Family Jewels Page 9

  Cynthia licked her dry lips and scanned the other patrons, rather than look him in the eyes. “I don’t know. I guess I just have to trust you. A little.”

  “Thank you.” Trevor leaned forward, apparently for privacy. “Now, I’ll answer your question about why that diamond is so important to me. Being a jeweler, I’m sure you’re familiar with the Yakutia diamond mine in Siberia.”

  “Sure. The mine is still producing some of the finest diamonds in the world, although the gems are fewer and much smaller than the ones mined sixty years ago. The diamond Mr. Andrews gave me is Russian. Am I right?”

  Trevor nodded. “The mine was originally owned by a partnership between two Jewish families, the Steinbrunns and the Andrevkys. They were well-known diamond exporters and jewelers in the early nineteen hundreds, up until the start of World War Two. In 1941, the Nazis seized their homes and took control of the mine. The family members were split up and transported to several concentration camps in the Soviet Union…Belzec, Treblinka and Sobibor.”

  “Oh, dear God,” Cynthia murmured. “The Holocaust. Those poor people. Did any of them survive?”

  “A few did. British and American troops liberated those camps. The heirs of the Steinbrunns live in Britain now. The remaining Andrevkys, a man, his sister and her young son, moved to America in the early Sixties. They died in a car crash, leaving the eight-year-old boy as sole survivor. He lived in foster homes and state-run juvenile facilities until age sixteen. Last year, the Steinbrunn heirs filed petitions with the United Nations and the World Holocaust Tribunal for return of their family’s wealth. They have valid proof that certain Nazi officers stole gems from their family during the raids.”

  Cynthia’s coffee cup started to slip from her numb fingers. Trevor took the cup from her and set it on the table. She blinked in confusion. It seemed like a lot of trouble to go through for one diamond.

  “How much is this diamond worth, Trevor? My best estimate is one hundred thousand dollars on a hot market. It’s not peanuts, as the saying goes, but it hardly seems like enough for Holocaust survivors to want to dig up all this ugly history. If it meant millions, then that would make more sense.”

  Trevor leaned closer, giving her a little smile. “It’s a very special gem.”

  “Why? That’s not enough for this kind of trouble. What’s so special about it?”

  “People kill for far less, Cyn. My job is to recover that stone.”

  “But—” She let her words die and wondered again why Mr. Andrews didn’t come back for the gem like he said he would. Had something happened to him?

  Trevor wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. His hard-as-sapphires gaze had narrowed on someone in the crowd behind her. Cynthia recognized that look from earlier at Norma’s restaurant. She started to swivel in her seat for a quick look behind. He reached out and cupped her chin to stop her.

  “Darling, it’s time to go again. Our friend has returned.”

  “Just one guy this time? I thought there were two when we left Norma’s?”

  “This time he’s alone. Which means his partner could be waiting outside, or he could just be reporting our whereabouts. He’s looking but he hasn’t seen us yet. Either way, we’re leaving now.”

  Cynthia stood and allowed him to help her into her coat. She gathered her backpack and purse. “You have a gun,” she whispered. “Does he look like he has one?”

  “We’re not finding out. Come on.”

  With his hand firmly against her back, Trevor urged her behind a small group of people who were all leaving at the same time. She moved through the coffee shop with him and tried not to be too obvious about glancing around for their pursuer. She wanted to see this man who supposedly followed them like a black shadow but nobody here looked suspicious to her.

  Outside, the early darkness of mid-January winter settled over the city. Christmas lights that remained from the holiday flashed and brightened everything with cheery color.

  Another quick glance over her shoulder revealed a blond, heavy-set man in a long, dark trench coat. He exited the coffee shop a few steps behind them, looked directly at her and followed. God, he looked like one of the New York Giants linebackers—big, mean and very determined to get through the crowd to her. A spear of pure terror shot through her, making her stiffen. Trevor put his arm around her shoulder and urged her forward.

  “Straight ahead.” He kept her moving. “The car is parked on the other side of the street, so we’ll have to dodge some traffic. Ready?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “No.” He grabbed hold of her hand and tugged her into a faster pace. “Let’s go!”

