Family Jewels

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Family Jewels ISBN # 9781419909009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Family Jewels Copyright© 2007 Rita Sable Edited by Helen Woodall. Photography and cover art by Les Byerley. Electronic book Publication: January 2007 This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 443103502. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Content Advisory: S – ENSUOUS E – ROTIC X – TREME Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (Erotic), and X (X-treme). The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated E–rotic. S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination. E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. E-rated titles might contain material that some readers find objectionable—in other words, almost anything goes, sexually. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry in terms of both sexual language and descriptiveness in these works of literature. X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Stories designated with the letter X tend to contain difficult or controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

FAMILY JEWELS Rita Sable

Acknowledgements This is for everyone—my friends and critique partners (Barbara, Shay, Jeanine, Anna, Lynda and Pat)—Thank you. Without your enthusiastic guidance and support this book would never have been possible. Thanks also to my editor, Helen, for her cheeky humor and advice. And most of all, thank you to my loving, long-suffering husband who gave me his support and the time alone to pour my heart and soul into writing. You’ll always be my hero. I love you.

Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Beretta: Fabbrica D’Armi P. Beretta Big Bertha: Callaway Golf Company Burberry: Burberry of London Diet Coke: The Coca-Cola Bottling Company Estée Lauder: Estée Lauder, Inc. FedEx/FedEx Priority: Federal Express Corporation Ford Taurus: Ford Motor Company Grolsch beer: Koninklijke Grolsch N.V. Corporation Hampton Hotel: Hilton Hospitality Inc. Humane Society: The Humane Society of The United States Lexus: Toyota Motor Corporation JPN Lycra: Invista North America S.A.R.L Corporation Le Parker Meridien Hotel: Jack Parker Corporation Porsche Cayenne SUV: F. Porsche AG Corporation Rabbit Vibrator: Ann Summers Limited Company UK Renault Mégane: Renault Selfridges: Selfridges Retail Limited UK The Sex Pistols song, “Submission”: The Sex Pistols/Virgin Records Sig Sauer: Swiss Arms Technology AG Corporation

Smith & Wesson: Smith & Wesson Corporation Starbucks: Starbucks Coffee US Brands Superman: DC Comics Inc. U.P.S.: United Parcel Service Wonder Woman: DC Comics Inc.

Rita Sable

Chapter One A bone-chilling January mist settled over Damstraat. Pure white halos danced like ghosts around streetlamps, deep in the seedy core of Amsterdam’s Rosse Buurt. Tourists and locals alike knew this small, crowded and wildly popular area by its nickname— the red-light district. Trevor St. James parked his rental car at the curb near the canal and got out. He used the electronic key fob to lock the sporty Renault Mégane and tested the door handle to make sure before shoving the keys into his pants pockets. The cold night air was thick with brine. Inky-black water moved slowly through the canal, situated well below street level. Amsterdam was riddled with these famous waterways. During daylight sightseers crammed onto barges snapping photos of the historic places and tall, stately homes that passed by. He turned away from the fathomless ribbon of water and crossed the street. Hunching his shoulders against the damp midnight air, he headed toward the neonpink sign that blinked on and off like a beating heart in the hazy distance. The man he pursued would be in the Küshi Club, one of many bar and dance establishments that catered to the sexually uninhibited. He’d tracked this man through countless cities, from Frankfurt into Barcelona, from Zurich out to Copenhagen. But always one frustrating step behind. Tonight he’d finally landed within reach. Months of dogged persistence were about to be paid off in full. People of all nationalities hurried past him on the sidewalk, in pairs or groups, laughing and jostling each other as they contemplated the barely dressed women in the windows. A discordant mix of disco, rock and pop music poured from inside every other dance club and sex parlor he passed. He approached the Küshi Club and moved back when the door swung open, sending out a mind-numbing blast of punk music. A silver-haired man dressed in suit and tie walked out, holding the hand of a woman wearing a short fur jacket, tight miniskirt and thigh-high vinyl boots. The woman’s lips curled into a lopsided, drunken grin when she passed Trevor. He held the door open for the departing couple and then stepped inside. Stale air enveloped him and sucked the breath from his lungs. He struggled against coughing at the smell of cigarettes, liquor and body odor. Multicolored neon signs on the walls advertised Dutch beers and liquors and created the only source of lighting inside the crowded interior.

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From the murky corner near the entrance a large, moving shadow materialized into the figure of the man Trevor knew worked here as a bouncer. A retired Dutch police officer, Jorgen Vaneer’s massive chest and biceps bulged against the fabric of his black tshirt. Interpol Intelligence had used him before. Trevor lifted his chin in a quick nod of recognition. Without saying a single word or giving any indication he knew Trevor at all, Jorgen jerked his shiny bald head in the direction of the bar and then melted back into the shadows. If things got ugly in here the burly Dutchman would be excellent backup. Trevor angled toward the patrons packed tight around the bar. He passed through a hazy wall of cigarette smoke mixed with the sharper musk of burning hashish. Strategically placed speakers hung from the high, pitched ceiling overhead. Music blasted through the air when The Sex Pistols began to belt out their classic song, “Submission”. Men and women in various states of undress gyrated and humped each other on the teeming dance floor. Trevor assumed the nonchalance of a club patron looking for a good time. He needed to blend in, not draw attention to himself. A few grainy photos taken with a telescopic lens and burned into his memory were all he had to ID his man. He unzipped his leather jacket careful not to expose the straps of his gun harness. His weapon of choice, a regulation-issue 9mm semiautomatic Sig Sauer, rested against his left rib cage with a welcome and familiar weight. He hadn’t had to use the smaller Beretta strapped to the inside of his lower left leg in a long time and planned to keep it that way. He let his shoulders droop and his knees bob a little with each step, moving as if he had all the time in the world rather than a direct path and set purpose. At the bar a waitress approached him, dressed in a white cutout blouse and skimpy shorts that barely covered her ample, pale thighs. Her delft-blue eyes were heavily lined with kohl and terribly bloodshot, her plump lips painted frosty pink. He ordered a beer and smiled at the way her nipples poked through the slits in her blouse when she moved. She noticed his attention and thrust her chest out further, giving him a knowing smile. Was she inviting him to reach out and tweak her nipples, or give both round globes a squeeze? She pouted her lower lip when he ogled her breasts without touching. Time for fun and games later. Right now he had a job to do. The repetitive pulse of music flowed through his body. He wandered toward a corner of the square-shaped bar and leaned against the polished wood, waiting for the sexy waitress to return with his drink. Without looking too obvious or curious about his fellow bar mates he scanned them one at a time, searching for his target. Businessmen out for an evening of leisure with their clients, wide-eyed tourists from many different countries and bored-looking young locals. None of the men fit the description. Except one.

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That man sat sideways on a barstool. His thin build and spiky platinum-blond hair fit the photo Trevor had memorized. At the moment he was locked in a deep-throated kiss with a woman wearing nothing but a transparent body stocking. She hiked a sinuous long leg over the man’s hip. Trevor watched as the man slipped his hand down the woman’s belly and stroked her exposed pussy. Moisture glistened on his fingers while he probed and teased her flesh. None of the other bar patrons paid any attention while the man finger-fucked her in their presence. A few were involved in similar, though not quite so explicit, situations. Despite the tight rein Trevor held on his lust, watching the raw sexual act sent heat surging into his cock. Pure reflex, he told himself. He gritted his teeth and forced his eyes elsewhere for a moment, using only his peripheral vision to monitor the man he sought to ID. When it came to completely open and accepted sexuality Amsterdam reigned supreme. The Dutch government had a valid rationale for sanctioning prostitution. Their reasoning was quite simple. Since no government had ever been able to completely rid itself of the world’s oldest profession why not regulate it? There were public health considerations to monitor, labor conditions, civic order and of course, another valuable and easy source of government revenue. This same mindset had long been ingrained in the general public. If Trevor wanted to fuck the little waitress on the bar top while everyone watched, for the right amount of money he didn’t doubt she’d welcome it. She showed up at his elbow as if on cue and slid his Grolsch beer into his hand. He paid her with a generous tip and another wide smile at her perky breasts. Damn nice breasts they were, too. Dusky pink and tender-looking. He could practically imagine how that soft, sweet flesh would feel in his hands and on his tongue. Shit! He gave himself a mental slap. Sometimes he hated his job. How long had it been since he’d spent a normal night eating a quiet meal at home or in a family-owned restaurant? Too long to remember. He took a long draught of the icy beer. Hopefully the liquid malt would soothe the hot ache in his groin. How long had it been since he’d had a woman in a relationship for more than just a quick fuck? Once again, too long. His last serious girlfriend—correction, his fiancée–-had married another man while he’d been on assignment in Istanbul. After three years that memory still burned like battery acid inside his gut. He tipped his beer up again and turned his attention back to the thin blond man who fit the photo profile. The woman that man entertained threw her head back when she climaxed. Her hips bucked. Trevor was amazed she could do that and remain standing in her tall, platform sandals. Practice, he guessed. The man laughed heartily while she writhed and moaned in front of him. A couple of Japanese businessmen standing nearby chuckled in enthusiastic approval.

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Trevor stood up. He needed to see his quarry’s face, in particular his throat. Ulrich Schulz had a distinctive tattoo on his Adam’s apple depicting a snake swallowing a sword. Taking his beer with him, Trevor ambled around the corners of the bar, threading a path through men and women with open sexual hunger in their eyes. The pungent odor of smoldering hashish assaulted his nostrils. He glanced sideways at a young man with the glowing tip of a roach clamped between lipstick-blackened lips. Barely eighteen, his wild black and purple hair most likely hadn’t seen a comb in weeks. A slinky velvet jacket hung open over his skinny bare chest and his tight black pants were tucked into knee-high military boots. Trevor’s quick, analytical assessment must have been mistaken as interest because the young man rubbed his crotch and winked in a blatant invitation for homosexual fun. Trevor shook his head and moved on, trying not to breathe too deeply. Fortunately, his six-foot two-inch height allowed him to keep his eye on his target. The woman in the body stocking gave the blond man a quick parting kiss on the lips and wiggled away. She passed right by Trevor and disappeared into the throng of bodies on the dance floor. His quarry swiveled around on his barstool. Instant recognition slammed into Trevor’s brain. That tattoo was unmistakable. Ulrich Schulz. The spoiled rich grandson of deceased Nazi SS officer, Heinrich Schulz. He went by the nickname Uli. The tip to Interpol on the grandson’s presence in Amsterdam had come from a clerk working inside the diamond buyers’ market. Uli had recently sold a packet of twelve flawless white diamonds to an affluent American man. The clerk overheard Uli brag about having more if the American buyer wanted them. The diamonds were Russian whites, not something readily available on the open market these days. Stones like that raised dangerous red flags. The gems Trevor was charged with finding had been stolen from wealthy Jewish families during the Nazi occupation more than sixty years ago. One of those diamonds had been micro-engraved with the numbers of the family’s Swiss bank account—worth millions of euros today. The heirs of that Jewish family wanted the diamonds recovered. In particular the one with the big secret. The problem was they didn’t know which gem had the mark. Fortunately Uli didn’t know about it. He’d sold those diamonds at market value for a few hundred thousand at most, when he could have had access to so much more. Not that he needed the cash. The short file provided with those grainy photos profiled the sale of those diamonds as “sport” for him. Trevor’s job was simple. Find the flighty German punk and discover who the American buyer had been. A rush of adrenaline powered the predatory thrill inside Trevor. He inched closer, pretending to be drunk. When he bumped into the bar, he turned and unceremoniously spilled his beer into Uli’s lap. Just as Trevor predicted, the younger man reacted violently. Uli jumped off his barstool, a vicious snarl twisting his pale angular face. He shouted a string of

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obscenities loud enough to be heard over the music. Trevor shoved him back against the bar, sliding the business end of his gun beneath the German’s long skinny nose. Uli’s eyes popped open and his pupils dilated until just a thin line of pale blue circled their black centers. “Halt den mund! Shut your mouth,” Trevor growled his best German into Uli’s face. The younger man froze, his mouth formed a surprised “o”. No doubt the gun made enough of an impression to scare the shit out of him. People standing nearby moved away and calmly took their drinks with them, wisely finding another part of the bar more attractive. Undercover police routinely raided the clubs and public arrests weren’t uncommon. Trevor cuffed Uli’s hands behind his back while people stared and murmured to each other. Then he searched, found and took control of the small-caliber handgun hidden inside the waistband of Uli’s jeans. Highly illegal in this country and that alone was enough to arrest him for carrying it into a public place. But there were more important things he needed to question Uli about. He tucked the weapon into his own jacket pocket and then pointed toward the door. “Draussen, Herr Schulz.Ganz ruhig.” Outside. Nice and quiet. Disarmed and overpowered, Uli nodded. Trevor wrapped a tight arm around the younger man’s bony shoulders and snuggled the gun against his ribs to encourage good behavior. They walked through the crowded bar together. The blast of music never ceased. Jorgen waited at the door, eyes narrowed and watchful, thickly muscled arms flexed at his sides. No doubt the burly bouncer had been ready to jump in and defend Trevor’s back. He pushed the door open as they approached. When they passed through, Jorgen clapped a big hand on Trevor’s shoulder. “Good job,” he said in stilted English. “And goodbye.” Trevor nodded and without glancing back he escorted his calm but unpredictable captive out into the cold misty night.

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Chapter Two The tiny blue-flamed torch in Cynthia’s hand reached well above two thousand degrees Fahrenheit, more than enough to solder the links of an eighteen-karat gold necklace together. She teased the flame over the chain, coaxing the precious metal to the delicate point between solid and liquid. In an instant the gold blazed white-hot then bonded. The phone rang. She jerked out of her intense focus and shut off the soldering torch. Without the constant hissing sound of the acetylene gas her studio fell into sudden, unnatural silence. Only the phone’s ring punctuated the quiet. The button on her business line flashed with each ring. If it had been her personal line she would let it go to voicemail. Nick wouldn’t be calling anyway. She flipped the protective visor off her face and set it aside to answer the phone. “Hello, Lyons’ Jewelry Creations.” “Ah, hello,” a man’s voice said. “I’m looking at your ad in the yellow pages. It says that you’re GIA certified?” He spoke with a very slight foreign accent. Maybe German or Polish, she couldn’t quite tell. “Yes, I’m GIA certified. What can I help you with?” “I need an appraisal for insurance purposes. If I brought a gem by today, how soon could you do one for me?” Cynthia glanced at her wall clock. It was already nearing six p.m. and she’d been working steadily on the gold necklace for another client since seven that morning. “May I ask what type of gem you need the certificate for?” “A diamond,” the man answered. “How soon could you do an appraisal?” He sounded urgent. Impatient. Depending on the gem it would take a few hours to examine it, describe it appropriately and type up the certificate for his insurance appraisal. If she agreed to a rush job that would put the time around ten p.m. Having a client return late at night wasn’t a good idea or part of her normal routine. On the other hand, being tired wasn’t a good enough reason to turn away the hundred-dollar fee she charged for appraisals. She could really use that money to buy more drawing paper and art supplies. A compromise had to be found without losing his interest. “I could have it for you by eight tomorrow morning.” She crossed her fingers, hoping that would suit him. “Eight. Hmm,” the man murmured. “Well, that’s faster than anyone else I’ve called. Okay, you…ah, you have security at your place, right?”

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Cynthia leaned back in her chair for a quick look at the control panel by the door. All lights were green. Window sensors, door sensors and motion detectors kept her safe and sound 24/7. As the security company who installed her system had instructed, she didn’t give out any particulars, not even the brand name. “Of course,” she replied confidently. “You can’t be in this business without the proper protection.” “Good, good. Your ad doesn’t list an address. Where are you located?” Her lips curled up with satisfaction. She reached for her daily logbook. “I need some information from you first. Your name and address, sir?” The man hesitated for an uncomfortable span of time. She was about to ask if he was still on the line when he said, “Why do you need my name? I’ll pay you with cash.” “That’s good to know, sir. But collecting your information is another security measure and it’s required by my insurance. I’ll have to include it on the certificate too.” Again he went silent. “Hello? Sir, are you still there?” A heavy sigh. “My name is Matthew Andrews.” Cynthia suppressed her concerns raised by his reluctance to identify himself, especially since she thought she detected a slight delay in the way he said his name. Most people just blurted out their names, no matter how unconventional they were. More than a few of her clients were eccentric and it didn’t pay to be judgmental. Most expected total privacy and many of them paid her with cash. All she could do was adopt every new security feature she could afford. He gave her an address and she recorded the information into her logbook. There was no way to determine if his address was legitimate and it would take too long to search the internet sites that listed lost or stolen gems. Besides, she fully expected the usual routine, a half-carat, medium color and slightly flawed stone. Nothing exhilarating. She recited her apartment building address and directions for him to follow. “Okay, Mr. Andrews. When can I expect you here?” “About forty-five minutes. Do I just buzz your name for entrance?” “Yes. Take the elevator to the third floor. I’ll be waiting. See you then.” Cynthia hung up and slid the cordless phone onto her worktable. The embarrassment of not having a stand-alone jewelry studio had faded years ago. Renting space to work in New York City and paying for a separate place to live wasn’t currently an option. A warm silky body rubbed against her ankles. She glanced down at her cat, Moses, who’d returned to beg for dinner. He hated the hissing sound of the soldering torch. Turning it on always sent him scampering out of her studio. As soon as she shut off the gas, he’d wander back in.

