, couldn’t be erased and was, quite often, overlooked by people trying to pass off blood diamonds as conflict free: hydrogen atoms or isotopes on the surface of the diamond. These atoms were deposited on the stone by rainwater that sank into the ground around the stones before they were mined. They clung to the surface of the diamonds. Once there, they were notoriously hard to remove.
While the presence of isotopes wasn’t enough to prove that a stone came from a certain region, the chemical makeup of the individual isotopes definitely could. The exact makeup of rainwater differed from place to place around the globe and because of this, the hydrogen isotopes deposited on the diamonds also differed so that each region had very different isotopes attached to its diamonds.
Years of research—from her and other gemologists who specialized in diamonds—had provided a pretty decent mapping of these isotopes. On her computer, she stored a breakdown of rainwater composition in all the major diamond mining areas—including Canada’s Northwest Territories. So while she would, of course, scrutinize Bijoux’s records, serial numbers and the impurities of their diamonds, it was these isotopes that she was counting on to prove Marc’s case. Or disprove it.
She really hoped it wasn’t the latter.
Not because she was sleeping with him and not because she had a past with him, but because—despite how things had ended between her and Marc—she had always thought of Bijoux as one of the good guys. In an industry that was both highly dangerous and highly monopolized by companies that didn’t mind trading in blood, terrorism and child labor, Bijoux had always been clean. Or, it had been for at least as long as Marc and Nic had been in control. From the very beginning, the brothers had run the company differently from most other gem companies, ensuring that they did as little harm, and as much good, as they possibly could.
Both men had a strong environmental conscience and an even stronger social conscience, both of which leant themselves to making sure the Bijoux mines were the safest in the world, both ecologically and for their workers. For years, she’d held up Bijoux in her classes as examples to strive for in a business that far too often lacked heroes. After all, gems were pretty but for most companies, the mining—and trading—of them was anything but.
To find out that the Durand brothers had given up on the beliefs they’d always espoused—simply to line their already too-full pockets—would destroy the last of her already flagging idealism.
With that thought uppermost in her mind, Isa spent the next hour and a half poring over every piece of recorded data she had, or could find, about the diamond mines that Bijoux did business with.
She looked at hydrogen isotopes until her eyes crossed.
Memorized the mineral makeup of silt at all the mine levels Bijoux had bought stones from in the past eighteen months.
And she prayed, entirely too hard for a woman who shouldn’t care one way or another, that when she started combing through Bijoux’s vaults, everything would match up.
Because if it didn’t... If it didn’t, she would end up breaking a lot more than just Marc’s company. She was going to break his heart. And no matter what lies she fed herself to get through the day, if that happened she was very, very afraid that she would break her own heart, as well.
Fourteen
“Has Isa found anything yet?” Nic asked the second he hit Marc’s office on Monday afternoon.
“She’s only been here three hours,” he told his brother without looking up from his computer screen, where he was going through what felt like a never-ending string of emails that had accumulated in the day and a half he’d been in Canada. “Give the woman a chance to do her job.”
“I’m giving her a chance. But we’re getting down to the wire here. We only have a few days before the LA Times runs that article and I want to debunk them well before their Thursday night deadline hits.”
“Believe me, you can’t possibly want that any more than I do. But that doesn’t mean we need to stick our noses in the vaults every five minutes and pressure Isa. She’s already working overtime—we only got back from Canada this morning and she has to be exhausted.” God knew, he was. “But she’s here and she’s doing her best to find the truth.”
“Wow.” Nic stopped pacing long enough to glance at his brother with raised eyebrows. “Since when did you start defending Isa Moreno?”
Since...since... He didn’t know when. “What does that matter? We should be worrying about finding whatever traitor planted a false story with the LA Times.”
“Believe me, I am worrying about that. But despite my seemingly carefree disposition, I’m actually quite good at worrying about more than one thing at a time.” Nic grinned. “So hit me, big brother. What’s going on with you and Isa?”
“Nothing’s going on between us!” Marc barked, suddenly uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. He’d barely wrapped his head around the fact that he was back to sleeping with Isa. He sure as hell didn’t need anyone else—especially his smart-ass little brother—poking at their relationship right now.
“You sure about that? Because you seem awfully touchy for a man who’s got nothing going on. Then again, maybe that’s why you’re touchy—”
“I am not touchy! And if I were, it would be because I’m waiting, just like you, to hear something from the vault. I know three hours is nothing when it comes to the job Isa has to do, but that doesn’t mean I like the wait. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean I like the silence.”
“Amen to that, brother,” Nic said, plopping himself down in one of the chairs opposite Marc’s desk. Before Marc could blink, his brother had kicked his feet up onto the polished wood of his desk and leaned his very expensive antique chair back on its hind two legs.
“Could we say amen to you not killing yourself? And you not breaking my chair into fifty ridiculously small pieces?”
Nic just rolled his eyes. “You worry too much.”
“I’m CEO. It’s my job to worry too much.” Marc glanced at the clock for what had to be the tenth time in as many minutes. He was trying to keep his calm for his brother, but the truth was, he was a wreck inside. He knew that none of his stones were conflict diamonds. He knew that they all came from the Canadian diamond mines that were ecologically sound and paid high wages. But that didn’t keep him from wondering, or from worrying. Not when there was some traitor in their midst, slipping ridiculous stories to the LA Times. If they could make up a story about Bijoux dealing in conflict diamonds, what would stop them from bringing in a few of the blood-soaked diamonds to cement their case?
