Family Jewels Read online

  She turned away from the gloomy window scene. People disappeared all the time in this city. Trevor would have what he came here for and her life would no longer be in danger, right? He wouldn’t look for her once he had what he wanted.

  No. He was just doing his job. She meant nothing more to him than a means to finding the diamond.

  And some really great sex.

  Confusion and anxiety tightened her stomach into knots. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like the most logical thing to do was just give him the numbers and disappear. But where? Going back to her apartment was out of the question. Anyone looking for her would go there first. Most of her friends were married with kids—not a good choice to hide in their homes. Without her purse, credit cards and ID, she couldn’t fly to Chicago to stay with Paul either. He was out of town until next Saturday anyway and she didn’t have a key to his apartment.

  The only place that offered her the sanctuary and secrecy she needed was her parents’ summer cabin on Little Saranac Lake in upper New York. Since they’d moved to Hawaii the place had been closed and put up for sale. The real estate agent updated her weekly because Cynthia was the only member of their family still living in New York and able to manage the sale.

  Yes, the cabin. It would be isolated this time of year, free from vacationing families. An undisturbed place to work on her ring design. A place Trevor St. James wouldn’t know about.

  She reached for the hotel phone on the table and dialed the number from memory. The real estate agent picked up on the first ring.

  “Miller–Christensen Real Estate. This is Joyce. How can I help you?”

  “Hello, Joyce. This is Cynthia Lyons.”

  “Cyn, dear. How are you? It’s not Friday yet.”

  “I know, I know. I’m not calling for an update. I need a favor. Is the key to my parents’ place still with the manager of the resort?”

  “Yes. Why? Do you have someone who wants to see it?”

  “Nope. Sorry. That’s your job. I just need a little R&R, get out of the city for a while.”

  “Well, sure. Do you want me to call Mr. Snyder, let him know you’re coming so he can turn the heat up inside the cabin?”

  “Yes. That’d be great. I’ll try to be there before nightfall. Thanks, Joyce.”

  “No problem at all. How long will you be staying? Just in case I have someone call who wants to view it.”

  Cynthia sighed. “I don’t know. A couple weeks, maybe. If anyone calls let Mr. Synder know to tell me and I’ll clean up the place, go into town for a while so they can see it. Okay?”

  “Sure, dear, that will work. With the holidays just past things have been slow anyway. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “No, thanks. Just let the manager know I’ll be there.”

  “Will do. Goodbye, dear. Tell your parents I said ‘hello’.”

  “Okay, bye.”

  Cynthia hung up the phone, feeling marginally better about doing something proactive, instead of waiting aimlessly for fate to catch up with her. With any luck, Trevor would be grateful to get the numbers and solve his case. She knew he’d be gone the moment he had them. No doubt he’d be on the next plane back to London. He wouldn’t have second thoughts about her. Would he?

  No. This “thing” between them, this unbelievable attraction and the incredible drive for mutually satisfying sex, it meant nothing more than that to him. She refused to believe otherwise. To do that meant she could have feelings for him, feelings that went deeper than she was ready to admit to. She didn’t need to earn a broken heart. Even though the ache had already settled inside her, she knew he didn’t care beyond getting his case solved. Trevor St. James, Interpol Agent, was simply doing his job and poor Cynthia Lyons just happened to be part of it.

  She reached for her backpack and dug out the small notepad, tearing off the piece of paper with the numbers she’d copied. On a clean sheet she began scribbling out a note to him.

  Trevor,

  I believe this is what you’re looking for. I’m sorry to do it this way. I was scared and didn’t really know if I could trust you until now. I hope to God I’m doing the right thing.

  Thank you, for everything. It meant a lot to me. I’ll never forget you.

  Cyn

  She folded both sheets together and slipped them inside a hotel envelope, addressed to him. Her heart clenched painfully with this deceit and with the knowledge that she would never see him again after this. When had she become such an accomplished liar? He wouldn’t want anything more to do with her after this.