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She patted her lap. Moses sprang up and landed on her jeans-covered thighs with the effortless, gravity-defying athleticism innate to all felines. He tucked his head beneath her chin and purred. “Hey, lover boy.” She rubbed her hands down his sleek, alabaster fur. “Looks like Momma’s gonna be busy tonight. A customer is coming in a little bit, so let’s fix something quick for dinner.” After nuking a frozen entrée, Cynthia stood at the counter to eat, burning her mouth on a scorched piece of chicken with her first bite. The food didn’t resemble or taste like the picture of the deliciously prepared gourmet meal on the box cover. No, this was previously cooked, flash-frozen, reheated, cardboard chicken served with a side of soggy vegetables and dry rice. After a few more bites, she tossed the remainder in the garbage and then glanced wistfully at the phone. She had to resist the urge to call the China Bistro down the street and place an order for their succulent spicy Kung Po shrimp. Not an option tonight. Moses finished the kitty dinner she’d offered him and then sauntered away to play with his new catnip toy on the living room carpet. She leaned a hip against the counter and sipped on a Diet Coke, content to take a few moments to be amused by her cat’s comical antics. When the phone rang again, the frisky feline used the noise as an excuse to scamper down the hallway, his back arched and tail high, acting like demons chased him. Some days Moses was her only source of entertainment. “Hello?” “Buono sera, sis. It’s me.” She smiled. Her twin brother’s voice always made her feel warm and fuzzy inside. “Paul. Did you have a good trip to Italy?” “No,” he sighed irritably. “I’m still here. We have an import customs snafu. Looks like I’ll be staying another three or four days.” “Aw, I feel so bad for you.” She indulged in a long slurp of her cold drink. “It must be tough being stuck in Rome this time of year.” He chuckled. “This is a lovely place, sis. The scenery is outstanding.” “Yeah, I bet it is.” She knew he spoke of the women and not the architecture and landscape. “So, I guess that means our dinner date gets postponed until you get back.” “Yeah, sorry. Is next weekend okay with you?” “Fine with me, Paul. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” “Uh-oh. Did something happen between you and Nick?” Cynthia groaned. Talking about her ex-boyfriend dredged up issues she just wanted to keep buried for now. Perhaps when the remaining sting of their last argument faded, she’d be ready to talk. “Cyn?” Paul’s voice sounded worried. “What happened, sweetie?” Damn! Therapy had to start sometime. Might as well be now. “I didn’t tell you before you headed out to Italy but I broke up with Nick last week.” 13

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Paul’s sigh came across the wires loud and clear. “Shit. Sorry, sis. The last time we talked you were so hot for that guy. I pictured you getting married, having babies, the whole nine yards. What happened?” She closed her eyes. Thinking about Nick made her temples throb, her insides twist but thankfully, not her heart. Sure, her feelings for him were still raw. When it came to discussing her boyfriend problems, there was nobody better than her twin brother to confide in. Having a man’s honest objective opinion about all things male was something she treasured. As children they entered puberty together and the topic of sex had never been off-limits between them. “Well,” she began, “Nick and I…we had issues.” “What kind of issues?” Cynthia spun her coke can around on the counter, mulling over her answer. “Oh, the usual stuff. We argued about how much, or little, time we spent together. His friends, my friends.” “And?” “And well, we just didn’t click in bed.” “Ah,” Paul said in that all-knowing voice. “Still haven’t had that little fantasy satisfied, have you?” “No.” She switched the phone to her other ear, grateful to have that little secret out in the open. “Nick couldn’t get into being adventurous with me. He said bondage wasn’t natural between a man and a woman. It bothered him and made him lose his sex drive. It just wasn’t working for me, for either of us. So, I figured it was time to break up with him before I got in too deep.” “Yeah. Probably a good thing, Cyn. I don’t advise hiding or suppressing your basic desires. At the same time, though, that one’s gonna be hard to satisfy with most normal men—if a good, decent man is what you really want.” She pursed her lips before answering. “You know I don’t do kinky guys.” “I know. But still, bondage isn’t your everyday meat-and-potatoes kind of sex. If it doesn’t turn them off, then it’ll scare them away.” “Thanks for reminding me,” she replied morosely. “And you have no room to talk. You’ve got your own fetishes to feed.” He chuckled again, a slow, thoroughly satisfied male sound that made her wonder how many sultry, dark-eyed Italian beauties he’d lured into bed at one time. With his angelic blue eyes and golden beachboy hair, he never had any problems attracting the ladies. She’d grown up envying her twin’s physical beauty. Paul took after their mother, while she’d inherited Dad’s light brown hair and gray eyes. A combination she’d always considered “blah”. “Aw, sis. Don’t feel bad. Nick obviously wasn’t right for you. In more ways than the bedroom.”

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“I know.” She remembered the fights they’d had about her work and all the time it took away from him. “Doesn’t make it any easier.” “Of course not.” Paul used his consoling voice over the phone. “You should go out. Meet some people. I know you’re holding yourself captive inside your little Fort Knox, aren’t you?” “I’m working, Paul.” She smiled at his nickname for her apartment/jewelry studio. “Don’t worry about me. I get out.” “Uh-uh. A quick stop at the corner grocery doesn’t count. This is your brother you’re talking to, not some schmuck on the street. I know you, Cyn. You work too much. Have you tried that new club yet?” “No, not yet. Besides, I’m too old for that.” “Newsflash!” he said dramatically. “Twenty-eight is young. Go out. You need to do something to meet other guys.” “I don’t like clubbing anymore, Paul. It’s too smoky, too crowded and I hate waking up with a hangover. I don’t bounce back the next morning the way I used to. Besides, all my friends are married now, remember? And I’d be damned stupid to go out alone.” Paul sighed heavily, a signal she knew meant he wanted to drop the subject, change to a safer topic. Her brother was so much like Mom—a total pacifist. She’d been a strict parent but couldn’t stand an argument between family members. It amazed her that her sweet-natured twin brother had decided on a career in law. Lawyers had to argue their case, didn’t they? “So,” he said after a few seconds, “why don’t you tell me about your latest project? It was a gold necklace, right? How’s that going?” Cynthia grinned, immediately warming to her favorite subject—her work. “It’s going great. I’m almost finished with the soldering.” “Wow. I’m impressed. I thought you said it was a complicated piece?” “It is. But I have to clear my table and get busy on sketches for my entry in the American Jewelry Designer contest. I’ve decided to do a ring this year.” Paul whistled into the phone. “Now that’s ambitious. A ring would be gutsy and I know you thrive on that kind of stiff competition. Go for it, sis. You’ll do great, I know it.” “Thanks.” His confidence in her always felt good. “Unfortunately I have a lastminute client coming in about five minutes if he’s prompt. So, talk fast. Tell me what’s going on in the high-flying world of international corporate law?” Her twin wasted no time delving into the highs and lows of his whirlwind job. While she was concerned and interested in how his professional life fared, she couldn’t stay focused on Paul’s lawyer-speak for very long and he knew it. She just mumbled “uh-huh” and “yeah” where it seemed appropriate until he realized her mind had wandered off. Then he’d say something funny or ask a stupid question to catch her off guard.

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“Okay,” he said. “So, when the Pope comes to dinner next week, you’ll make your special lasagna, right?” “Sure!” Cynthia muffled her giggle. It was a standing family joke. Her one attempt as a teenager at impressing an important family guest by making lasagna had nearly burned their house down. The doorbell buzzed. “I gotta go. My client’s here now. I’ll see you next weekend, right?” “Barring any more customs crap, I’ll be there.” “Bye, Paul. Thanks for the pep talk. I needed that.” “Of course. What are brothers for?” He kissed into the phone. “Ciao!” Cynthia hung up, her mood dramatically improved about the inconvenience of a last-minute customer. By this time tomorrow, she’d be free to work on her sketches and be one hundred dollars better off.

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Chapter Three A high-pitched cat’s yowl pierced the silence. Cynthia jerked awake, surprised to find herself slumped over her worktable with the lights burning bright. She blinked past dry eyes, her brain foggy from the remnants of a dream that made no sense. Had she really heard Moses cry out? Or was it just her overworked imagination? Anxiously she scanned the security panel near the door. All the little lights were steady green. The digital clock showed the hour was nearly midnight. She tunneled her fingers through her hair and stretched on a jaw-cracking yawn. Her mouth tasted garlicky and the muscles across her shoulders burned with fatigue, testimony to the hours she’d spent sketching. After a quick trip to her favorite art supply store—and a spicy meatball pizza from Mama Maria’s Trattoria—she’d jumped right into producing ideas for her contest ring. The first attempts were taped across the wall in a straight line like new recruits ready for a general’s inspection. And they were awful. Groaning loudly, she rubbed her knuckles across her gritty eyes. The drawings weren’t strong enough applications of her normal high standard, certainly not enough to get a ribbon placing in this year’s contest. Last year she’d earned an Honorable Mention with her fantasy-inspired smoky-quartz and amethyst choker. This year she had to do better. With thousands of entries in each category, even a fourth place ribbon would help to secure her name in the industry as one of America’s up-and-coming premier jewelry designers. Inspiration, that’s what she needed. Perhaps if she had the perfect, unique gem to create a ring for…a stone of remarkable beauty, one like… Her gaze flew to the small jeweler’s box on her finished shelf. Inside the satin-lined case sat the most amazing diamond, the one her newest client, Mr. Andrews, had dropped off two days ago. She’d expected him to present her with the typical stone, something the average blue-collar guy could be expected to buy for his new fiancée. What she’d seen had shocked her into dumbfounded silence. Upon greeting the tall, well-groomed Matthew Andrews at her door, she’d been immediately struck by his gentle demeanor. His soft brown eyes peered eagerly from behind a pair of thickly lensed, black-framed glasses. His nut brown, wavy hair was touched with silver at his temples. When he shook her hand, his grip was firm but softskinned. Then he’d reverently handed her a carefully wrapped square of beige cloth. It turned out to be a cotton handkerchief. She’d had to suppress a smile since most people had jeweler’s envelopes or small, plastic viewing boxes for their loose diamonds.

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Out from the handkerchief rolled a blinding white, perfectly round cut diamond. At least five carats. The gem rolled back and forth on her desk, blazing with fire like a miniature sun. For an embarrassing number of seconds she’d been unable to do more than stare at it, totally in awe as if she were an amateur. Could it really be…a Hot Siberian? That’s what the industry used to call the flawless Russian white diamonds unearthed from a small mine deep in the perpetually frozen land of Siberia. The gems were so rare they were considered freaks of nature. You just didn’t see stones of this incredible beauty, icy fire and above all—perfection–-that often. Once in your lifetime, if you were lucky. With her heart pounding, she’d picked up her jeweler’s loupe to give the gem a cursory inspection. Her client paced back and forth between her desk and the hallway, as anxious as a man in a maternity ward awaiting the birth of his first child. She’d felt her mouth go slack. Flawless. D-color, exceptional cut. Not a single, tiny inclusion anywhere inside this beauty. Oh man, today is my lucky day! Giddy delight had gathered inside her and made her want to dance on her work table in celebration. She took a steadying breath and put the diamond down. “Well, Mr. Andrews, I’m honored you chose me to certify this gem for you. It’s one of the best, if not the best, I’ve ever seen.” He’d stopped pacing, his eyes growing huge behind his glasses. “Good, good. I think there are numbers, too. Can you see them?” When she’d examined the stone’s girdle, she’d easily read a series of numbers there. Not unusual at all since many diamonds were engraved for easy identification. But these made her frown with curiosity. “Yes, I can see them. But they’re irregular. Not like any I’ve seen for GIA or EGL certification. It’s almost as if someone took meticulous care to engrave them by hand and not with a laser. These numbers look like they were made with a diamond-tipped stylus. Which means the cutter must have been endowed with extraordinary skills. It’s just not done like that these days.” “And?” he encouraged, stepping so close that she’d caught a whiff of his sandalwood-based cologne. It smelled warm and expensive. “What are they? Read them to me.” Again she’d gazed through the magnifying loupe. “They’re really hard to decipher, Mr. Andrews. The best I can do is guess.” “Please,” he urged, “tell me what the numbers are now? Exactly, the way you see them.” Cynthia had started to argue but he stood poised with a pen and small spiral notebook, a look of total hope shining from his eyes behind the thick lenses of his

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glasses. Reluctantly she’d read off the numbers and he’d taken great care to copy them down, repeating each one. His eager demeanor evaporated. He clicked off his pen and pocketed the spiral notepad. “Thank you, Miss Lyons. I shall go now.” “Oh. Okay. You can return tomorrow morning at eight. I’ll have the certificate for your insurance then, as promised.” “Yes, of course. Tomorrow morning. Goodbye.” Staring at the clock now, she wondered if he’d forgotten about his diamond. Very strange. It was midnight and Mr. Andrews was officially eight hours shy of three days late. Determined to start fresh in the morning, Cynthia slid off her chair and stretched through the exhaustion that claimed her entire body. Picking up the little box and paper certificate from the shelf, she flicked off the studio lights, closed the door and walked down the darkened hall to the bathroom. Her safe was hidden in the wall behind the medicine cabinet over the sink, tucked well out of sight. When she’d first moved into this apartment two years ago, she’d had to chisel through brick to make the ten-inch-square, hardened steel box fit inside. She was confident it was the best solution. According to the magazine, Jeweler’s Insider, that was one of the least likely spots for common thieves to search out. She put the boxed diamond and certificate inside the safe, reset the lock and replaced the mirror. Then she washed her face in the sink and brushed her teeth. “Mo?” she called out down the hall as she closed the bathroom door. “C’mon, baby boy. Time for bed.” There was no answering meow. Moses usually came running when she called him, unless the hedonistic animal was already snuggled on her pillow. More than likely she’d find him there. Entering her bedroom, she closed the door and armed the motion detector for her apartment from the wall panel. The little light flickered red for a split-second before it steadied on green. She blinked, uncertain of trusting her tired eyes. Had she really seen that red flash? It was most certainly green now. Shaking her head, she decided she’d imagined it. Light from the city spilled past her window, casting her bedroom in a soft purple glow. She liked the muted night color and tugged the curtain only partially closed. When she turned to undress for bed she noticed her cat’s absence from his usual spot on the pillow. That wasn’t normal. “Moses, where are you?” A low, throaty growl sounded from under the bed. Cynthia dropped onto her hands and knees and lifted the dust ruffle up. Hidden in the far corner by the wall were two glowing, green cat’s eyes. His white fur was fluffed out in alarm, making him look twice as big as he really was.

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“Mo? Baby, what’s wrong? Come on out of there.” She flattened herself on the floral rug and reached an arm in as far as she could with the hope of grabbing him by the collar. He hissed and scooted backward. The sudden, sharp crack of breaking glass made her scramble out from beneath the bed and jerk upright in surprise. Confused, heart pounding in her ears, she listened for more noise. Glass crunched under someone’s foot. From the living room? Questions of how an intruder had gotten past the steel bars outside her windows and not set off the alarms flooded her mind for one paralyzing second. She glanced up at the security panel on the wall. All of the lights still flashed green. How was that possible? What happened to the alarms? Standing she dashed over to the panel and slammed her palm down on the red panic button. Nothing. The police should have been notified immediately! They should be calling her, asking if this were a real emergency. She used both thumbs to press down on the button again and again. It remained silent. Oh, no, no, no! This can’t be happening. She whirled away from the door and reached for the phone on her nightstand. It wasn’t there. All day she carried the cordless phone from room to room. Exhaustion had made her careless tonight. She’d left it on the table in her studio. The sound of the intruder’s muffled steps told her he’d already found that room. She listened to him move around in the small second bedroom she used as a studio, while her heart beat against her rib cage like a battering ram. The intruder wouldn’t find anything significant left out on the work table. Religiously, she kept everything in her safe. Unless he was a jeweler, he wouldn’t know what to do with her valuable tools. The floor in the hall creaked. The intruder moved closer, coming toward her bedroom. Cynthia’s heart squeezed up into her throat, making it hard to swallow. Her mind raced. What to do? She tiptoed to the closet, opened it and crouched down in the dark corner. Using her fingertips she teased the door almost shut. The near total darkness was unnerving. There was no sound for an unbearable number of seconds. She tried to slow her rapid breathing, clear her head and think straight. Why had she been targeted for a break-in? She maintained a low profile in her community and in her business life. No flashy signs announced her location or profession in this building. She only listed her phone number in a small yellow pages ad. Potential clients had to call to arrange a visit. She kept a detailed logbook, did everything she was supposed to do to stay safe. Careful footsteps drew closer. She heard the bathroom door open. She cringed, praying the intruder wouldn’t suspect where her safe was hidden. Aside from Mr.