  A narrow opening between a cab and car provided just enough space for them to run onto the snow-filled median. The drivers of oncoming cars honked at them. Cynthia winced. Her hand felt numb inside Trevor’s tight grip. Her heart raced at the close proximity and speed of passing cars while they stood in the middle.

  “If a cop comes by right now, we’re going to jail for jaywalking. They don’t take this too lightly, you know.”

  He was concentrating on the opposite flow of traffic. “I’m sure they don’t and for good reason. Now!”

  Trevor tugged her behind him and Cynthia jumped over a pile of dirty snow, half dragged by his quick lunge into the street. A FedEx delivery van bore down on them. The familiar blue and red logo loomed larger by the second. The driver flashed his brights, nearly blinding her. For one heart-stopping moment, she felt suspended in midair, trapped and yet moving. The heel of her boot came down on a patch of ice and slid out. She fell on her knee and dropped her purse. Pain shot up her leg, barely registered by her panicked brain. Just as quickly, she was scooped up and practically thrown across the street. She landed hard against the hood of Trevor’s rental car. He slammed into her from their momentum. Air whooshed out of her lungs when the weight of his body covered hers.

  Without stopping to see if she was unharmed, he snatched the driver’s side door open and pushed her inside. With a yelp, she scrambled over the seat to the passenger side when he jumped in behind her.

  Trevor started the car and put it in drive before she could sit upright. He yanked on the steering wheel and pulled into traffic. The tires spun out on the snow, jerking the car left and then right before it regained traction. They sped off. Cynthia struggled into a sitting position and grabbed her seat belt.

  “I just lost my purse,” she growled at him.

  “I’ll buy you a new one.”

  She struggled with the seat belt. It didn’t want to click securely. “My wallet, ID and all my credit cards were in it. The keys to my apartment! Shit, shit, shit!”

  “Calm down. We’ll call and cancel your cards. Your landlord should install a new lock anyway. You have everything you need inside the trunk of this car, remember?”

  When she had the seat belt secure, her hand lingered over her backpack. She hadn’t wanted to risk losing it if she became separated from her suitcases. She felt safer, more in control, carrying it with her wherever she went and it could have been lost just now too. Whatever the Russian white diamond represented, she suspected it was worth a lot more than its bride price. A lot of people had died for this mysterious gem.

  The diamond meant danger. The kind that could get her killed.

  “This is becoming an annoying habit, Trevor. You sure know how to show a girl a good time. I can’t even finish a meal or drink when I’m with you.”

  “Remind me to take you on a real date sometime.” He flashed a roguish smile and took a left turn without waiting for the pedestrians to cross first. A black man with long, dreadlocked hair and baggy pants jumped aside, shaking his fist at them.

  She stared at Trevor’s profile, wondering about his suggestion for a real date. Did he imply this could be more than a one-night stand? The tires squealed when he braked suddenly for a public bus in front of them.

  “You’re a terrible driver, Trevor. Did they teach you how to drive recklessly in spy school
?”

  He sped up, passing the bus with barely inches to spare. “I’m not a spy. I’m a recovery agent.”

  “Not that I know the difference. Where are we going now?”

  He studied the rearview mirror and ignored her question. “It’s hard to tell if we’re being followed. Too dark to see that far. Are you all right?”

  As if on cue, her knee throbbed with a vicious reminder of her fall. She lifted the wet hem of her skirt. The thin fabric of her cocoa-brown tights was still intact but the tender lump under it promised to be a lovely shade of purple by the time she could put some ice on it.

  “Bruised but I’ll live,” she grumbled. “I would say thank you for saving my neck back there but it was your fault. If you didn’t insist we run across the street, I would still have my purse and not this huge bump on my knee!”

  He maintained a stony silence, a muscle clenched and unclenched in his jaw.

  Fine. If he was going to give her the silent treatment, she knew how to play that game. She turned her attention out the window and noticed the direction he drove. “Hey, the hotel is back that way. Where the hell are we going?”

  A fierce determination played across his face with the passing lights. Tiny drops of melted snow glinted in his dark hair, like sprinkled diamond chips. He looked incredibly handsome—and dangerous. “For now, we’ll just drive. But soon I’ll need to get rid of this car. They know it by sight now.”