  Under different circumstances would they have had a chance for a meaningful relationship?

  Doubtful. He came from a different world and their paths weren’t meant to do more than intersect.

  Cynthia stood up, determined not to think too deeply about what could have been. She placed the envelope in a prominent spot on the dining table, directly beneath the vase of beautiful white roses he’d given her last night. Seeing them made her heart twist in agony. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned away.

  She headed to the bedroom to collect her suitcase. Her eyes caught the special news announcement that interrupted the soap opera she’d been halfheartedly watching on TV. The footage came from one of the local news helicopters while it hovered over the choppy water of one of the city’s many rivers and seaways. Two police boats bobbed up and down in the water. The cameraman zoomed in, showing a man’s body being hauled out of the frigid-looking water and into a black body bag on board one of the boats. She grabbed the remote control and turned up the volume. The reporter’s voice explained what was happening.

  “…the body of a man floating facedown in the Hudson River was spotted by two teenagers. Police recovered a wallet and a New York state driver’s license from his clothing. He has been identified as fifty-four-year-old Matthew Andrews, a resident of Brooklyn Heights.”

  The female reporter sitting behind her television studio desk replaced the prerecorded helicopter footage and a still photo of the man’s face popped up in the corner of the screen.

  Cynthia gasped, dropped the TV remote and clapped her hands over her mouth. Her legs gave out and she sank down to sit on the couch and listen more closely.

  “Channel Four News has been informed by NYPD that Mr. Andrews apparently has no family members to contact or assist them with this investigation. Police are considering this a homicide and are asking for the public’s help with any information about him and this crime leading to his death. If you have information, you’re asked to please call the confidential police hotline number—”

  Shock filled her with sickening speed. From head to toes, her whole body went numb. Matthew Andrews was dead. He’d been murdered and dumped into the deep, dark waters of the Hudson River. She shivered under a fresh wave of fear for her own life.

  That meant Trevor wouldn’t find what he was looking for either. His investigation would be continuing and that meant he’d be coming back for her. She was his closest and only source of information on Mr. Andrews…and the diamond she’d protected so far. That meant the killers would want to find her too.

  I don’t need this kind of trouble. I don’t want that diamond, I swear I don’t want it!

  Panic replaced the shock that had immobilized her. She jumped off the couch and grabbed the backpack, yanked it open and reached in blindly for the jeweler’s case on the bottom. When she had it, she opened it and very carefully lifted the bright stone from the hidden pocket it rested inside. Then she ran back to the dining table and dropped the diamond into the envelope with the letter for Trevor. This time, she licked it to seal the envelope shut. Her fingers felt like they burned when she let go. She rubbed them on her jeans.

  There, she panted, that’s much better. So much better to get rid of it. Now, go. And don’t look back.

  Whether her decision to leave Trevor was rational or not the urge to flee and hide from everyone overruled every thought in her mind.

  * * * *
*

  Trevor ground his teeth together in silent fury and worry. She wasn’t answering his calls to the hotel room. Damn it! Why didn’t Cynthia pick up the bloody phone? He hadn’t told her not to answer the hotel phone, just assumed she would do so.

  He eyed the police forensic team that combed the rocky edge of the Hudson River for clues on the dead man. So far, the area appeared clean. Most likely the body had been dumped into the water from a boat, or from farther upstream. The soggy, partially frozen corpse had been whisked away to the coroner’s office for an immediate autopsy. He was pretty certain the two bullet holes in the chest would be the cause of death.

  Trevor bit back another oath and flipped his cell phone shut. He turned around to face the two New York City police detectives standing nearby. They’d been summoned to the scene before he’d been notified. These were the same men assigned by Captain Hill to question Cynthia at the police precinct yesterday.

  Both men were in their late forties, one African-American, one Caucasian, both with graying, short-cropped hair. They wore heavy wool coats to ward off the pervasive cold air. As a team, they leaned against the dull blue hood of their sedan and watched the forensic team work the shoreline with keen interest. A cigarette drooped from Detective Jack Sival’s broad lips. The man squinted through the haze of smoke that curled up into his inky black eyes when Trevor approached.