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Andrews’ uninsured diamond it also contained her personal collection of precious gems and scrap gold. Insuring all of them was something she couldn’t afford. A thin light flickered under the seam of her bedroom door. The intruder’s steps stopped. Cynthia’s heart tripled its erratic beat. She bit her lip welcoming the sharp selfinduced pain. She had to stay alert and ready. The concept of rape or murder spurred her into action. She took a mental inventory of her bedroom, searching for a weapon. The golf club. It was a birthday gift for Dad and it was propped in the corner. The red and white sale tag still dangled from the leather-wrapped handgrip. Salvation lay in the Big Bertha’s cold forged steel shaft. Inside the closet she heard the bedroom door latch click and open. A thin beam of light flashed briefly over the closet. She heard his breathing. He wheezed as if he had asthma, shallow and fast. Was he nervous? Maybe she could talk to him, use his fear? A self-defense class in college had taught her to try, if given an opportunity. Then again, Criminal Psych 101 had taught her that more than likely this excited him and he couldn’t wait to do her harm. Suddenly hiding in the closet didn’t seem like a good idea. He could trap her in there without any room to fight. She had to get out now. Before he could reach this side of her bedroom, Cynthia burst out from her hiding place and dived into the corner where the golf club rested against the wall. She landed hard on her knees and curled her fingers tightly around the cold, hard metal. Breathing hard, she stood up, ready to swing. The man walked in slowly, his steps measured and careful. He trained the light on her face and eyes but wasn’t able to blind her. The penlight he used wasn’t strong enough for that. She saw him clearly when the light flicked away. She had to notice everything about him, even the tiniest details. Information was power and you never knew what you could use in your defense. Dressed from head to toe in flat black, his body outline was medium height, thin and wiry. Cold, dark eyes glittered from between the slits of the black ski mask that covered his face. He chuckled as if her assessment amused him. “Look at you, trying to act so brave.” Adrenaline zapped through her veins with an icy rush. She forced the rising bile that spiked up her throat back down. There would be time enough for throwing up later. The man flexed his gloved fingers almost as if he anticipated a fight to the death with her. Cynthia’s stomach clenched. She jerked her weapon up higher, drawing upon her determination not to go down without a fight. He stood at the foot of her bed, scanning the walls and floors with his penlight. “Where’s the safe?” Her mind raced. Don’t answer him.

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“I know you have a safe. Tell me where.” “Get out!” She tightened her grip on the golf club, fingernails biting into her palms “Get the hell out!” He moved forward again, turning the corner around her bed, pinning her in so that no hope for escape remained. She didn’t trust her legs enough to jump up on the bed and run. He’d lunge. He’d catch her… “Don’t be stupid, bitch. Just give me the Russian diamond and I’ll leave.” How could he know about that? Her mind dizzied with speculation. She sucked in a deep breath and caught the cloying, musky scent of his perspiration. In combination with the bitter taste in her mouth, she fought the urge to gag. “I have an alarm,” she announced firmly. “The police have already been notified of your break-in.” His laughter sounded so evil, it raked her spine with lethal intent. “You have an alarm,” he mimicked with ghoulish delight. “Piece of cake. Now where’s the fuckin’ safe?” Cynthia’s gaze automatically sought out the monitoring panel on the wall by the door. That’s why no alarms had gone off, why the panic button didn’t work. He’d bypassed it! Horror rushed into her brain with dizzying speed. She was on her own. “Have it your way, then.” He flicked off his tiny penlight. “Guess I’ll just have to work it out of you.” A shiny metal object slid out from his sleeve, catching the city lights from her window. He flipped a switchblade open and waved it in the air, letting her have a good look. Cynthia’s heart stopped and then thundered back to life like a galloping wildebeest inside her chest. Even in the dim light of her bedroom, the polished steel gleamed. Sharp, so sharp. Like a surgical blade. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening to her. This sort of thing happened to other people, anonymous faces on TV and in the newspaper. Cold reality sank in. He was going to kill her. “I don’t have anything! I swear!” “Lying bitch.” His teeth glowed white against the black ski mask. He sliced through the air with that deadly knife and laughed. This was it, the moment of truth. She sucked in another deep breath, keeping her eyes on the hand with the knife. If he got close enough, she’d swing the golf club at him with all her might and hopefully break his arm. A white streak shot out from under the bed. Moses! The cat attacked the man’s ankles like a shadow of flying fur, moving too fast for her to tell which side of him was head or tail. Caught off guard, the intruder jumped backward, desperately trying to fight off the growling cat with his free hand and the knife. The grisly image of her pet being gored by that switchblade spurred her into action. “No!” she screamed. “Don’t you dare hurt him!”

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Cynthia swung her golf club on top of his spine. A loud grunt exploded from him. Moses continued to grab and bite into the man’s calves, digging in with his long, sharp incisors and curved claws. The man howled in pain and swore every combination of nasty words she’d ever heard, at the same time slicing his knife down in a deadly sweep. He was going to kill Moses! She lifted her club and crashed the heavy end on his head, catching him across the temple. It sounded like she’d hit a rock. Moses flew up in the air with an ear-splitting screech, landed on her bed in a tumble of white fur and flailing legs and then scrambled down the hall. The intruder stood motionless for a moment. Had she stunned him? She didn’t dare take her eyes off him to spare another split-second for Moses. In slow motion, the man dropped his knife, fell to one knee and grabbed his head with both hands. Cynthia watched, body trembling, breathing hard and fast. If he so much as moved a muscle… Groaning pitifully, he tried to stand again. She lifted her weapon for another swing. He stumbled back, away from her, still clutching his head. At the door he turned and ran, awkwardly bumping against the wall. Glossy dark streaks of blood remained after his rapid retreat. Her breath rasped in and out of her lungs. Glass crunched loudly beneath hurried footfalls. Did he climb through the window, going out the same way he came in? Unable to move, she stood frozen for several long minutes, just listening. She shook so hard that she thought she’d crack every bone in her body from the tremors. Slowly, sensibility returned. His discarded knife lay on the floor near the bed. The switchblade was evidence and she knew better than to touch it. She kept her grip on the golf club. Still she didn’t trust the man was entirely gone. She tiptoed to the bedroom door, holding her weapon like a sword and peered down the hall. Empty. Could he be unconscious or lying in wait somewhere else in her apartment? Cautiously she searched, flipping on lights as she went. He was gone. She hurried to find the cordless phone and dialed 911.

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Chapter Four The insistent trill of his cell phone woke Trevor from a dreamless sleep. Jet lag always hit him hard the first day whenever he flew across the Atlantic pond. He reached under his pillow, felt his gun, moved his hand to the nightstand and found the annoying phone. “St. James,” he answered groggily. “Wakey, wakey,” a jolly male voice said in a thick Scottish brogue. “Got something for ye. Are ye up?” “Am now.” Trevor recognized the sound of his support agent’s overly cheerful greeting. “Talk.” “Be down at the Sixth Police Precinct on Sheridan Street at nine o’clock. A woman whose apartment was burglarized last night will be there talking to detectives.” “How is this important to my case?” “She’s a jewelry designer. Mr. Andrews paid her a visit as a client.” Trevor sat up, fully alert now and reached for a notepad and pen. “Good job, O’Rourke. Sixth Precinct on Sheridan, nine a.m. Got it. What’s her name?” “Miss Cynthia Lyons. For a jewelry designer, she doesn’t have any reputation to speak of, not as far as recognition with Interpol goes. Strictly small-time. They’re sending a squad car to pick her up from an undisclosed hotel.” “A hotel? Why?” “She decked the burglar with a golf club. He left a blood trail and didn’t get anything he came for. Her apartment has been cordoned off for investigation. I’ve already checked all the hospitals within fifty miles. No males with cracked skulls have visited an emergency room since last night.” “Wounded him? Well, good for her.” Trevor grinned at this resourceful woman’s choice of weapon. “Have the New York cops found a reason to impound any evidence from her apartment?” “Not legally. She was the victim, St. James.” Trevor winced, still fearing he’d hit a dead end. “And the diamonds?” O’Rourke sighed irritably. “Miss Lyons won’t confirm nor deny that her client gave her a diamond.” “A diamond? Just one, you say? Not a dozen?” “Finding that out be yer job, St. James. The only criminal charges are on an unidentified perp for breaking and entering and assault with a deadly weapon. Nothing

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was taken, so she has the right to keep her goods confidential without police interference.” A familiar itch crawled up Trevor’s spine, like it did whenever he knew he was right. She had the stone and was protecting her client and his property. Noble of her, certainly. But not a good thing to do in this case! “What’s the last word on Andrews’ whereabouts?” “No sign of him. Miss Lyons gave the police a physical description, phone number and an address for him. The address was a dupe but the phone is his cellular. He’s not answering. She’s the last witness.” “Sounds like she’s cooperative. I’m assuming you’ve already been in contact with Interpol Command?” O’Rourke snorted into the phone. “Of course, or I wouldna’ be calling ye! Command has an agreement with the mayor of New York City and he understands the gravity of the situation. The captain of police at that precinct is Darren Hill and he’s expected to hand over control of this case to ye without reserve. That’s all I’ve got so far, St. James.” “Thank you, O’Rourke. I’ll call as soon as I’ve spoken with Miss Lyons.” Trevor flipped his phone closed and sank back into the pillow for a moment. His hotel room was still dark, the heavy drapery drawn tight against the encroaching daylight and noise of New York City. Now that he was awake, a restless stream of energy hummed through his blood. His mind churned with ideas on how to accomplish his main objective, to convince a jewelry designer that she should give him a client’s diamond—without revealing the stone’s importance. Trevor glanced over at the digital clock on the nightstand. Two hours before he had to be down at police headquarters. More than enough time for some exercise to use up his excess energy and help him think.

***** Two powerful jets pumped hot water against the tight knot in Cynthia’s spine. She had the hotel’s enclosed rooftop pool and spa area to herself. Apparently seven in the morning was too early for other guests to sample this luxury. Sighing with pleasure, she leaned her head against the aquamarine tiles and closed her eyes. But it didn’t work. The events that led to her being at a hotel flashed behind her eyelids with frightening clarity. Helpless to resist, she recounted the last harrowing hours in her mind’s eye for the thousandth time. The police had taken their time responding to her emergency call. Would they have been more prompt if she’d been injured? Once they arrived and understood the gravity of her situation, she answered questions as best she could. Then they roped off her front door with yellow and black tape and insisted she couldn’t stay there during the investigation.

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Being barred from her home and the work she needed to do was bad enough. Not being able to find Moses anywhere was unbearable! Her brave cat had vanished from her apartment after the attack. To make matters worse, the police made it pretty clear that her lost pet was not their concern. Staying at a public shelter didn’t appeal to her at all. She chose this hotel because it was closer to home and to the possibility of finding Moses. Of course, it also provided more privacy. Nobody, not even the police, knew what she’d taken from her safe hidden in the bathroom wall. And it was none of their business. The leather backpack with the diamond inside it rested on the ground beside the hot tub, well within her reach if need be. There was no way she’d be able to leave it in the hotel room unattended. After getting settled in her room, Cynthia called Mr. Andrews again. As with her two previous calls, his phone switched to voicemail immediately. She waited impatiently for the beep and left him another message. He’d be very concerned about his diamond and the certificate, wouldn’t he? Meeting him in public would allow her to explain about the foiled burglary incident and let him know she’d kept his precious gem safe. Her reputation in the business depended on him believing that. One whisper of unprofessional conduct would snuff out her career faster than a candle flame in a hurricane. With nothing to do and no chance of getting any sleep, waiting around in her hotel room proved agonizing. The temptation of the hotel’s all-glass enclosed rooftop pool and spa captured her interest. Cynthia called the front desk and bought a swimsuit from the lobby store which was already open. She gave the smiling Latino maid a nice tip for bringing it to her room. When she left her apartment a few hours ago, all she’d taken was her purse, a single change of clothing stuffed into her small backpack and her jeweler’s case from her bathroom safe. The pale green swimsuit stretched uncomfortably tight across her breasts and dipped much lower in front than she liked. It also rode up her hips, crept in between her butt cheeks and squeezed the sensitive lips of her pussy together when she walked. She squirmed in the bubbling water now, pulling and tugging at the taut fabric, trying desperately to relax. Every nerve inside her body was still keyed up for action. She needed release that didn’t involve either alcohol or drugs. There was only one way she knew how to soothe herself. Unfortunately she hadn’t thought to pack her favorite toy—a pink jelly Rabbit vibrator. Thinking about how snugly the thick shaft filled her pussy and how nicely those bunny ears felt while they worked magic on her clit had her juices flowing. The simple ecstasy of self-pleasure always did the trick to relax her body and mind. Why not now? She had all the privacy she needed.

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The door to the pool area squeaked open and then slammed shut. Her eyes flew wide open. So much for privacy and fantasies. She twisted sideways in the water for a better view of the entrance. A tall dark-haired man walked in. His mouth and angular jaw were set in tight lines. Dark brows arched over piercing blue eyes, ruthless and hard-looking. His hair needed a trim. It tumbled over his forehead and curled at the base of his neck. The look was roguish, rebellious. A white hotel bathrobe draped his broad shoulders and hung open down the center of his body, giving her an eyeful of a sculpted chest and stomach. She glimpsed a navy blue swimsuit covering his groin. After a quick glance in her direction and a single nod to acknowledge her presence, he headed for the pool. Raw desire stabbed into Cynthia like the tines of a fork into a sizzling, rare steak. She closed her eyes in an effort to diffuse the urgency inside her. After just a few seconds she was unable to resist and peeked at him from behind her lashes. When he dropped his robe on a lounge chair her eyes widened in disbelief. Ho-lee, mo-lee! The man was built like every red-blooded heterosexual girl’s wet dream. Was he a professional athlete staying at the hotel while in town for a competition? She bit the inside of her cheek when he stretched his arms overhead. Muscles surged across his shoulders and back, tapering down to a lean waist and tight butt. Long powerful legs propelled him off the edge and into the water. So that’s what working out eight hours a day does to your body. Such masculine beauty didn’t exist for ordinary women who dated ordinary men. Her ex-boyfriend had been cute in his own way. But he didn’t look anything like the dreamy man swimming in the pool only ten steps away. This guy was fiction incarnate. Cynthia stifled a moan. She had a new reason to squirm in the hot tub now. Her pussy lips swelled and ached with renewed need. She’d never felt a man like that one in her arms or in bed. Nick had had a slim build, not very well defined. He liked to skip the enticing preliminaries of lovemaking unless she reminded him she needed it— wanted a little playful licking and touching first. And being the same height as he was Cynthia often suspected she weighed almost as much as he did too. That was embarrassing. But a man who looked like the one in the pool, tall and hard, he’d be stronger and weigh a lot more. Oh yes, he’d fulfill a fantasy or two. She crossed her arms over her breasts and rubbed her semi-hard nipples with her thumbs, then pinched them until they firmed into pebbles. The pulsing desire between her legs grew more urgent. Just to make sure she still had total privacy in the hot tub Cynthia peeked out toward the pool. The hard-bodied demigod sliced through water with the ease of a shark, totally oblivious to her self-pleasure. Smiling and feeling safe from prying eyes, she sank down until hot water lapped at her earlobes. She braced one foot on the wall and spread her thighs wide. If she angled her hips just right, a stream of hot water jetted across her pussy.

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She closed her eyes and delved into her own pleasure. One hand thrummed and pulled on her nipples, alternating between both tight nubs to keep them hard and peaked. Her other hand slid down between her thighs. She pushed the swimsuit fabric aside and stroked the exposed, silky inner lips of her pussy. The man in the pool would be great in bed, wouldn’t he? Oh God, I bet he’d have the stamina to fuck me all night long. With the jet pounding delicious heat against her eager flesh it didn’t take much stimulation using her fingertip on the plump bud of her clit. She tried to prolong her pleasure but it came too fast. Waves of ecstasy washed through her body, starting inside her belly and spreading like slow, liquid fire right down to her toes. She arched in the water with her climax, barely remembering to bite her lip to keep from moaning too loudly. “Mmm,” a man’s voice murmured appreciatively. “That was beautiful, darling.” Cynthia’s eyes snapped open. She gasped, scrambling upright in the water. The man she’d been lasciviously fantasizing about wasn’t swimming anymore…oh no. He stood at the edge of the hot tub and looked directly down at her. A thoroughly devilish smile turned up the corners of his lips. Suddenly, she was too hot. Her cheeks burned and sweat beaded her forehead. She cleared her throat, loudly, keeping her eyes averted while she tried to figure out what to say, what to do. “Would you mind if I joined you?” His accent was British, very clear and crisp, the tone of his voice deep. Smooth. Sexy. A bedroom voice. And, oh God! He waited for her permission to come into the hot tub. That would be entirely too close. She risked a quick glance. Water dripped off his chest, arms and legs. She didn’t dare look directly at the bulging package tucked inside his wet swimsuit. From her peripheral vision it was obvious enough that he was aroused. When she glanced quickly at his face, humor and interest flared in his dark blue eyes. He cocked an eyebrow at her swift but thorough perusal. “I should get out now.” She stood up and moved through the water toward the steps. “What a shame. I was hoping to share.” Cynthia stepped out of the water and picked up her towel, quickly wrapping it around her body. When she tucked it tight in front, she noticed her skin was as pink as a strawberry. “I’m sorry. I thought I was…I thought you were—” “I’m not sorry at all.” The interest in his eyes hardened for a brief second, into something dark and dangerous. “I rather enjoy seeing a woman pleasure herself to orgasm. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, it’s intriguing.” “Wh-what?” she coughed. “Excuse me. I have to go.”