Just the thought made him sick. And had him pacing the same route back and forth across his office that his brother had just vacated.
“It’s going to be fine,” Nic said, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Marc. “Besides, no news is good news. Right?”
“Right.” Marc forced himself to think through the worry. “Lisa is with Isa in the vault and I’m sure she’ll let us know the second Isa finds something that proves—or disproves—the article.”
“She isn’t going to find anything that proves the article,” Nic told him confidently. “Because there’s nothing to find. So what are we worried about?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Marc told him, even as he contemplated pacing another lap around his office.
Except Lisa chose that moment to stick her head in. “Any news?” she asked as both brothers came to attention.
“Why are you asking us?” Marc said in disbelief. “You’re the one who’s been hanging out in the vault with our expert for the last three hours.”
“Actually, I left her a couple hours ago. I had a meeting to go to and she was pretty much lost in her own world anyway.”
“A meeting? You left Isa alone in the diamond vault because you had a meeting to go to?”
“I left Dr. Moreno alone in the diamond vault.” She looked uncertain for the first time. “Is that a problem? It’s standard protocol with experts from the GIA—if anyone can be trusted, it’s them. Besides, what’s she going to do? There are fifty cameras in that vault, plus high-resolution imaging machines that record every single thing on your person as you enter and exit. Even if she wanted to steal something—which I’m sure she doesn’t—she couldn’t.”
Marc knew Lisa was right, knew he’d set up the best security for his vault that an unlimited budget and years of expertise in the business could provide. Not to mention the fact that Isa had never stolen from him. Her father had, but she hadn’t. Not six years ago when they were together and not anytime since.
Still, he exchanged an uneasy look with Nic. His brother had been her greatest champion, in the past and the present, and yet even he looked uneasy at the idea of Isa being alone in the vault. Marc moved swiftly for his office door.
“What’s wrong?” Lisa asked. “Where are you going?”
“Don’t worry about him,” Nic said as Marc walked out the door, obviously covering—for him or for Isa, he didn’t know. Nor did he care. “He’s just uptight about this whole thing.”
“We all are. I know you think it’s just your reputations on the line, but it’s all of ours. I stand behind every single diamond in that vault and the idea that some jerk has the nerve to lie about it—lie about us—makes me crazy. Especially when he’s too much of a coward to accuse us to our faces. He has to go behind our backs, to some sleazy journalist, and try to discredit us that way.”
Marc missed Nic’s response to her diatribe as he was already halfway to the elevator. He told himself that everything was fine, told himself that he was paying Isa an exorbitant amount of money to certify his diamonds—money that she would be a fool to risk for the one or two diamonds she might actually be able to sneak out of the vault unseen.
And still he couldn’t help cursing the elevator for taking as long as it did to arrive. He believed in Isa’s integrity, believed she would never steal from him. Hell, he even believed that she hadn’t stolen anything from anyone since she’d first met him; she had access to gems at GIA all the time. And still the little voice in his head urged him to hurry. Still he wanted to be up there in that vault with her. Not because he really thought she’d steal from him, but because he wanted to avoid having her face the temptation.
Most jewel thieves were like junkies—they couldn’t stop even after they’d amassed enough money to retire. Isa’s father had been like that. The man was a millionaire many times over, and dying of cancer to boot, but still he hadn’t been able to resist the big score. Still, he’d stolen from his daughter’s fiancé without remorse or concern. Hell, for a long time, Isa had been like that, too. When she’d begged him to
keep her father out of jail, she’d told him about the thrill she’d always felt when stealing. Had told him how much she loved the adrenaline rush but how she’d given it up because the rush she got from being with him was so much bigger, so much more than she could ever get from stealing.
Now, after all these years, he knew she’d meant that. Knew she wasn’t like that anymore. But what if the temptation was too much? What if she wanted to take one little stone, just to see if she could do it? Just because she wanted to?
Sometime in the past few days—probably right around the time she’d agreed to help him despite his over-the-top behavior—he’d forgiven her for what had happened all those years ago. Had forgiven her for choosing her father over him and leaving him, and his company, to flounder in the wake of it all. The man was her father, after all, and he’d needed her more than Marc had. But just because he understood, didn’t mean he fully trusted her. Forgiven her, yes. But trust...he was still working on that.
If she did this, though, if she stole from him after everything they’d gone through, he knew he would never be able to forgive her. Hell, he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to look at her again.
Maybe he should be grateful for this opportunity, he thought, as the elevator doors finally opened. It would show him what she was made of before he risked anything else on her. But the fact of the matter was, he wasn’t grateful. He was scared. Not because he was worried about losing inventory, he realized as he swiped the badge that would take him to the top floor of the building where the vault was housed. But because he was worried about losing Isa. He’d already lost her once. He didn’t want to go through that again, no matter what lies he’d told himself about his feelings for her when they were in Canada.
The elevator dinged to announce its arrival at his destination, and Marc waited impatiently as the doors slid open. They seemed to be taking three times longer than usual to do so, and though he knew that wasn’t actually the case, it didn’t make the wait any easier.