  She sighed and sank back into the seat. Exhaustion wasn’t far from the edge of her brain. “Why are they trying to kill me?”

  He didn’t answer right away. His jaw muscles jumped in obvious agitation. “I seriously doubt they want to kill you. Well, at least not without questioning you first. They want something they think you have. The diamond.”

  Cynthia sucked in a shaky breath. “Why? For God’s sake, Trevor, tell me what’s so freaking important about this one diamond?”

  “That’s part of the sensitive information I can’t give you. They think you have it. Until I get my information, you’re in danger.”

  There were too many questions still unanswered and no way to ask them right now. What was it about the diamond that had these thugs chasing after her? Why didn’t Trevor trust her with the information?

  He fished inside his jacket pocket and produced a cellular phone, flipped it open with one hand and pressed a button. “Hallo, O’Rourke, St. James here.” He paused, glancing over at her and then into the mirrors. “I need a new car. No, the one I have is working fine, I need something different. A dark color. Faster would be good too. Yes, I know it’s bloody snowing. Four-wheel drive isn’t a bad idea. Great. Where can we make the switch? Yes, I know where that is. How long? Excellent.”

  Her knee throbbed with renewed urgency. She rubbed it lightly with her palm while she listened to his one-sided conversation. He was still driving faster than traffic generally allowed, shifting from lane to lane whenever he could. Where were the New York cops and why they hadn’t tagged after him with sirens and red and blue lights flashing? Or did he have some special exemption with the city’s captain of police that allowed him to get away with this kind of driving?

  “She’s doing fine.” Trevor flashed a quick smile, still speaking into his phone. “Yes. No. Not yet. Don’t worry about it. Yes, I’ll keep her until then.”

  Cynthia’s mouth opened. “Keep me? What do you mean, keep me?”

  Trevor’s eyes narrowed to slits of dark blue. “Don’t worry, O’Rourke, I’ll take very good care of this one.” He glanced at her again. “Yes. She’s very pretty. One more thing I need you to do. She just lost her purse. Run a credit search and cancel her credit cards. Good idea, I’m sure she’ll appreciate that. Very good, man. See you in a few.” He tucked his tiny phone back into his pocket.

  “Who is O’Rourke?” she demanded. “What am I going to appreciate? And how the hell can he get into my credit history?”

  “Gregory O’Rourke is an Interpol support agent, working here in your city. He’s canceling your credit cards and having new ones issued in your name and sent to your home address. Or is that something you’d rather do yourself?”

  “He can do that?”

  Trevor barely nodded, his attention on driving.

  “Well.” She pressed her lips together for a minute. “That’s a good idea. Tell him I said thanks, I do appreciate it.”

  “You can thank him yourself in about twenty minutes. We’re meeting him at Grand Central Station to switch cars.”

  Numb with the aftereffects of an adrenaline jag, she slouched into her seat and mumbled a simple “Oh”.

  She settled into a quiet sulk for the remainder of their trip. He seemed just as happy not to speak for a while. When Trevor pulled into the parking area at Grand Central, he drove to the valet attendant instead of general parking that she expected.

  “Are we going inside to meet Mr. O’Rourke?”

  “Yes. We’ll switch valet claim tickets with him in the flower shop inside the main terminal.”

  “What about my stuff in the trunk? We can’t carry it all inside.”

  “No. He’ll drive to the hotel and leave it with the bellman. It’ll be delivered to my room tomorrow. You can take whichever bags you need most for tonight.”

  Her large suitcase contained her clothes. She pointed at the battered brown case and Trevor lifted it from the trunk.

  Inside Grand Central Station, she marveled at the wide, arched ceiling overhead. The effort to revitalize the station had been a monumental endeavor and a matter of civic pride for New York City. Cynthia was embarrassed to admit that she’d never bothered to take a tour of this magnificent, historical structure. Now she was being rushed inside without the chance to linger and admire the architecture.