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She picked up her backpack with its precious hidden cargo and spun around on her bare heel. Clutching her towel with as much dignity as possible she moved quickly to the door. As handsome as he was, thank God, she’d never see him again.

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Chapter Five Arriving at the Sixth Police Precinct building before nine a.m. the first thing Trevor had to do was temporarily relinquish possession of both his firearms. Even though he worked for Interpol, was an officer with international jurisdiction, he wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t American. The black female police officer who maintained order in the lobby greeted him with cold disdain after she asked for and read his ID. She stored his weapons behind a locked gate, pocketed the key and motioned with a crook of her finger for him to follow. He stepped aside to allow her through the door first and dogged her heels through the maze to Captain Darren Hill’s office. The police building was a veritable zoo inside. Desks crammed every corner of available floor space. Phones never stopped ringing. Neither did the shouting from one person to the next. Bright fluorescent lighting overhead cast an unhealthy green tint onto everyone’s skin, no matter what their natural color. Criminals stumbled past wearing handcuffs and occasionally shackles too. They were either locked to a desk like errant dogs for processing or spent their time lounging behind the bars of a holding cell at the far end. The noise and activity amused Trevor more than it disgusted him. Police stations were pretty similar all over the world. The effective word to describe them was “crowded”. He was very grateful he’d chosen to be a field operative instead of a normal grunt working inside an office like this one. Leading him through the labyrinth and up the stairs, Sergeant Mary Moser waddled ahead in her tight uniform. Her generous hips sashayed from side to side with her walk. A swishing noise rasped from the fabric that rubbed between her generous thighs. He wondered if strict police standards for proper weight and a strong physique didn’t apply to those assigned to desk work. This woman certainly wouldn’t be able to run after a swiftly fleeing crook. But if she caught them, he had no doubt she’d keep them in place until help arrived. Sgt. Moser sidestepped a box on the floor overflowing with paper files and stopped at an office, rapping her chubby knuckles on the half-opened door. “Captain? This is Agent St. James, from Interpol. You’re expecting him.” Without waiting for further instructions, Sgt. Moser turned and left. Captain Darren Hill swiveled his leather chair around to face the door. “Ah, finally. Yes, come in.” Very short, silver hair frosted Hill’s temples, leaving the top of his head bald and gleaming in the light. A pair of bushy eyebrows weighed heavily over sharp hazelbrown eyes. He removed half-rimmed reading glasses and tucked them inside his breast pocket. Beneath his sagging chin heavy jowls protested the tight knot of a 30

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patriotic American flag tie. Gray sweat stains at both armpits marred the crisp white fabric of his shirt. He stood up, shorter than Trevor expected and extended a hand in greeting. The bulk of his belly brushed over the loose papers on his desk. “Welcome to our home away from home,” he said. Trevor shook his hand, not surprised at the firm grip. “Nice to meet you, Captain Hill.” Hill turned back to his leather chair and settled his body into it with a groan. “Damn cold weather makes my arthritis act up. Have a chair. Coffee?” He gestured to the corner where a pot of dark liquid rested on a hot plate. “Yes, thanks.” Trevor helped himself to a cup and selected one of the straightbacked swivel chairs in front of the captain’s desk for his seat. Hill shuffled the loose papers together, piled them up and tucked them into a manila folder. He stabbed a blunt finger on the folder and then slid it across his desk. “These are for you to deal with.” He leaned back into his chair and folded his hands over his ample stomach. “Thank you.” Trevor eyed the folder. It was awfully thin. Not much paperwork to go by and probably less than he already knew about the case. Hill grunted. “Since this incident with Miss Lyons early this morning, the mayor’s office informed me that it’s now an international investigation under your command.” “Yes, it is. I appreciate your help and cooperation, Captain.” The older man scratched his flabby chin. “How long have you been on this case, Agent?” Trevor stared into the dark depths of his coffee cup, trying to decide how much information to impart without seeming rude and secretive. Doing that only served to make a fellow cop dig deeper. Generalities were pretty safe, if transparent. He sipped his coffee as a stall tactic surprised to find this was one cup that didn’t taste half as bad as television shows always made it out to be. “I’ve been working this case for six months,” he said, “following the trail across most of Europe and now here in America.” The older man listened quietly, pushing out his fat lower lip. “You cover a lot of territory. Strange that something as small as a local burglary attempt could attract Interpol’s attention. This isn’t just about a foiled attempt at burglary, is it?” “No,” Trevor sighed. “I’m afraid it’s much more complicated than that.” The captain’s eyes narrowed. “That must be why I get the feeling there’s more going on than Miss Lyons is letting us know. She has something you want, doesn’t she? Something of value. A large diamond, perhaps? But there’s more to it. I can feel it.” Tiny hairs on the back of Trevor’s neck prickled with warning. How much had Miss Lyons let them know? He’d figured she would be defensive and not say much. As a

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whole, jewelers and gemologists tended to be a tight-lipped bunch. Introverted and paranoid. Very secretive. Had he been wrong? “No offense but I’m not at liberty to discuss the finer details with you, Captain. Or anyone else. For Interpol Command to contact your mayor in the first place and give me total control of the case after you’ve started an investigation along the same lines takes a lot of cooperation between our organizations. If your mayor didn’t agree with that I wouldn’t be here.” Hill grunted again and then leaned his chair back to stare up at the ceiling tiles over his desk. He blew a long, whistling breath through his nose. Trevor cleared his throat. He’d had enough conversation with him to understand the man was curious—which was natural and expected. But too curious hinted at something else entirely, especially regarding the nature of this job. “Is Miss Lyons still available for questioning?” Hill smiled but his hazel gaze was sharp enough to pierce a hole through steel plate. He straightened his posture and reached for a button on his desk phone. It buzzed like an angry bee trapped beneath his plump fingertip. “Yeah, Captain?” said a man’s voice through the intercom. “Tell Ed and Jack their time’s up. Our special agent has arrived. He’ll take over.” “Sure thing, Captain. Is he comin’ down here? Or do I bring the lady upstairs?” “Bring Miss Lyons up. She can leave with him.” He folded his meaty hands together and leaned his elbows on his desk. Tense lines drew the captain’s mouth down, making him look like he’d bitten into something rotten and didn’t know how or where to spit it out. “I don’t like having my hands tied behind my back, Agent St. James. I answer to the mayor but this is still my jurisdiction. Miss Lyons is a lifelong law-abiding citizen of this proud city. Here, possession is nine-tenths of the law and as far as we can see she hasn’t done anything wrong.” Trevor nodded agreeably, finished his coffee and tossed the empty foam cup into the wastebasket without looking at it. An uneasy silence followed. “Do we understand each other, Agent St. James?” “Trust me, Captain Hill, you’re not the first to question my absolute authority on a case. In my line of work certain rules must bend. If they can’t bend, they’ll be broken. I won’t take anything from anyone that isn’t freely given. After I question Miss Lyons I’ll be on my way and she can continue to be a good citizen in your proud city.” The captain murmured a guttural sound that could be interpreted as agreement. Or not. Trevor decided to project a calm, unruffled appearance. The Americans were a protective lot especially in New York City. It would be best if he allowed Hill to freely express his misdirected frustration about losing control of this case without getting equally ruffled. He hoped his lack of verbal confrontation helped the man see that he was just doing his job.

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Hill continued to grumble like a dog worrying a meaty bone. “As long as you understand I won’t make things easy if this all goes apeshit on you.” Trevor lifted an eyebrow. Apeshit? “Make your investigation here quick and painless, Agent,” Hill continued, “because if you piss in my pond I will make life hell for you.” Trevor smiled affably. A knock sounded on the door behind him. He turned to see an older uniformed male officer slouched in the doorway, blocking Trevor’s view of the woman who stood quietly behind him. “Captain? Miss Lyons is ready to go,” the officer said. The man stepped aside, moving with a noticeable limp. The woman behind him moved up and smiled warmly at him. “Thanks, Officer Riley. It was nice talking with you. When you want that fortieth wedding anniversary ring let me know and I’ll create something really special for you.” The officer’s smile creased his entire face with deep but happy lines. “Thank you miss. I sure will. You take care of yourself.” She stepped into the office. Well, well. Here was the lovely young woman who’d masturbated in the whirlpool. His cock twitched eagerly inside his pants. She’d left him standing there with a raging hard-on that he feared would rip through his swim trunks. It wasn’t her actions that turned him rock-hard as much as the complete and open pleasure that played on her face. After witnessing her erotic sensual display he’d returned to his room and jacked off in the shower. That had only served to leave him feeling rather cheated and hollow, especially since all he could think about was sinking his cock into her tight, curvy little body. He stood up for the introduction and prayed she’d be quick about covering her shock when she recognized him. He struggled to maintain a poker face. “Miss Cynthia Lyons.” Hill maneuvered out of his chair and came forward at the same time. “This is Agent Trevor St. James from Interpol. He’ll be taking over the investigation of your break-in last night.” She turned her attention to him and blinked. Her silvery eyes widened, pupils dilated with instant recognition. Her cheeks paled one second and then flushed with pretty color the next. “Miss Lyons,” Trevor said, carefully extending his hand. She didn’t put her hand in his. She turned to the captain. “May I go now?” “Yes.” Hill nodded. “Agent St. James has a few questions for you and then he’ll take you back to your apartment. Do you have a problem with that?” A ragged breath gusted past her full, pink lips. “No, no problem, Captain. Thank you for helping me. But I’m not going anywhere with this man. Goodbye, sir.” For the second time that morning she spun on her heel away from him. She marched boldly through the maze of desks and people, a small leather backpack and a purse bobbing against her shoulder with her hurried stride. The boxy chocolate-colored

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sweater and Burberry plaid calf-length skirt she wore looked bright against the drab office furniture. The skirt hugged her cute little ass. Trevor couldn’t help the grin that tugged on his lips. “Captain Hill, thanks again for your time. If I need anything, I’ll call.” “You just remember what I said and we’ll be fine. I don’t want any trouble in my city.” “I don’t intend to cause any. Bye now.” Trevor picked up his manila folder and followed her rapid retreat to the elevator. Judging by the way her shoulders rose and fell, she was quite agitated. She punched the elevator button viciously with her thumb. He stepped up behind her. Soft golden highlights played in her light brown hair. She had tied it back in a neat French braid, the tail end falling to the middle of her back. “I do need to speak with you,” he said behind her ear. “It’s a matter of international concern.” She turned to face him, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, making them plump up inside her sweater. Remembering the delicious view she’d given him this morning when she plucked those tips with her fingers made his body jump to attention again. His balls tightened uncomfortably inside his jeans. “Fine,” she huffed. “But I’m sure I can’t give you any more information than you’ll find in that folder. The detectives were quite thorough about questioning me. So? Speak. You have until this elevator gets down to the lobby.” As if on cue, the elevator doors slid open behind her. She spun around and stepped inside, stabbing the lobby button without waiting for him. He joined her inside before the doors closed on his nose. Her fragrance came to him then, wafting up in the confines of the elevator. She smelled like strawberries. Ripe, sweet and juicy. His mouth watered at the mere thought of tasting her. “Miss Lyons, can we start again on fresh footing? I’ll forget this morning, if you will. I do need to question you.” She lifted her chin, took a deep breath and stared straight ahead at the wall. The twin hot spots of color on her cheeks refused to fade. “Look, Mr.—whatever your name is, I’m behind on my work because of this.” “Agent Trevor St. James, at your service. I just have a few questions, really.” “Agent?” Her eyebrows shot up and wrinkled her brow. “Sorry but I don’t have a lot of time. I just want to go home, find my cat and get back to work.” He lowered his voice. It was easier to fight fire with water. “Miss Lyons, I know you must be very busy. I understand you were embarrassed by the incident I witnessed this morning. Please accept my apologies for that. I should have turned away.” “Yeah, well. Too late for that.” Her cheeks blossomed with deeper color. “I should have known better than to…” She pressed her lips together and looked away.

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He barely managed to keep his hands to himself. He wanted to feel how warm her soft cheeks really were. “I can get a court order that would force you to answer my questions. It wouldn’t take me but a few quick phone calls. I’d rather not do that when this can be solved quickly if you’d just agree to speak with me.” Her eyes widened for a second, most likely at the words “court order”. People tended to shy away from such injunctions. She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled carefully before she finally gave in. “Okay. What do you want to know?” Are you married? Are you dating anyone? Can I take you to bed and make love to you all night long? “Have you eaten breakfast yet?” Her lips quirked, just a little. The prickly armor she wore began to soften. “Are you buying?” He grinned. “Of course.” “Good. Because all I’ve had today is a stale donut.” Trevor shook his head, barely able to keep himself from laughing out loud. “You Americans really know how to dine.” “That’s all they offered me when I got here. At least the coffee was good.” He grinned. “Yes, it was.” The elevator stopped and the doors slid open to reveal the bustling police precinct lobby. He followed her out, guiding her toward Sgt. Mary Moser’s desk with a light hand on her elbow. “I’ll collect my things from the clerk and we’ll be on our way. My car’s out front. I’ll leave the restaurant choice to you.”

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Chapter Six “Mmm, an omelet sounds divine. I’ll take one with ham, mushrooms, green peppers, onions and Swiss cheese. Whole wheat toast. And one of your hazelnut cream coffees. Thanks.” Cynthia closed her menu and handed it back to the waiter standing beside their table. Sitting across from her, the handsome British man she now knew as Trevor St. James lifted an eyebrow after hearing her order. “Interesting,” he murmured, his lips twitching. “I’ll try the Belgian waffle with strawberries, extra whipped cream and sausages. Coffee, black. Thank you.” The waiter departed. Trevor took a sip of ice water, his blue gaze scanning the beautifully furnished restaurant called Norma’s, inside the Le Parker Meridien Hotel. For a Tuesday it had the usual crowded atmosphere, relaxed and ritzy-casual. Just noisy enough so that you couldn’t tell one conversation from the next. “Norma’s is known as New York’s best choice for breakfast,” she told him, openly admiring the way his mouth moved when he swallowed. He was dressed to kill in all black. He’d handed his leather bomber-style jacket to the coat check girl when they came in. A cable-knit zip-neck sweater covered his broad shoulders and molded his chest. It just had to be cashmere and looked very soft and touchable. A pair of formfitting black jeans encased long muscular legs down to heavy rubber-soled boots. Thankfully he’d locked his dangerous-looking gun inside the glove compartment of the rental car. “This place is a good choice, Miss Lyons. It reminds me of Selfridges in London. They have a wonderful Sunday brunch I enjoyed with my parents as a child. I always ordered the strawberry crepes. I have a passion for strawberries.” “With extra whipped cream?” She slanted him a nervous smile. His gaze turned intense, focused on her lips. “Of course.” “You can call me Cyn. I’m not a formal person.” “Sin?” Trevor swirled his water goblet making the ice cubes clink playfully. “As in sinful?” Heat rushed into her cheeks and the tips of her ears grew so hot they positively sizzled. “No. C-y-n, as in short for Cynthia. It’s my nickname. Only my parents call me Cynthia anymore. They moved to Hawaii last year to retire in the surf and sun.” The waiter returned with their coffees. Hers looked like dessert. A frothy concoction dressed with more whipped cream and chopped candied hazelnuts on top. She scooped the sweet crunchy bits into her mouth. “Mmm, wonderful. I really missed this. I haven’t been here in at least two years.” 36

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“Why not? It’s a nice restaurant.” She laughed and then quickly covered her mouth with her napkin. He was still a stranger and she was acting like she’d known him forever. An undercurrent of much stronger emotions appeared to be caged inside him, the exact opposite of the cool, incontrol surface he presented. There was danger and mystery lurking inside this man. He watched her for a long moment, unnerving her with his intensity. The only thing her traitorous mind could think about was what would it feel like to run the tip of her tongue over his chiseled lips? Dig her fingers into his glossy dark hair. “Sorry. I really shouldn’t feel so comfortable with you. I’m giving away too much information. After you pay the bill for our breakfast you’ll know why I don’t come here often.” “I’m glad you feel comfortable with me, Cyn. I’m no danger to you. But I do have some questions. So, if you don’t mind, let’s get started. Tell me about your acquaintance with Matthew Andrews?” She blinked at the rude reminder of danger. Her happy mood sulked into a dark corner of her mind. “Why is everyone so interested in my client? He’s just a man who wanted an item of value certified for insurance purposes. That’s all there is to it.” “How did he contact you?” “By phone. He picked me from the little ad I put in the yellow pages. I guess his choice was random but he wanted to make certain I was GIA certified first. Which I am, of course. I’ve never met him before.” “And this item of value. Was it a diamond?” She looked away, glancing over people at other tables. How long could she hold off answering this question? If she acted nonchalant, would he get the hint and lose interest? Doubtful. The sharp focus in this man’s eyes said he wouldn’t be fooled and he was persistent. “I didn’t give the police any specifics, Agent. You won’t get any either.” He leaned forward and smiled, slowly. Confident and seductive. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” “Suit yourself.” She sipped her coffee and returned his smile over the rim of her cup. “Tell me about the diamond. Detailed, if you would please.” Cynthia put her coffee down, wiped her mouth and leaned back in her chair. “Uhuh. You need to tell me something first.” “Certainly. What do you want to know?” “Who do you work for? I mean, who do you really work for? This is all very weird stuff.” “What’s so weird about it?”