  “Nothing?” Detective Sival kept his lips clamped tight around the cigarette on one side of his mouth and talked out of the other side.

  “No,” Trevor grimaced, “she’s not answering the phone.”

  Detective Ed Marsh let out a barking laugh. Both Trevor and Sival turned at the sound. Marsh’s icy blue eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  “Something funny, Detective Marsh?” Trevor asked. His professional instincts told him these men were good at their jobs. He needed to work with them as best he could while he was in the city. His personal instincts told him not to trust them any further than he could throw them across the frigid, slow-moving river.

  “Yeah,” Marsh grunted. “You never leave a woman alone with the goods. Keep your eyes on her at all times. She’s flown your nest, Agent. Gone.”

  Trevor raked his fingers through his hair. “She wouldn’t do anything that stupid, Detective.”

  Marsh chuckled sarcastically and nudged his partner in the shoulder. The man’s ruddy skin looked chapped in the cold air. But his words carried heat. “He’s already bagged that little honey. What’d I tell you?”

  Sival clamped down on his cigarette with his teeth and glowered at his partner. “That’s enough.”

  Marsh ignored him, staring at Trevor. He spoke under his breath but loud enough for Trevor to hear his words. “Nice tits on that one. I’ll bet she was a good fuck.”

  “Shut up, Marsh!” Sival glowered at Marsh before turning his attention back to Trevor. “I gotta agree with my partner. You should have asked the captain for an officer to baby-sit her. I’ll bet my World Series tickets that she’s skipped town. You screwed up, Agent St. James. Trusting her was a big mistake.”

  Trevor suppressed the urge to sink his fist into Ed Marsh’s pale, soft center. It would feel good but only serve to alienate these men from helping him further. He tamped his anger down. “I’m heading back now. I expect a call if your team finds anything here.”

  “You sure you don’t want us to come with you?” Sival mumbled around his cigarette. “We could keep an eye on her for you, you know, while you run around town doing your thing.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Trevor ground out between clenched teeth. “I’ll be in touch with you later, Detectives. I want that coroner’s report this afternoon.” He turned back to his sporty black SUV.

  His cell phone rang the moment he slammed the door shut. He hoped it was Cynthia finally but the caller ID showed him it was O’Rourke.

  “What is it now?” he answered gruffly, revving the SUV’s powerful engine and driving away from the river edge.

  “Oy, touchy, touchy,” O’Rourke replied, emphasizing his heavy Scots accent. “Judging by the telly, I see yer day hasn’t been as good as ye were expecting.”

  “Things have been better. What do you have for me?”

  “Hmm,” O’Rourke mumbled into the phone. “I have a tad bit of bad news for ya, too.”

  “Are you at the hotel now? I told her not to answer the door to anyone. Even you. Put Cynthia on the phone.”

  “Weeeell, that be part of the problem, boyo. Yer little lady friend isn’t home.”

  “Bloody hell! Where is she? Did you see her leave the hotel?”

  An irritating and wrongfully amused chuckle sounded from O’Rourke. Trevor knew the damned redheaded troll was enjoying watching his case fall apart. O’Rourke was one of the best support agents in North America but he had a wicked sense of humor that Trevor could do without right now.

  “I just unloaded the rest of her things, when I caught a glimpse of her as she boarded a city bus outside the hotel. I followed it to a substation where she took cover. The lass disappeared into the subway before I could find a place to park.”

  “My guess is she’s heading toward her apartment. Where are you now?”

  “Oh, I be parked in front of her place. No sign of her yet, inside or out.”

  “Damn it, fool woman,” Trevor cursed under his breath. “She’s probably looking for her cat. What did you find out about her credit and bank reports?”

  “The lass lives a clean life, no worries there. Something interesting though, she seems to have a cash-heavy relationship with a certain pawnbroker not too far from her apartment. It’s a place called Lu’s Pawn and Gold, on Sumpter Street. Must be where she buys some of her gems. Shall I check it out for ya?”