  Her backpack dragged on her shoulder with annoying weight. Trevor carried her larger, bulkier suitcase with apparent ease. With the luggage, they looked like a young couple traveling on vacation. Her knee ached but at least it didn’t hinder her ability to keep up with his long stride. He kept his free hand securely on her back, guiding her through the crowds and up the escalator to the mezzanine-level flower shop. She took comfort from his nearness, the solid warmth of his touch.

  The heady perfume of mixed flowers permeated the air as they approached. Cynthia inhaled deeply. People stood around and admired different bouquets, plucking long, elegant stems from water-filled buckets to create their own designer arrangements.

  She stopped in front of a colorful display of tulips. They reminded her of spring, her favorite season. But Trevor urged her deeper into the store.

  “Let’s check out the roses, darling,” he whispered seductively into her ear.

  An older man tended those lusty blooms, his curly red hair threaded with silver. Cynthia guessed he must be the shopkeeper since he wore a green smock and rubber boots. His broad smile revealed a space between his front teeth and genuine joy sparkling from pansy-blue eyes.

  “Ah, now ye look like a lady who would enjoy roses.” His heavy Scottish brogue rolled with the last word.

  She couldn’t help but smile at him. “There’s not really a flower I don’t like.”

  He held out a bouquet of white roses, their dewy petals creamy soft under the light.

  “Oh, my. Those are beautiful.”

  The man turned his attention to Trevor. “How about a dozen for yer beautiful lady?”

  “Would you like them, Cyn?”

  “Ah, well, sure. But you don’t have to buy me flowers, Trevor. I mean, with all the running around we’re doing, I hardly—”

  “She’ll take them,” Trevor interrupted. He handed the shopkeeper his valet ticket and took a cellophane-wrapped bouquet of tight, white rosebuds in exchange. He handed them to her.

  “Let’s go.” He urged her out of the flower shop.

  She glanced over her shoulder. The shopkeeper grinned toothily and waved his fingers, then turned to the door at the back of the shop and disappeared. Cynthia sniffed her fragrant roses
to hide her smile. “Ah, I get it. That was Mr. O’Rourke, wasn’t it?”

  “No.” A reckless spark brightened Trevor’s intense eyes. “I’ve never seen him before in my life. That was just a daft old man selling flowers in Grand Central Station.”

  “Uh-huh,” she murmured. “All you spies are the same. Sneaky.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “I’m not a spy. And I don’t sneak.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Wrong, darling.” He guided her to the exit door and held it open. “I go after what I want. Never had the need to sneak.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The curvy black Porsche Cayenne SUV purred powerfully through New York City traffic. Four-wheel drive gave it agility and traction on the snow-slicked city streets. Bypassing the valet attendant, Trevor drove the car into the hotel’s underground parking garage himself. He took a sharp corner around the snug space and tested the vehicle’s exceptionally tight turning radius.

  If he had to get Cynthia away quickly, again, he felt much more confident with this Porsche’s ability to do the job.

  The luxurious leather seats had claimed Cynthia right away. She’d fallen asleep shortly after they’d left Grand Central Station. He couldn’t help but steal quick, admiring glances at her face. Her full lips were slightly parted in slumber and the wine-red lipstick she’d put on earlier had faded to a dusky pink. Despite the steely determination of her character, she looked vulnerable now.

  Trevor parked the Porsche and shut off the engine. For a moment in the dimly lit hotel garage he indulged in watching her sleep. She appeared exhausted. Silky dark lashes fanned across the pale skin beneath her eyes. Wisps of golden-brown hair touched the curve of her cheekbone. He wanted to reach out and tuck that soft hair behind her ear but kept his hands wrapped firmly around the leather-covered steering wheel. He pressed his own lips together and recalled the sultry, eager taste of her mouth. The warning voice inside his head bumped his conscience again.

  Whatever you think you’re feeling for this woman, don’t.

  The white roses he’d “bought” for her lay in her lap, the cellophane-wrapped bouquet cradled protectively between her slender hands. With a wry grin, he realized that this was the first time in his life he’d ever bought a woman flowers. The bright look in her eyes when he’d handed them to her drove that point home with surprising clarity. Why hadn’t he ever thought to woo his former fiancée with something as simple as flowers?