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“Well, to begin with, a madman with a switchblade broke into my apartment. I can’t identify him by sight, only by voice, which really doesn’t help the police any. His face was covered. I have no idea how he got past my security system. Even worse, I don’t know how he knew that I’m a jeweler, or that I have a safe. He doesn’t resemble any of my other clients. Besides, I don’t flaunt my business or location.” “He threatened you with a switchblade? How charming. Start from the beginning, please.” She swallowed the thick knot that reformed inside her throat. “It started around midnight last night. I’d been working late and fell asleep at my desk. Something woke me, a noise maybe but I’m not sure. All of my alarm buttons were green so I put it off thinking I was just tired. When I was in my bedroom I heard breaking glass from my living room window. I hid in the bedroom hoping and praying whoever it was would just take what he wanted and leave. But he didn’t. He came into my bedroom and cornered me. God! I was never so freaked out in my life.” “Understandable. Please, go on.” “It happened so fast. The only weapon I had was a golf club.” “A formidable weapon,” he nodded. “Yeah. I bought it for my dad’s birthday next month. But I don’t think I can give it to him now.” “Why not? Certainly he’d be proud to swing it after you tell him it saved your life.” She grimaced. “It’s got blood on it.” “Ah,” he said. “In that case, I suggest buying another one for him and keeping this one. So, what happened next?” “My cat had been hiding under my bed. He probably sensed this guy lurking around. I don’t know. Cats have this paranormal sense when things are about to go wrong but I didn’t catch on until it was too late. Anyway, my cat attacked the guy’s legs and then I hit the bastard crook over his head with the golf club.” Trevor’s lip twitched, as if he found this particularly amusing. “Very quick and appropriate action on your part,” he said. “And you did cause him injury?” Cynthia nodded once. “He escaped the same way he came in, through the broken window. I think he may have a cracked skull because he was bleeding a lot. And he deserves it.” “Most definitely.” A muscle ticced in his jaw. “Are you sure you didn’t tell someone you were working on a special diamond?” “What? No! I don’t do that. Let me tell you this, Trevor St. James, secret agent man, or whoever you really are—my clients appreciate and expect my confidentiality. I won’t give that up so easily. My integrity and my career depend on their belief in me as a professional jeweler.” She’d allowed her voice to rise. He glanced around with a calm, steady eye. “Of course I understand that.”

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“Good,” she groused. “You were very brave, Cyn. I’m relieved and happy you came to no harm.” He sipped his coffee. She waited for him to continue, expected him to. “I work for Interpol, the largest international police organization in the world. You could say I’m a cop of sorts.” “A cop of sorts. What kind of ‘sorts’?” He reached for his wallet and flipped it open. Then he slid the photo ID from Interpol across the tablecloth. Without touching it, she memorized every detail she could garner from that little bit of information. He had shorter hair in the photo but the eyes and mouth were the same. Hard and penetrating. She picked the card up to hand back to him. “What exactly do you do for Interpol?” Trevor tucked the card back into his wallet. He sipped again, his mouth moving while he savored the coffee before swallowing. “I worked in the Fine Art Recovery division seven years ago when I was first recruited by Interpol upon graduation from university. Three years ago I transferred to the Precious Gems and Commodities division. I track down and recoup lost and stolen gems, jewelry, icons.” “Ooo-kay.” She wasn’t entirely appeased by his careful synopsis of his job but reassured enough to let go of one layer of panic and at least a half layer of doubt. He had yet to explain what, specifically, he wanted from her. “So, why are you so interested in Mr. Andrews? Or is it…oh my God. He stole it!” “No. Mr. Andrews bought a dozen diamonds legitimately at a diamond market in Amsterdam.” Her eyes widened. “A dozen? He only gave me…” She let the slip of words die on her tongue. “He gave you a single diamond, correct?” Cynthia thought she saw the barest flicker of triumph in his eyes. “Feel free to speculate all you want, Agent.” “Very well.” Trevor nodded. “What I want to know is how Mr. Andrews knew exactly who to contact in Amsterdam for the diamonds he sought. I don’t suppose he told you that?” “I don’t know. Why not ask him?” The waiter came by and refilled Trevor’s coffee cup. Cynthia stared at him. Conjecture swirled in the icy blue depths of his eyes, as if someone had stirred the water and created a vortex in them. She could get lost in that gaze. The force of it made her want to squirm in her chair. Was he thinking again about the hot tub scene this morning? He said he’d forget about that. Somehow, she didn’t think he could—because she couldn’t either. Her pulse

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quickened at the thought of what it would be like to make love to this man, to kiss that handsome mouth and let his tongue flicker across the aching tips of her breasts. She coughed to cover her sudden discomfort, hiding her mouth and most of her flaming cheeks behind a cloth napkin. Trevor didn’t seem to notice. “I would be more than happy to speak with Mr. Andrews. However, he’s missing. If I knew where he was, I would ask him. You’re the last person to have seen him, Cyn, hence, the interest in you now. We suspect the man who broke into your apartment knew what Mr. Andrews had given you.” All the blood in her body pooled down into her feet. “How could a burglar know that? Even if Mr. Andrews was into something illegal he wouldn’t want his own property stolen before it was insured. That just doesn’t make any sense. And just because he’s missing doesn’t mean anything. What if he had a family emergency? I know he’ll be coming back to claim his property.” Trevor smiled, a gentle curve of his lips. “A nice assumption but Mr. Andrews doesn’t have any family in the United States. He’s not even an American citizen, despite living here for more than forty years.” “Neither of which are crimes in this country.” She focused on stirring the melted whipped cream froth into her coffee. “But it does explain his accent. Where’s he from? My guess was Eastern Europe. Germany or maybe Poland.” “Russia.” “Oh.” She prided herself on not reacting too visibly to his news. So her client and his diamond were from the same country. Why did this all leave a bad taste in her mouth? Their food arrived on a little cart pushed by the waiter. He set each dish down and lifted the domed silver covers with a flourish, allowing fragrant steam to curl into the air. Cynthia hardly noticed. Her previous hunger had all but disappeared now that she suspected her client of being involved in something dangerous, whether he wanted to be or not. Whatever it was, it involved her now, too. The waiter left. Trevor reached for a small carafe of maple syrup and drizzled a golden streak over his waffle with careful precision. “Tell me about the diamond Mr. Andrews gave you.” “No.” “Why not? We’ve already established that’s what it is, right?” “No, you assumed that’s what it is. I won’t tell you because my client hasn’t done anything wrong.” Cynthia cut into her omelet and watched melted Swiss cheese ooze out onto the plate. “Until I know differently I must protect his confidentiality and his property. To do anything less is unethical. Don’t think it’s because I don’t want to cooperate with you, Agent. I was very cooperative with the cops. But there’s a limit to what I can tell you. I’m not about to sabotage my career without a damned good reason.”

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“I certainly don’t expect you to.” Trevor quirked an eyebrow and picked up his knife and fork. “Did you notice anything unusual about the diamond?” He lifted a healthy bite of sausage to his mouth. She shook her head. “You have a one-track mind, Agent.” “Not true.” He speared a strawberry loaded with whipped cream and ate it. “Did you see a mark of any sort? Numbers, perhaps?” Cynthia chewed a mouthful of omelet, not really tasting her food. The quirky series of numbers she’d seen had excited Mr. Andrews too. What could they possibly mean? No matter. Ultimately her client had more right to that information than anyone else. “Do you mean was it GIA laser-engraved?” “That’s not what I meant. I asked if you saw a mark or numbers.” “I can’t say.” She cast him a challenging grin. His eyes narrowed to slits of blue. “Can’t? Or, won’t?” She shrugged. “Both.” After a bite of his waffle, Trevor’s posture suddenly changed from relaxed to rigid and alert. He stared over her shoulder, focused on something or someone in the crowd behind her. When she started to turn around to see what caught his attention, he grabbed her hand. “No, Cyn. Don’t turn around.” He spoke softly, just above whispering. “Are you finished with your meal?” “No. Why?” “We need to leave, darling.” “I’m not your darling.” She pushed her plate aside. “I’m not hungry anymore. I’ll take it home and heat it up for dinner.” “We’ll go out for dinner.” He opened his wallet and laid a crisp fifty-dollar bill on the edge of the table. He put his almost empty coffee cup on top of the money. “Let’s go. Straight to the car, no stops inside the lobby or for the ladies’ room.” “What’s the rush?” Trevor stood and took her elbow in a strong grip, urging her out of her chair. “Cynthia, I need you to trust me now. Just come along, quickly.” She started to argue, having sucked in a long breath for it but the urgency she felt in him through his touch and the dangerous look in his hard eyes made her pause. He took her hand, squeezing slightly. She grabbed her backpack and purse and walked with him. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going?” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. Her skin tingled where his breath touched her. To the casual observer it would look like a lover’s whisper. “Where we go depends on our tail. I’ll decide once we’re in the car.”

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“Tail? What kind of tail? Speaking of tails, I really need to go home now. My cat is still missing.” “I’m sorry about your cat. Your life is more valuable to me.” “What? Wait a freaking minute here!” She jerked her hand out of his. “My life? Am I still in danger?” Trevor stepped back and put his arm around her shoulders, forcefully guiding her forward again. “Not here, Cyn. I’ll explain in the car. Now move.” They exited the restaurant and hurried through the luxurious hotel lobby, across the polished marble floor, stopping only as long as it took to reclaim his jacket from a cheerful coat check girl. He wrapped the heavy leather around Cynthia’s shoulders and urged her out the doors to the valet parking station. Trevor gave the hotel valet attendant his claim ticket and then ushered Cynthia over to stand against the wall. He kept his arm around her shoulders and tucked her into the firm warm length of his body. Geez, the man feels good! He even smells good. Clean and woodsy. Outside it snowed. Light flakes floated down and quickly melted on contact with the well-trodden concrete sidewalk. Trevor’s rental car, a silver Ford Taurus, was pulled into the hotel driveway and stopped beside a taxi where another valet unloaded passengers and luggage. “Let’s go.” Trevor propelled her toward the car, glancing once over his shoulder at the hotel lobby. He yanked open the passenger side door. “Get in.” Puzzled, Cynthia moved woodenly, deciding to wait until he started driving to ask the questions humming in her brain. He shut the door as soon as she was inside and practically vaulted over the hood to get to the driver’s side. He slid behind the wheel, shifted the car into drive and sped off.

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Chapter Seven Cynthia had never been inside a car with a driver who actually squealed the tires in his haste to make a getaway. She scrambled into her seat belt and then grabbed the armrest for support. “You should buckle up, Trevor. It’s against the law here to drive without it.” He ignored her comments and pulled into traffic on West 57th Street without stopping, narrowly missing a furniture delivery truck and immediately merged into the far lane. He cut off a cab. The driver honked several times. Even though she couldn’t hear the words, the obscenities she saw coming out of the cabbie’s mouth incinerated the air. “Okay, I get the point.” Her voice wavered nervously. “We’re in a hurry. Can you just take a moment now to tell me what’s going on? You’re scaring me.” He kept looking in the rearview and side mirrors. “Someone is following us. I spotted one of them waiting outside the police precinct when we left. That same man came into the restaurant a few moments ago and he brought his hulking friend with him this time. My guess is they’re somehow related to the man who paid you an uninvited visit last night.” She sat, stunned. Her stomach flip-flopped. Then she spun around in her seat to look out the rear window. She didn’t notice anything unusual about the traffic behind them. “What? Where are they?” Sliding from lane to lane, taking risks even cabbies didn’t take, Trevor remained calm. “Dark gray sedan, two men,” he said. “One of them is Asian. Short on stature but he moves like a tiger on the hunt. The other is taller. Big blond, looks like he might have been one of your American football players. Know them?” “No. Do you?” He sent her a stern look. “They seem to know you.” She shrank down in her seat. Panic curled inside her stomach threatening the few meager bites of omelet she’d eaten. “Oh my God. Why? I don’t know anything.” He glanced at her again, his eyes narrowed with doubt. “Are you sure? There’s not some small thing you want to confess? I can help you, Cyn. But only if I know everything.” The wide back end of a slow-moving trash truck lumbered ahead of them. Trevor sped past it, dodging in front as soon as the car’s bumper cleared. That driver honked at them too. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second and then popped them open wide again when velocity pushed her back in her seat. Trevor sped up through an

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intersection just as the light turned red. Cynthia held her breath, fully expecting another car to hit them broadside. “Shit.” Her breath whistled out from between her clenched teeth. “Slow down! You’re gonna get us killed.” “Not bloody likely,” he murmured, expertly maneuvering around a stretch limousine. Without warning he swerved the car into a parking garage, barely waiting long enough for the automated ticket to spit out and raise the gate. “Why are we parking?” “We’re not. We’re losing our tail. And we need to finish our talk.” He drove around the garage until he found a secluded parking space on the fourth level. He turned off the engine and slid his seat back. It gave him enough legroom to swivel sideways to face her. Cynthia unbuckled her seat belt. If she needed to get out of the car quickly, for whatever reason… “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.” Her breath came quick and shallow. Her hands trembled. How foolish had she been to trust him to this point? What the hell did she know about Trevor St. James? Nothing. It didn’t matter now that Captain Hill had introduced them, practically insisted she speak to him. Trevor was a big, strong man and would easily be able to overpower her in such close confines. And she didn’t have the benefit of a golf club this time. He reached over to her shoulder and lifted the collar of his jacket up. “May I?” She leaned forward and let him take his coat, immediately missing the warmth and security it offered. He reached inside the pocket and produced a small key, then leaned over to unlock the glove compartment. She jerked when his hand brushed against her knee. “Please, just relax. I’m going to put my harness and gun back on, where they belong. If push comes to shove, I’d rather not be caught unprepared.” She watched warily when he shrugged into the leather harness, settling the big gun against his left side. He tugged his jacket back on, hiding his weapon from view. “Better?” Cynthia forced a smile, dimly aware that her whole body trembled. She took a deep breath, cringing when it warbled in her throat. Even her damned chin quivered. He raised his hand and stroked his knuckles across her cheek with the most feathersoft of touches. “You’re a very beautiful and brave woman, Cynthia Lyons. I won’t let them near you. I promise.” Her eyes blurred and prickled with tears. She swiped the annoying wetness away, knocking his hand away too. “Stop it! I don’t need coddling, Agent. I can and do take care of myself.” Trevor pulled back. “I don’t doubt that for a moment.”

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“Good. Tell me why they want me.” “It’s very complicated.” His voice dropped, husky and soothing inside the confines of the car. The warm British baritone made goose bumps dance across the skin of her arms. “Complicated?” She blinked through blurry vision. “Well, my life is complicated, too. Nothing makes sense to me anymore. I need to know why these guys want me.” “They want what you have, not specifically you, if that’s any consolation.” She laughed sarcastically. “No, it’s not. I’m trying to understand, Trevor. But you’re not giving me a single reason to break my code of ethics and ruin my career.” Trevor leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a moment. Despite her rising fear and confusion, the corded muscles in his neck and the sharp angle of his jaw fascinated her. When he opened his eyes, she jolted at the raw desperation in them. “I need your trust,” he said. “You must describe the diamond to me. Don’t leave out the tiniest detail.” “I need air.” Cynthia opened the car door and got out. She walked the few feet past the car’s bumper to the concrete wall and stared at the pale cracks that zigzagged through it like bolts of frozen lightning. The driver’s side door opened. She heard his steps come up behind her. “Are you all right?” he asked in a gentle, concerned voice. “Yeah. No. Not really.” She thought of her initial joy at first seeing the Russian white diamond. What a beautiful stone Mr. Andrews owned! But remembering her struggle with the man who broke into her apartment and threatened her with a knife interfered with that. The image of her brave cat flashed into her mind. Surely, he lay dead or horribly injured in an alley somewhere, with blood staining his beautiful white fur. “Oh God. Moses.” She clapped her hand over her mouth and fought back tears. Trevor turned her around and drew her against his chest. “No crying, Cyn, please. Talk to me. Tell me who Moses is?” “He’s my cat. My best friend.” “Ah. The cat who attacked your intruder?” She sniffled, afraid to rub her nose on his soft sweater. “Sorry. I’m usually pretty resilient in a crisis. The only thing that really makes me cry like a baby is to think something horrible has happened to Moses.” The heat from Trevor’s body felt so good. It enveloped her. His intoxicating male scent, a mixture of spice and woods, flooded her brain so that she couldn’t think clearly. She felt drawn to him—unable to resist snuggling closer. “I’m sure you’ll find him.” His deep voice rumbled in her ear. She swallowed the watery lump in her throat. “But I’m so worried about him. I can’t stop shaking and I can’t think straight.”