  “No. Stick tight and watch for her. I’ll stop by this pawnshop and see what I can find there.”

  Trevor flipped his phone closed and gunned the Porsche engine for more power. He sped down the entrance ramp on the expressway.

  I knew I should have handcuffed her to the fucking bed. And when I find her again, I’m going to enjoy wrapping my hands around her beautiful neck—right after I kiss the living daylights out of her sweet, lying mouth.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cynthia trudged up the snow-slicked stairs from the subway station, carefully eyeing the passing crowds. She exited onto the street only one block from her apartment. Fortunately there’d been just enough spare change in her coat pocket to hop the bus and take the subway. She chose to bypass her usual stop and rode to the next station so that she could visit Lu’s Pawn and Gold first. She needed cash, quick. Without her wallet this was as far as she could go.

  She pushed the outer door of Lu’s shop open with her hip, juggling her heavy suitcase and backpack. The inner door resembled a jail, with thick iron bars from floor to ceiling. She waved at the camera, knowing that Lu would recognize and give her entrance.

  The door buzzed and she walked inside, dropping her suitcase with a grateful sigh. She scanned the small interior for other customers and didn’t see anyone else. Business was slow. Good. She needed his undivided attention right now.

  Lu stood behind one of his bulletproof jewelry display cases, polishing the glass with a paper towel and a bottle of glass cleaner. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at his outrageous ensemble. He was a flamboyant gay man with a penchant for wigs and dressing in drag. Today he wore his Lucille Ball flaming-red wig. It clashed horribly with his fuchsia lipstick and the ruffled blue silk shirt and flowing wide-legged pants.

  Somehow, she couldn’t imagine Lu wearing anything else. Despite his lurid appearance he held a black belt in karate. She’d known him for years on both a professional and friendly basis. He’d always dealt with her honestly and they enjoyed a good working relationship. Whenever a particularly beautiful gem became available he called her first before displaying it on his shelves for the public.

  “Girlfriend, you don’t answer my calls anymore. I’m so hurt,” Lu cooed w
ith his soft, husky voice. “And why do you look like you’re moving out of town?”

  “Hi, Luey. I’m not moving out. Well, not permanently. Just for a few days. What’d you call me about?”

  “Well, come on over and take a peeky-poo at this.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out a driver’s license. He held it up for her inspection.

  Cynthia walked toward him and then froze, unable to move closer. “That’s my card. Where did you find it?”

  He batted long, fake eyelashes. “A man brought it in last night, right before closing time. Here.” He extended his hand.

  She took it from him gingerly. “Thanks. I, ah…lost my purse last night. What did this guy look like, Lu?”

  Lu settled one manicured hand on his hip. “Let me see. He was shorter than I am. Crew-cut hair. He looked Chinese. Of Asian descent anyway but he didn’t have an accent at all. He was a born-and-bred New Yorker.”

  Cynthia shivered. “Was he wearing a trench coat?”

  “Sure was. Awful-looking thing. A short man should know better than to wear something like that. He did have a tight little body, from what I could see and—”

  “Lu, please,” she interrupted. “Just tell me, what did he say to you?”

  “Oh, honey-pie, are you in trouble?”

  “No.” The less he knew, the better. She shoved her driver’s license into her jeans pocket. “Did he give you any info about himself?”

  “He asked if I’d seen you lately.” Lu tipped his head to one side. “But of course, I said no. You are in some sort of trouble, aren’t you?”

  “I’ll be fine, Lu.”

  “You can tell me, sweet-cheeks. You know I’m careful.”

  “Lu, it’s…I’ll be fine. Really.”

  “Well then, girlfriend, what’d you come here for? Need another pretty baby for one of your projects?”

  Cynthia blinked away the stifling terror that threatened to engulf her in a black net. “Not this time. I need to sell you one of mine. I need cash, Lu.”

  “That’s what Luey does best. What have you got for me?”