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“Your nerves are pumped with adrenaline. That’s what causes the shakes. And you haven’t had any sleep. It’s a normal reaction from someone who isn’t trained to handle dangerous situations on a regular basis. Quite understandable. Don’t be embarrassed, Cyn.” He rubbed his hands up and down her spine in firm, calming strokes, pressing her closer into the solid warmth of his body. A stuttering sigh of relief gusted from between her lips. “I’m scared, Trevor. That man last night, he wanted to kill me. I’m sure of it.” “Shh.” He brushed a wet spot from the corner of her eye with his thumb. “You fought him off. He’s not going to get another chance. I’ll protect you.” She couldn’t stop the moan from slipping out. His tender touch on her face and the heat from his body warmed her insides. Creamy heat settled into her belly and dampened the barely there crotch of her panties. She tipped her face up. His chin was just above her mouth. If he turned his face down, their lips would touch. “God, I shouldn’t be doing this. I want to believe you, Trevor. But I know this is too good to be true.” “You can trust me.” Cynthia stared at him for several seconds, trying to believe him, wanting it desperately. Sometimes the thin, blurry line between fantasy and reality was damned slippery to walk on. “I wish we’d met under different circumstances. Maybe then, I could.” “Cyn, let me be clear about one thing. My job and my duty are to protect you. But I’m also a man. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a beautiful woman in my arms. And you are quite a distraction.” She blinked. “I’m a distraction? Is that why you’re holding me?” His eyes narrowed. “I want you. I have since this morning when I first saw you.” Speechless, her gaze settled on his mouth, just inches away. His lips looked hard and soft at the same time. Masculine, yet so tender. She touched her tongue to her upper lip, yearning to taste him. “No, no. Don’t lose focus.” Trevor gave her a gentle shake. “Tell me what you know about the diamond? Did you see any marks or numbers on it?” She sobered. Was he just taking advantage of her vulnerability, her obvious interest in him physically, to get information? “I can’t tell you that.” His lips firmed. “All right. What can you tell me?” “Nothing.” She tried to squirm out of his arms but he held her tight. “You’re being unreasonably stubborn.” “My client’s interests come first until something changes that. And so far you haven’t given me a reason why I should tell you anything. So let’s start with this. Why don’t you tell me why this diamond is so important? If Mr. Andrews didn’t steal it, like you said, then why is Interpol looking for it?” 46

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“I can’t discuss that with you.” She laughed. “So, I guess that makes us even. I can’t tell you. You can’t tell me. Where does that leave us?” Trevor tipped her face up with one hand, holding her chin between his fingers and stared down into her eyes for a long moment. “We’ve reached an impasse, darling. Only one thing left to do.” “Wha—?” He captured her mouth, effectively stifling her words with a kiss. Cynthia stiffened, unprepared for the first full onslaught of his lips on hers. He teased her with tiny nips and licks until she softened and moaned against him. Her only reaction was to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him down harder. He offered comfort and safety. Passion to make her forget everything and so much more. His tongue slid past her lips and she welcomed his plundering of her mouth. He tasted like coffee and sweet cream, excitement and reassurance. Dark and light at the same time. Instantly, she wanted all of him, everything he was. She sucked his tongue deep inside and stroked him with hers. Trevor’s hands roamed over her body, following the curve of her hips, sneaking beneath the hem of her sweater and under the silky line of her bra straps. He touched her stomach, gently fingering the ticklish skin along her ribs until he found the swell of her breasts straining against her bra. When his thumbs whisked across her hard eager nipples she gasped at the sweet sensations that burst into her blood like champagne bubbles. “Oh God. Trevor,” she panted. “This is so crazy. Stupid, crazy. But I don’t want you to stop what you’re doing.” He sought her mouth again, capturing her lower lip between his teeth with a playful bite before letting go. “I’d love to do a lot more, darling. But not here. Not in a public parking garage. We’re too accessible.” She rubbed against him, pressing her breasts more firmly into his hands. She kissed his neck and the strong line of his jaw. He thrust his hips forward, letting her feel how hard he’d grown. She moaned at the thought of his cock buried deep inside her pussy. Judging by the impressive bulge in his pants now he wouldn’t disappoint her. Then his last words sank into her sex-fogged brain. With a heavy sigh, she pulled back and closed her eyes. “God, what am I doing? We’re not safe here, are we?”

***** Her kiss was a slice of pure heaven! Sweet and sultry, like the first mouthful of warm honey cake. Hungry licks of fire burned through Trevor’s blood. His cock throbbed with urgency. Cynthia’s body, her soft skin, everything about her was so responsive to his slightest touch. She wanted him to touch her, to take her. He couldn’t wait to suck the pert tips of her nipples deep into his mouth and find the silky wet slit

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between her legs. He wanted to explore her body with his tongue, his fingers and finally fill her with his straining cock. But making love in a public parking garage wasn’t the brightest idea in the world. Her safety was his first priority. He needed to bring her to his hotel room, which was registered under his pseudonym and paid for with cash to secure his anonymity. Then he could let his guard down and savor all the wonderful things she offered. There he could explore every silky inch of her sexy body with his hands and mouth at a more leisurely pace. And maybe pry a bit more information out of her too. As much as he admired her fortitude, he had to find a way to break through. “No,” he said, taking a deep breath. “We’re not safe out in the open. Let’s go.” She peeked up at him, looking both shy and seductive. “Where?” “My hotel room. You’ll be safe there.” Cynthia bit her lower lip for a moment, her indecision clearly apparent. Slowly, she nodded. Her eyes were still glossy from her previous tears, making the silvery-gray depths shimmer with sweet promise. But she sobered up quickly. “Can we stop by my place first? I really want to check if Moses came home. He’s not an outdoor cat. I’m worried about him.” After the way she’d practically melted in his arms the sudden reminder that her cat was still in jeopardy hit him like a splash of cold water. Obviously she cared deeply for this animal. “Of course. You’ll do as I say, though, understood? I’m not taking any chances with your safety.” “Okay.” She managed a shaky smile. He kissed her one last time, gently, just skimming over the plumped satin of her lips before leading her by the hand back to the car. When she was seated he buckled her in himself. “Wouldn’t want to break the law,” he said in mock seriousness, recalling her earlier admonishment when he didn’t buckle himself in. Her giggle touched his soul. It was so lighthearted and pure—something he’d had rare occasion to experience in the last few years. She really was an innocent person. He strongly suspected that she was one of those rare citizens who lived, worked and played by society’s rules. She stood by her integrity and defended what she believed was right. He knew beyond doubt that she had no idea what the diamond in question was really worth, the enormous wealth it represented. Still, if she knew what those cryptic numbers on the diamond represented, would she go after the treasure herself? Reluctantly he admitted he had no way of finding out and that she was much better off never knowing.

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Chapter Eight She sat tense and quiet in the seat beside him when he drove out of the parking garage and rejoined midday traffic. There was no sign of the plain gray sedan that had followed them from the hotel restaurant but that didn’t mean anything. He’d have to change rental cars as soon as possible to throw them off too. Cynthia guided him through the city to her apartment on Brookwell Street. He kept his attention focused on the cars behind and beside them. The neighborhood she directed him into was tree-lined, older but well-kept and clean. The buildings were brownstones with neat little rows of steps and wrought iron window bars. A group of young girls played jump rope on the sidewalk. He breathed a sigh of relief. So far, no surprises. She pointed across the street. “There’s an empty parking space right in front. My place is on the third floor.” “No. Better to park on the next side street and walk in. How well do you know your neighbors?” Cynthia glanced at him with a noncommittal shrug. “Oh, a little. Mostly I keep to myself. My neighbor directly across from me is an elderly widow. Mrs. Perkins. She’s nosey but in a sweet sort of way. She doesn’t ever leave her apartment except to take her weekly trip to the hair salon. The place next door to me is vacant. The couple on the other side, they’re nice. They moved in about a month ago as newlyweds. They’re both musicians. Violinists with the city symphony, I think. They’re not home much. I don’t know the people on the first two floors except to say ‘hi’ when I see them in the hall. It’s a quiet building, which is why I like it. I need to be undisturbed when I’m working.” Trevor parked the car. She unsnapped her seat belt and began to reach for the door when he stopped her with his hand on her arm. Even though he hadn’t spotted anything out of place so far, he refused to let his guard down. If her apartment was under surveillance, their appearance should trigger a reaction. “Not yet. I want to scan the other cars driving by. Especially those already parked here. You never know who might be waiting for you to come home.” She sat back stiffly. “But it’s daylight. They wouldn’t try anything now, would they?” “You don’t know that. I prefer safety over sorrow and regret.” “Better safe than sorry,” she repeated. He grinned. “Yeah, same thing.” “How do you do this all the time? Keep your guard up and be so wary about everyone?”

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“It goes with the territory. Being an agent, or cop as you call it here, is something you’re either born with or not. I was born cautious and suspicious like my father.” “So your father is in law enforcement?” “No. My father’s a farmer who also dabbles in politics.” She sat quietly, apparently mulling over his answer. That was the most personal information about his true identity he’d ever given out to anyone who wasn’t in his immediate circle. She made him feel entirely too comfortable. He’d have to restrain the urge to let down his guard around her. “It looks quiet, let’s go.” On the sidewalk he tucked her inside the crook of his arm again, shielding her as much as possible from the light snow that still fell. By the time they reached the front door to her building, she had a frosty crown on the top of her head. She shook off the snow. Rosy color brightened her cheeks and the tip of her nose making her eyes look large and luminous. She had such classic beauty. Keep your mind on your job, St. James! “I have my keys in here somewhere.” A slight frown marred her smooth brow while she rummaged in the deep pockets of her purse. She opened the outer door and once inside the tiled entry, she headed for a wall of tiny mailboxes. She shoved another little key into her mailbox and pulled several letters and catalogs out of the square metal container. Cynthia took a moment to go through them. “Bill, bill, bill, junk, more junk. Oh and a postcard from Mom and Dad.” She flipped the card over and quickly read the short message. “Hmm. I’m glad they’re having a great time.” She hugged her mail to her chest. “Ready to go up?” “Sure.” He started to guide her over to the single elevator. “Wrong way.” Cynthia balked. “I take the stairs. It’s only three flights and one way I get exercise.” “Very well.” He took her hand and led her up the stairs. The stairwell was narrow, the steps carpeted with thin, brown-speckled fabric that quieted their tread. On the first-floor landing Trevor understood the layout of this building more clearly and how the apartments were arranged. A short, well-lit hallway split off into four separate living quarters. There were no windows that would allow natural daylight in, or give an intruder easy access. He continued up to the second floor with her, still holding her hand and leading the way. “How did the guy last night get into your apartment?” “Through the window. I don’t know how he got past the bars outside. Or how he climbed up the wall to the third floor. The police should have figured that out.” Trevor frowned. More than likely the burglar came down from the roof. Less chance of detection and easier to escape. He leaned over the railing and looked up through the center of the stairwell. “Do you have roof access from these stairs?” “Yes. I go up there sometimes in the summer to lie in the sun.” 50

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That made his pulse jump. He imagined Cynthia’s luscious curves spread out under the hot sun, wearing nothing but tiny scraps and strings to cover the most intimate parts of her body. Being an American, he doubted if she sunbathed nude but the thought of it made his mouth water and his blood run hot. She pulled him to her apartment door. Black-and-yellow-striped crime-scene tape with the words “Police Line—Do Not Cross” emblazoned on it still hung from the doorjamb. She ripped it down and bunched it up into a large, crinkly ball. He held out his palm. “Give me your key.” Cynthia didn’t hesitate. She held up the key in question and he took it from her. “Stand by the wall, away from the door.” She stepped back, eyes wide. He slipped his hand under his jacket and grabbed the butt of his gun. His heart had already shifted into high gear, prepared for any surprise. With a firm shove, he pushed the door open. Aside from being very cold inside her apartment, it was quiet. So far, so good. A large board nailed over her window blocked out all the daylight but not the frigid air. She reached over to the wall and flipped the switch. The lights flared on. “Damn,” she muttered behind him, rubbing her hands together. “It’s freezing in here.” The faint sheen of black powder used for fingerprinting coated the walls and most of her furniture. Broken glass still glittered on the carpet beneath her window. “Oh, this is just great,” she groaned, looking around with wide eyes. She placed her backpack and purse on the dining room table with care. “Do you think they could’ve cleaned up after themselves? What a freaking mess!” A quick tour of her small apartment told Trevor nobody lurked in the closets or under her bed. Satisfied, he took a more thorough look at the place. She stood by the kitchen entry and waited for him with her arms crossed. “Your apartment’s clear,” he confirmed. “I’m sorry you have to come home to this. Most times during an investigation, the focus is to collect evidence, not keep things tidy.” “Yeah, well, I pay my taxes. You’d think I could get that much from it.” She hugged herself and exhaled a ragged breath. “I’m gonna look for my cat. Make yourself comfy.” She moved off down the narrow hallway and called out, “Moses? Are you in here, baby?” Trevor took the opportunity to wander about while she went in search of her pet. He stepped inside a small bedroom that she’d transformed into a workroom dominated by a large desk. Pages of drawings fastened with tape adorned the wall, each one depicted a different ring with a large center stone inside. They were fanciful and unique designs, not the usual round band with prongs surrounding a gem that sold in countless jewelry stores in every shopping mall. No, these were creations for art, for museums. She’d colored some with markers to indicate the type of metal or stone. Behind her desk stood a small forge for melting gold or silver and an acetylene gas torch. Delicate hand tools hung from the walls or sat in an orderly fashion on shelves. 51

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After a few more minutes of calling for her cat, Cynthia returned, her shoulders drooped with sadness and what he could only guess was fatigue. Her arms were crossed again, her face pale. He wanted to gather her close and take the shock and pain away. “I have to call my landlord and let him know what happened, if he doesn’t know already. He’ll need to get that window fixed right away or I’ll freeze to death in here. And I should call Paul. At least leave a message for him since he’s out of the country traveling this week.” A ping of concern knocked on Trevor’s conscience at her mention of calling this man. Trying not to sound too jealous he managed to ask, “Who’s Paul?” Her surprised glance flew to his and softened for a moment. She smiled wearily. “He’s my brother. My fraternal twin. We’re very close, even though he lives in Chicago now. He’s an international finance lawyer and travels a lot out of the country. Lucky guy, he’s in Italy right now.” “I see.” Trevor caressed her soft, pale cheek with his knuckles. “Why don’t you collect some of your things? Clothes and any of your supplies you want to take. You’re not staying here.” She caught his hand from her face and held it, studying his palm, running her fingertip along his lifeline. “I, um, need to ask you something, Trevor, before we get involved any further than we are.” A deep, rosy blush stole up her neck and face as she spoke. “You want to know if I’m married or attached?” Her head snapped up, her eyes worried and wondering. “Yes. Are you?” “No. My last serious relationship was more than three years ago. And what about you, Cyn? Any jealous men I need to know about?” A lopsided grin lit her face up with a delightful mixture of mischief and eager sensuality. “Only Moses. But he’s neutered.” “Lord, help him,” he said, wincing for drama. “But good to know.” His errant cock twitched inside his pants at the thought of her pretty mouth going down on him. “No boyfriend?” “I broke up with my boyfriend last week as a matter of fact. Our relationship ended on mutual terms, although not amicably. Actually, it had been over for a long, long time.” “I’m sorry.” He brought her hand up for a light, chivalric kiss. “Get your things, darling. Make your calls. While you do that, I’m going to visit the roof and look around the building. I’ll lock the door behind me and be right back.” Her apartment door clicked shut and locked behind Trevor. Cynthia listened for his footsteps in the hall. She heard none. How could such a big man move so quietly? Had he really left to investigate the rooftop like he said? Or was he waiting to see what she was going to do next?

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Cynthia tiptoed to the door, twisted the lock open and peered up and down the hallway. No sign of him. She closed and locked it again. What had she gotten herself into? A part of her desperately wanted to trust this man. She was incredibly attracted to him, more so than she’d ever been to anyone else. He made her feverish with lust and his kisses sizzled through her body right down to the soles of her feet. Better be careful that lust doesn’t override your common sense. Reminding herself to be careful, she walked into her studio and checked the cordless phone. No messages. She carried the phone with her to the living room to survey the damage done to her window while she called her landlord. When his answering machine picked up, she stamped her foot in frustration. “Doesn’t anyone answer their phone anymore?” she grumbled softly before the recording ended. She left the landlord a detailed message to fix her living room window. Then she dialed her brother’s cell phone. His answering message didn’t help her mood either. “Oh, for the love of God,” she groaned aloud. When it beeped, she took a deep breath to sound calm. “Paul, it’s me. Now don’t panic. I, ah, had a little break-in at my apartment. I’m okay, so don’t worry. Please call me when you get this message. I’ll be staying at the downtown Hampton Hotel for a day or two. I don’t really know how long. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love ya’. Bye.” Cynthia clicked off and halfheartedly dropped the phone onto the sofa cushion. Her gaze settled on the backpack and purse she’d left on a dining room table. That damned diamond was in there. She had a sudden urge to examine the stone again. She picked up the backpack and walked to the bathroom for some guaranteed privacy. No telling how long Trevor would be gone.

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Chapter Nine After locking the bathroom door behind her, Cynthia rested her backpack on the edge of the sink and yanked the zipper open. She tossed yesterday’s clothing into the dirty clothes hamper standing in the corner and then lifted the black velvet jeweler’s case out. Her case was as long as her hand and two inches wide. Carefully she pried the lid open. Snuggled safely inside were individual, thickly padded spaces called “stalls”, designed to keep gems from touching each other. A diamond could scratch a ruby, the ruby could scratch topaz—like naughty children, they had to be separated for their own good. Filled with gems, the collection became a “stable”. It allowed her to see them all without the hassle of resorting to traditional paper packets. Beneath the bright light of her bathroom, the gems winked at her with dazzling beauty in all colors of the rainbow. Inside their myriad facets, she saw personalities and characters waiting for a chance to be expressed through individual pieces of jewelry. It didn’t take much for her imagination to jump into high gear and begin creating a necklace for the ruby, a bracelet for the citrines, dazzling earrings for the sapphires and emeralds. Cynthia could stare at these beauties all day long, fantasizing about designs for each one. The ring she planned to create for the design contest called for a stone of great beauty—and it didn’t reside in her collection. Her frustration from the night before resurfaced like a bad memory. Not having a clear idea yet for the ring design nagged at her. Sighing, she carefully pried the first layer up, stuck a finger inside and wiggled the Russian white from its inner hiding place. The gem popped out into her hand, cool and hot at the same time. Time ceased. For just a moment, the world didn’t exist. She held her breath and stared in awe at this single, blindingly beautiful gem. The diamond was such a bright white that it appeared almost blue. The facets flashed with a fire that burned from within. She plucked the diamond from her palm and held it between her thumb and forefinger. Elemental highly compressed carbon, that’s all this stone really was. And to think that somebody had tried to kill her for it. Why? This diamond wasn’t worth that much! Then again, one hundred thousand dollars wasn’t chicken feed either. She rolled it around in the curve of her palm for a moment, admiring the stone’s playful brilliance. Too bad Mr. Andrews hadn’t inquired about setting this rare gem

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into a piece of jewelry. Working with the Russian white would have been such a thrilling task. She could get goose bumps just thinking about it. Shaking herself out of her reverie Cynthia tucked the stone back into its hiding place inside her jeweler’s case and snapped the lid shut. She set the case on the edge of the sink by her empty pack and opened her medicine cabinet. If she was going to be gone for a day or more she’d need some things. She loaded her toothbrush, paste, hairbrush, deodorant and mascara into her pack. When she picked up the lipstick she stopped. Uncapping the tube, she stared at the deep plum-rose color inside. Vintage Wine. The saleswoman at the Estée Lauder beauty counter had showed her how to expertly apply the rich color to her lips. She closed the mirror and leaned in close to make sure she didn’t smear it. In the light of her bathroom, it made her mouth look dark and lush. As if she’d just kissed the red grapes used for making that wine. The only time she ever used lipstick was to dress up for a date. Is that what you’re doing now? No. Trevor St. James was a man of the law. He was hunting down bad guys on an international assignment. She shouldn’t be thinking of him as a date. He considered her an obstacle to his investigation. Oh but you want him. Hell yes! What red-blooded American woman wouldn’t want a piece of a man who talked and acted like a more rugged version of James Bond? With his heavenly body and that handsome, brooding, rebel-boy face? Definitely yes. And it had been pretty damned obvious he wanted her too. She reached for a tissue to blot her lips. When she leaned over, her sweater billowed out and knocked against her jeweler’s case. It slid off the edge of the sink and dropped onto the tile floor. Glittering, loose gems spilled and bounced into every corner of the bathroom, even behind the toilet. “Shit!” Lipstick forgotten, she went to her knees and began to gather the wayward beauties. How could I be so fuckin’ careless? Thinking about a man, that’s what I was doing! Stupid, stupid, stupid. “Cyn?” Trevor called from the hall, his voice loud but muffled behind the bathroom door. “Where are you?” “Oh no, not yet,” she groaned. She peeked under the top layer and saw that Mr. Andrews’ diamond had not escaped like the others. She scrambled faster to reclaim her jewels, not caring to put them in rainbow order this time. “I’m in the bathroom! Be out in a minute.” His steps sounded outside the door. “Are you all right?” 55

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“Yes. Just taking care of business.” She cringed at her choice of words. Let him think what he would, she was taking care of business. She placed the jeweler’s case in her backpack and tied it shut with a firm snap. Then she leaned over the sink and took several deep breaths. He would notice if she were upset and ask why. No way could she let him know anything, or that the diamond he so reverently sought was within reach. “Cynthia?” She jerked back to reality. “Yes, I’m coming.” She flushed the toilet and turned the water in the sink on for her cover-up. Taking one last deep, calming breath, she hooked her backpack over her shoulder, turned off the water, unlocked and opened the bathroom door. Trevor waited right outside in the hall. He leaned against the wall and tucked his thumbs inside his jeans pockets. The look he gave her was both curious and raw with barely concealed sexual hunger. He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Shall I help you pack?” Cynthia cleared her throat and forced a smile. God help her, that sexy British voice was too enticing. She needed to keep her distance from him for a while. He could not be allowed to know she had the jeweler’s case on her body. Not until she decided exactly what to do with that diamond. “How many days do you think it’ll be until I can return?” “I’m not certain. How long before your landlord can replace that window for you?” He pushed away from the wall and walked toward her. “A few days, at least. He’s not very quick about things. I left him a phone message.” She backed up a step then spun around to her bedroom. God, don’t let him touch me. I’ll melt if he does. I won’t be able to keep anything from him. Not even the diamond. Dried blood splattered and smeared in jagged, ugly streaks along the wall where the intruder had fallen against it. She backed away. Trevor came up behind her and rested his firm, warm hands on her shoulders. His body heat enveloped her in soothing waves from her spine down to her toes. He murmured in her ear. “Did you do that to him?” She nodded. “Good job. Come on, let’s get your things and leave.”

***** After arguing with her for ten minutes about stopping at the Humane Society, Trevor finally relented. Cynthia was determined to do everything possible to find her cat. It was obvious she was fiercely in love with the animal and worried about the feline’s welfare.

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He almost envied the creature. What would it be like to have this woman’s total devotion? To have her care for him as much, or more, than she cared for her pet? Trevor leaned against the counter and watched her fill out the necessary paperwork for a missing pet report. The young man behind the counter answering the phones looked bored. He had greasy brown hair tied back in a messy ponytail and an abundance of pet hair adorned his stained Humane Society sweatshirt. A young couple waited in the lobby with a mewling, tiny black kitten. An older man sat on a bench near the door, playing with a large furry dog whose tail never stopped wagging. Trevor knew these people were “getting to know” these animals, trying to decide if they should adopt them. The barking and howling from the kennel door behind the counter never ceased. Tinny pop music from a local radio station played through the overhead speakers. The sharp odor of disinfectant failed to disguise the smell of urine and feces that permeated the air. As horrible as these conditions were, he knew places where people lived in even more filth and squalor. Cynthia had taken quite a few things with her from the apartment. Not only most of her clothes but all of her art supplies and jeweler’s hand tools too. Apparently, she planned to do some work while she was away, since he couldn’t tell her how long that would be. The trunk of his rental car contained everything she held most dear. Perhaps she was just paranoid. He couldn’t blame her for that. Finished with her paperwork, Cynthia swung her purse onto the counter and opened it. She smiled at him while digging inside and then pulled out her wallet, removing a photo of her cat. She used a paper clip to attach the photo to the missing pet report. She handed it to the young man behind the counter. “Do you need anything else?” “Is he wearing a collar and tags?” “Yes. A white leather collar and his rabies tag. You’ll call me right away, if he shows up?” “Yeah,” the young man confirmed. “But just so you know, our policy is three nights. We can’t keep cats more than that, so if we call, you gotta come get him. We euthanize on the fourth day.” Cynthia paled visibly at that news. “Okay. Thanks.” Outside the sky had darkened to lead gray and snow fell in heavy, lazy flakes. It accumulated on the ground and made piles of dirty slush on the street as traffic moved through it. Walking became tricky. People scooted over slick spots and slowed their steps to keep from slipping. Cynthia stopped on the sidewalk outside the Humane Society building and buttoned her forest green Loden-style coat up to her chin. “That was fun.” She managed a wry grimace, yanking her backpack and purse up higher. “I wish we didn’t need places like this animal shelter. It’s horrible.”

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“I agree. But at least the animals are cared for in some fashion, for a while. It could be a lot worse. I’m very sorry about your missing cat.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks. I’m sorry to bother you with him. You’ve been very patient and accommodating.” “I’m not complaining. You have a way of making me forget who I really am, Cyn.” He caught her cold hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, drawing her close to his side. “Despite the precarious circumstances of our being together, I’m enjoying your company.” A spark of hope lit up her eyes before she turned her gaze away. “Who are you, Trevor? I mean the real you?” “Who am I,” he sighed. “I’m afraid that’s a convoluted tale.” “I need to know. I feel vulnerable and totally out of my element with you, with this whole mess I’m in. I’m feeling nervous about everything and it’s all happening too fast. Maybe we should go someplace and talk. I need to understand what’s going on. And I want to know more about the diamond you’re looking for.” All the passion from their kiss earlier seemed like yesterday’s dream. They were strangers, both caught up in a dangerous mystery he still needed to solve. He shouldn’t allow his rampant hormones for this beautiful American woman to sway him from his job. By God, man, just fuck her and get her out of your mind. Oddly enough, the truth of the matter was he felt powerless to use her body in that way. For the first time in years he wanted to engage a woman’s mind and soul in bed as much as her body. That spelled trouble. Trevor pushed the annoying thought away, determined to look it over more thoroughly at a more convenient time. As was his habit, he took a moment to gauge the people around them. One man in particular looked out of place for this snowy, late afternoon. Without seeing his face, the man’s black trench coat and rubber-soled shoes had that “professional” look of a hired thug. The fact that he tried to read a newspaper on the street corner under the falling snow struck Trevor as particularly odd and stupid. Trevor urged Cynthia down the sidewalk. “Let’s get off the street. We passed a Starbucks’ coffee shop on our way here. That would be a good place to talk some more. Besides, I’m way under my daily quota for caffeine.” Her sweet smile returned. That was good. He kept his suspicions about the man on the corner to himself. No need to worry her more. Their tail would either make a mistake or make a move on them. Until then, Trevor might as well act as if he didn’t know the man was there. He’d keep Cynthia in a public place as long as possible before taking her back to the hotel for safekeeping. If the man following them showed up at either location that would be time enough for Trevor to confront him. Cynthia added her other hand to the one already tucked in his elbow and matched her steps to his. “I thought you Brits were addicted to tea? Not coffee.”

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“My mother hates tea. I grew up drinking coffee, strong and black. Lots of it.” She chuckled, the soft curve of her hip rocking against his while they walked the crowded sidewalks. “Isn’t that bad for growing children?” “My mother didn’t think so.” “Lucky you.” She wrinkled her nose for a moment. “I only got milk as a kid.” They strolled down 63rd Street, past small family-style delicatessens, a bagel bakery, shoe stores and trinket shops. At the corner, the tantalizing aroma of roasted coffee beans lured cold passersby into the warm confines of the tiny coffee shop. Trevor ushered Cynthia inside. The line for ordering snaked almost to the door. An excellent choice. The man who followed them would have to wait outside in the cold while they enjoyed this luxury. Trevor stood behind Cynthia, resting his hands on her shoulders, keeping his body between her and the door. The sweet, strawberry scent of her hair teased his nostrils and the lovely supple length of her body pressed against his with the promise of hot sensual pleasure. For the sake of modesty in a public place he refrained from bracing his hips against her soft bottom to let her feel the eager hardness between his legs. He wanted to tip his nose down and nuzzle her, slide off the velvet-covered elastic band she used to tie her hair with and run his fingers through the loosened, silky tresses. She had wonderfully long hair, down to the middle of her back. It would feel good to wrap his hands around it, hold her captive while he explored every inch of her lush body. Concentrate, man! Your imagination is getting way ahead of you with this woman. She turned around and winked at him. “This will be my treat, since you overpaid for breakfast at Norma’s. I have a Starbucks card.” All he had to do was lean forward and touch her dark, reddened lips with his own. She’d applied lipstick while in the bathroom at her apartment. He liked that. He ached to give in to the lure of her mouth and savor her sweet kiss again. Now was not the time. With a mental kick, he straightened his posture and scanned the crowd. “If you wish. But dinner’s on me.” “Great. I’m definitely getting the better end of the deal. What do you want for dinner? I know of a snazzy little Italian place. Or how about Thai? I love spicy food.” Trevor returned his gaze to her upturned face. He ran his hands down her arms, squeezing the thick material of her coat so that he could feel her. “Anything. I have a wide and adventurous palate. Preferably room service.”

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Chapter Ten Cynthia thanked the cashier at the counter and stuffed the receipt for the coffee into her purse. A pair of teenaged girls wearing matching school uniforms and heavy backpacks got up from a corner table and departed. Cynthia jerked her chin to indicate the vacated table and two seats. Trevor carried their coffee cups. She hurried ahead of him to claim the space. His eyes never seemed to stop flicking over the crowd, the midnight blue depths hardened one second and then softened every time he glanced at her. High-strung awareness flowed from him in tangible waves whenever a new customer entered the shop. He was as alert as a watchdog on patrol. “You seem really tense, Trevor. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go some place else to talk?” “No. This is perfect.” He took the plastic lid off his coffee cup and sniffed the dark brown liquid appreciatively. He sipped, his eyes careful. “Instinct is hard to suppress. I’m not entirely certain we’re not still being followed.” Cynthia spun in her chair. The crowd appeared normal. The rush that typically followed the end of the workday made everyone look hurried while they pushed their way into and out of the coffee shop. Turning back, she whispered across the table, “What does he look like?” Trevor chuckled. “I’ll let you know when I see him again. You wanted to know some things about me, right? Now’s the time to ask. Because when I get you back to my hotel room, Cyn, I don’t plan on lots of conversation.” All the blood in her body pooled into her lower belly and made her dizzy. She swallowed. “Oh, really? What if I like conversation?” “You won’t have time to talk once I start kissing you.” He sipped his coffee and watched her. Cynthia lost her train of thought. She could only focus on the aching heat building and throbbing between her legs. When had she ever been this horny? Never! “Is that a promise?” “Very much so. Now, ask your questions. I’ll tell you everything I can without revealing sensitive information you don’t need to know.” “Right.” She cleared her throat, which seemed suddenly too parched and dry to be soothed by drinking hot coffee. “Things about you. Let’s start with, where were you born?” “Sudbury, England,” he said and added, “I’ll be thirty-three in a couple of months.”

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“I see. So you’re a Pisces?” “No, Aries actually. Next question?” “Tell me about your family? Brothers, sisters?” Trevor set his coffee down and folded his arms on the table. “Father, Phillip. Mother, Adele. Both still alive and well. No siblings.” “Ah, an only child. That and the fact that you’re an Aries explain your take-charge behavior. I’ll bet you never learned to share your toys.” He flashed a lecherous grin and wiggled his eyebrows. “I love to share my toys. Anything else you want to know about me?” Cynthia coughed. Did he mean…sex toys? Her pussy clenched at the thought of letting him tie her up and use any toy he found appropriate to bring her to one wild orgasm after another. She crossed her legs to suppress the flow of moisture that pooled in her panties. “Do you like your job?” He picked up his coffee and stared into the steaming cup. “For the most part, yes. It’s often exciting. That’s why I joined Interpol. I craved the thrill, the intrigue and potential danger. Plus, I’ve seen just about every corner of the world and met very interesting people along the way. I suppose how much I enjoy my job depends on the logistics of each assignment.” “Sounds exciting. I would love to travel. My brother travels to places I can only dream about.” “Where would you go?” She leaned her chin on her hand. “This time of year I dream of going someplace warm, like Jamaica. Or Tahiti. Fiji, for sure. And South America. Oh and the French Riviera. China. Japan. So many places I’d love to go to explore.” “Trust me,” he chuckled gently. “Traveling for your job gets old. And with heightened security at airports and train stations these days, it’s often quite tedious.” Cynthia sighed wistfully. “I think my life is pretty boring, all things considered.” “I’m assuming that’s not because of a lack of funds?” She sighed. “No. I live a comfortable life.” “Don’t let stability and comfort be confused with boredom, darling.” “All I do is work. I love it but I’m boring you now, aren’t I?” He shook his head. “No. I don’t think I could ever find you boring. I’m enjoying our conversation. What else would you like to know?” She took a deep breath before plunging headlong into what she really wanted to know. “Why is Mr. Andrews’ diamond so important?” He grinned triumphantly. “So, you’re willing to admit he gave you a diamond? What changed your mind about working with me, instead of against me?”

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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.

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“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

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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 64

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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?”

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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.

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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.”

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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 winered 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? Because you were always too involved with your job to spare a moment of thought for what your woman needed from you. He’d discovered too late that a woman wanted more than security and the social status of his family’s name in marriage. His former fiancée, the lovely and very proper Miriam Elaine Belford, hadn’t settled for that. She’d wanted his participation in all things. She wanted children and a husband to help raise them. Trevor could never guarantee how long he’d be away from home while he pursued his job. A week, months, or even half a year wasn’t uncommon.

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He’d been so dense and self-absorbed during their short time together. When she accused him of being married to his job, he brushed it off. He shouldn’t have been so surprised or shocked when she ended their engagement. How odd to realize now what a blessing in disguise Miriam’s decision had been. He’d found out on his own how empty his life really was. And now that he’d met Cynthia he knew he wanted her for more than tonight. At nearly thirty-three, he no longer craved the thrill of his job and the intrigue that fueled it. A loving wife, being home each night, perhaps having some children–-those things had an uncanny, satisfying appeal. New feelings pulled at his heart in a way he’d never really appreciated. Not being able to understand it all made him nervous. Hunger rumbled in his stomach, reminding him they’d hadn’t eaten since before noon and that hadn’t been more than a bite to satisfy a flea. Her knee would need some ice too. Although she hadn’t complained after her first mention of it, he had noticed she rubbed her knee often to soothe the pain. His eyes wandered to the leather backpack she carried. It rested beside her hip on the seat. Instinct told him she valued it more than her lost purse and he suspected he knew why. Was she truly brave enough to hide the diamond in that inexpensive, scuffed leather bag? He itched to search the contents while she slept but respect for her kept him from doing so. He had to convince her to give the diamond to him. For some damned reason it meant something to have her trust. If she didn’t, he would attempt a search. Later. He reached out and lightly stroked a finger down her soft cheek. She jerked awake with a gasp, wide-eyed and fearful. “It’s all right,” he whispered reassuringly. Cynthia rose from her slumped position and rubbed her forehead with the back of one hand. “Sorry. I guess I dozed off for a while. Where are we?” “At the hotel, in the garage. Ready to go inside?” Her hands fluttered over the backpack lying on the seat beside her. She looked relieved after lightly pressing on it. He felt another pang of guilt for her lost purse. “Come on, darling. I’ll order dinner to be brought to my room. You can rest.” He carried her large suitcase inside the hotel lobby. The elevator whisked them up to the fifteenth-floor concierge level, stopping twice to take on other guests. Cynthia leaned against him, whether from weariness or her role-playing for the benefit of the others in the elevator, he didn’t know for sure. He only knew he welcomed the way her body fit alongside his. It felt right, like she’d always been there. Like she belonged there beside him. By request, he’d taken a room farthest from the elevator near the stairwell. Cynthia eyed each hotel room door they passed as if she expected them to open and reveal a

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monster. She lagged behind him the closer they got to the end of the hall. He keyed his hotel suite door and pushed it open wide. Cynthia hesitated before entering. She chewed her bottom lip and glanced down the hall toward the elevator. He waited, giving her plenty of time to decide to go in or back out completely. What would he do if she decided not stay with him? He hadn’t considered any alternatives. He couldn’t let her out of his sight. On a weary sigh, she walked in. She placed the roses on a side table and then turned around to wait for him, hugging her coat close to her body as if she were still cold. He set her suitcase down and closed the door. They’d only known each other for the span of a day. Bringing her to his hotel room held a certain connotation of implied intimacy. The circumstances surrounding her ordeal must have taken a toll on her both physically and mentally. Yet he couldn’t forget the way she’d melted into his embrace and opened for him earlier, meeting his passion and need with an amazing fire of her own. He crossed over to the small dining table and picked up the room service menu. “What would you like to eat?” Her face was pale but she took the menu from him with a little smile. “Anything sounds good right now. I’m starved.” This moment felt awkward and stilted—as if he were a school-aged boy on his first date. He reached for her coat and she dropped her backpack on a chair before letting him slip the coat off her shoulders. “Choose whatever you like from the menu,” he said. “I need to make some calls before dinner arrives. Shouldn’t take me long.” She nodded and opened the menu, scanning the contents quickly. “I’ll take the chicken Caesar salad.” “Something to drink? Dessert? I’m a big fan of desserts.” Cynthia set the menu down on the table. When she spoke, he had to strain to hear her words. “I want you for dessert.”

***** The words came out of Cynthia’s mouth before she could stop them. Hunger blazed from Trevor’s eyes, burning bright and hot. He gave her a wolfish smile. “Careful what you wish for.” She swallowed past the hot lump in her throat. Her skin prickled when he stepped near and walked by without touching her, a smile still curving his lips. He picked up her suitcase and carried it into the bedroom, setting it down by the TV cabinet. She collected her backpack and followed him.

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A king-sized bed dominated the room, tastefully decorated with warm golden tones and complementary royal blues. The open drapery revealed the glittering skyline of New York City. He yanked them closed. “Wow. Interpol must have a hefty budget to afford a suite like this for you.” Trevor shrugged out of his jacket and slung it over a chair. “Not at all. I have a stipend but I always upgrade when I can. With my own money.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the large, gleaming gun strapped to his side. With deft fingers, he removed the harness and placed the weapon on the nightstand beside the bed. To her surprise he lifted his pants leg and removed a smaller gun from a strap around one muscular calf. She’d had no idea he carried a weapon there too. He put that one next to the bigger one on the nightstand and then reached for the phone. “I’ll order dinner now and place my calls. Feel free to make yourself comfortable.” Her cheeks still burned. How could she be so sexually forthright with him? What woman in her right mind tells a man she barely knows that she wants to eat him for dessert? Trevor must think she was loose and easy. She wasn’t, never had been. Yes, she enjoyed sex. But she never solicited it this freely. This man had a very powerful effect on her common sense. Or lack thereof. “I’ll be in the bathroom.” When Trevor didn’t acknowledge her she hurried inside with her backpack and locked the door. First things first, she had to take one more look at that diamond. She turned the water on in the sink to mask any revealing sounds and then opened her leather bag. Finding the jeweler’s case at the bottom beneath her cosmetics, she sat down on the toilet lid and carefully popped the velvet container open in her lap. Against the brightly colored gems, the Russian white blazed with a fire that outclassed and outshone them all. It took her breath away. She used her gem grip to pick up the stone this time, locking it in place securely. The tiny, wire-thin grabbers held the diamond in a classic, four-pronged setting for easy viewing. To the naked eye the stone looked normal enough, if exceptional. Using her loupe she examined the diamond through great magnification. An absolutely clear, bright white interior reflected back at her, like icy water with a rainbow of color skating through it. Not a single inclusion to mar the perfection. The faceting was just as flawless. Whoever cut this stone had done a masterful job, enhancing and highlighting the natural beauty of it, allowing light to enter the stone’s interior and reflect back with an astounding array of color. A sigh escaped her lips, muffled by the water gushing in the sink. She turned the stone sideways to examine the girdle. Twirling the stem of her grip, she scrutinized the polished band that circled the entire crown. As she expected with a gem of this quality, it was precise and even all the way around. Cynthia peered at the curious series of numbers on the girdle. She studied their shape more closely. The more she eyed them, the more uncertain she became. A few

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numbers could be one or the other. Was the number “1” really the letter “L”? And the number she thought was a “9” could also be a “G”. Doubt scratched through her conscience. More than likely, she’d given Mr. Andrews a false reading. If his life depended on her deciphering of these numbers—oh no! She shuddered at the implication. What could these numbers mean if not certification of some kind? Was this why everyone wanted this spectacular diamond? For whatever reason, a man tried to kill her last night and at least two others followed her with deadly intent. Even Trevor searched for this diamond—or at least the numbers engraved on it. She rummaged inside her tool bag and found the small spiral notebook and pen she kept for idea sketches. She copied the numbers exactly as they appeared on the gem, underlining those she questioned. Now what? Should she tell Trevor she had the diamond? Or should she hide it and just give him the numbers? Would that be enough for him? Maybe not. Doubt scuttled into her mind like a nasty cockroach looking for a dark crevice to hide in. It made her feel dirty and tainted. She hardly knew Trevor. It seemed like a sin to give her client’s information so freely. Her physical attraction to this incredibly handsome man could be blinding her judgment, encouraging her to trust him with her life. He certainly did a good job of making her feel he was attracted to her too. Was it all an act? She gnawed on the inside of her cheek. Her heart warred with her brain, insisting what she felt from him was real. Until the doubts about Trevor’s intentions were erased completely, she would keep the diamond and the cryptically engraved numbers to herself. Trevor still needed to provide a good reason why he should have it—why she should risk her reputation and send her career down the toilet. She returned the stone inside her jeweler’s case and stuffed it in the bottom of her bag, hiding it beneath her tools and cosmetics again. It was as safe as anything right now. Trevor would have no reason to question her need to carry this backpack everywhere she went. Satisfied with her resolve, Cynthia glanced in the mirror for the first time. What she saw horrified her. Her hair had come loose from her braid and purple circles of fatigue shadowed her eyes. She untied her hair. Running her fingers under the water, she combed the long strands back. At least she didn’t look disheveled and windblown now. She splashed water on her face and scrubbed a towel across her skin to liven up the color. Time to go, before he came searching for her again. She turned off the water and unlocked the door, draping the strap of her backpack over one arm. She found Trevor seated on the bed. He’d removed his socks and boots and propped all of the pillows against his back. His long jeans-clad legs stretched out on the bed with bare feet crossed casually at the ankles. Pages from the report that Captain Hill had given him earlier lay spread out around him. He ignored her, listening to someone on his cell phone.

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A knock sounded on the hotel door. Before she could turn around, he’d slapped his phone shut and grabbed his gun from the nightstand. “I’ll get that. You stay here.” Stunned by the rough tone in his voice, she stepped aside to let him pass. He tucked his gun into the back of his jeans and closed the bedroom door behind him. Left alone, she looked for a place to keep her backpack out of his way, yet easily accessible. The corner behind the television cabinet looked perfect. It wouldn’t attract undue attention there. She tucked her backpack in there. Then she unzipped her larger suitcase and searched for a change of clothes. She chose a loose-fitting white cotton t-shirt and faded jeans. After removing her sweater, bra, skirt and tights, she donned the shirt and then propped her foot up on a chair to examine her knee. Sure enough, a large purple and green bruise decorated her kneecap. It was swollen and tender to the touch. The door opened. Trevor walked in, his eyes searching the room until he found her in the corner. His smoldering gaze singed the skin off her legs and nearly naked ass. She had to look away, her lips pressed together, to keep from grinning like a chimp at his lusty reaction and slowly reached for her jeans.

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Chapter Twelve “This will be easier if you keep them off.” Trevor came to her, holding a plastic bag full of ice in one hand. “I really think I should get dressed.” With a gentle but persistent tug, he took the jeans out of her hand and dropped them on the floor beside the chair. “Sit down, Cyn. Let me look at your knee.” Cynthia sat, every inch of her aware of Trevor’s tall, warm body standing so close. She tried to sit modestly, keeping her legs together, tugging on the hem of her t-shirt to bring it down over her hips. He knelt at her feet. When he smoothed his palm over her sore knee she sucked in a sharp breath. He placed the ice bag upon the purple bump. “It looks painful. I’m sorry you were injured.” “Oh, I’ve had worse. I’m just glad it doesn’t hurt too much to walk.” Goose bumps sprang to life on every inch of her skin but not from the cold he applied to her knee. His large warm hand rested on her outer thigh, away from her aching knee. The firm pressure of his fingers seeped into her skin and sent tingles up between her thighs. She’d always been quick to arouse, never needing a lot of foreplay or stimulation to reach orgasm. Her body reacted to him now. The pulsing throb inside her pussy brought with it the heady scent of her woman’s musk. She glanced down at herself, fully expecting steam to be rising up from between her legs. She looked up. When her eyes met his he raised one dark eyebrow. He watched her intently, the blue depths swirling with sexual heat. Did he smell her arousal? His nostrils flared as if he inhaled something delicious. “I think we should eat dinner first. Hold this right here.” He took her hand and placed it upon the ice, keeping the frozen bag secure on her injured knee. Then he dragged the ottoman from the chair over and reached for her foot. Sparks of pleasure swarmed up her leg from his warm fingers. He cradled her foot, caressing her sensitive arch with soothing strokes and then settled her leg on the ottoman with great care. The ice bag lay perfectly balanced and draped over her entire knee now. She let go of it and tucked both hands under her thighs, feeling exposed and uncomfortable about her nearly naked state. Trevor stood up and exited the bedroom, returning quickly with the small, wheeled cart and their dinner.

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He pulled the small table over and lifted the other chair next to hers. Smiling like a satisfied wolf with a trapped rabbit, he placed a cloth napkin on her lap, handed her a fork and a large plate with a mound of chicken Caesar salad large enough to feed three people. Then he picked up two wineglasses from the cart, set them on the table and uncorked a bottle of white wine. “I hope you like Chardonnay?” He showed her the label. “Yes, I’d love some.” She waited for him to pour wine and serve his own dinner of grilled pork chops and herbed pan-roasted potatoes. He removed the gun from the back of his jeans and returned it to the nightstand before he sat down. “I promise, no getting up and running away this time.” He lifted his glass to her. “Bon appétit, chéri.” “Thanks.” Cynthia clinked her wineglass with his and sipped. It was cold, fruity and delicious. If she weren’t careful about how much she drank, she’d lose all her inhibitions and attack him with her fingers, hands and mouth. She set the glass down on the small table and stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork, desperately searching for something to get her mind off him. “Do you speak French, or just those few words?” “Plus que quelques mots,” he said and sliced into his grilled pork chop. “More than a few words. Do you?” “Me? No, only a little that I’ve picked up here and there. I took two years of Spanish in high school. I haven’t used it much, sorry to say. Do you speak other languages?” He chewed with obvious relish, swallowed and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Well, besides French, which is my strongest foreign language, I also speak German and some Dutch. Russian when I have to. Those are the languages I need most when I’m on assignment.” She nodded and took another sip of wine before speaking. “You spend a lot of time traveling, don’t you?” “Yes.” A shuttered expression crossed his face. “The items I recover rarely remain in their country of origin and switch hands many times.” “It sounds intriguing.” “Sometimes it is. More often it’s tedious work. I ask a lot of questions of people who’d rather not give me any information, or who have conveniently forgotten. In many ways it’s a hunt for a missing clue.” Cynthia glanced toward the nightstand where his guns rested in cold, deadly silence. “Are you in danger often?” He grinned. “Define ‘often’.” She shrugged. “Do you carry those guns with you everywhere you go?” “Usually. The items I’m recovering for their rightful owners are often priceless or worth millions. The people who stole them will do almost anything to keep them. Even kill.”

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She forced down a chunk of half-chewed chicken and struggled for a few seconds not to choke. Thankfully he didn’t notice and focused on his meal. A large swallow of wine helped clear her throat. “You’ve been shot at?” “Many times. But so far they’ve all missed me.” Her glance strayed to the deadly looking weapons on the nightstand again. “Have you ever killed anyone?” Trevor set his fork and knife down. “Does that bother you,” he jerked his head toward the guns, “having them out in the open?” Cynthia pursed her lips. “A little. I’m not used to seeing one and the potential of what it could do in the wrong hands scares me.” “Have you ever fired a gun? Handled one?” She shook her head, dragging her eyes away from the weapons and focused on finding another tasty garlic crouton in her mountain of greens. “If we have some time I’ll show you how it works. The safety is on both of them so they won’t go off unexpectedly. But if you ever have to pick one up you’d better know how to use it.” He stood and walked over to where they lay, then opened the nightstand drawer, carefully placed both guns inside and shut it firmly. “Better?” She smiled. “Out of sight, out of mind. Thanks.” “You’re welcome. How’s your dinner?” “Great. But too much.” She’d eaten about as much lettuce and chicken as she could. She set her plate on the table and leaned back in the chair to finish her wine. “Trevor, there’s something I don’t understand.” “What would that be?” She twirled her glass for a moment, admiring the deep golden hue against the soft light of the bedroom. “I know the diamond you’re searching for isn’t worth more than one hundred grand. And you said you couldn’t tell me exactly why you need it.” He nodded. “Sensitive information.” Cynthia brushed off her flash of irritation. “I know it’s not the diamond itself. The stone represents something, right? Can’t you even give me a hint?” His glance was quick and hard. “No.” “Is it a key to something?” He reacted by stiffening his posture for a moment. Then he offered her more wine but she declined. He poured more in his own glass, clearly stalling his answer to her question. “What did you see on the diamond, Cynthia?” Her meal dropped into the bottom of her stomach like a bucket of rocks. She started to sip wine and then set her glass down on the table next to her plate, determined to keep her cool and not let the alcohol affect her brain. Why didn’t he trust her?

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She had to stay calm until she understood everything more clearly. For all she knew, he could be pretending to care for her, though she doubted he could fake his physical attraction that well. Still, what did that mean anyway? According to a study published by Newsweek, men thought about sex at least once every ten minutes and had erections about as frequently. A stiff cock didn’t mean he wanted her. He wanted sex. And she just happened to be nearby. Being so coldly clinical made her grumpy. “I don’t know anything, Trevor. That’s why I keep asking. These people want me dead. I have a right to know why.” Trevor leaned forward and removed the ice bag from her knee. The skin beneath had turned pink from the applied cold. He touched around the bump gently. “How’s your knee feel now?” “Much better. Thanks. Are you going to answer my question? Or, is there something else on your mind?” “Hmm,” he murmured. “I can promise you one thing, I’ll never lie to you. If I have something to say, I say it. And if I see something I want, I reach for it.” His fingers moved to the inside of her knee, circling over sensitive skin, tempting her to open her legs and give him access. He tugged on the napkin that still covered her lap, drawing it across her legs in a slow, sensuous sweep that exposed her to him. Cynthia shivered, not from cold but from the heat. “You’re trying to distract me, aren’t you?” “Admittedly, yes,” Trevor said. “Is it working?” She bit her lip when he palmed her inner thigh. “Admittedly, yes.” This relationship between them–-if it could even be called that–-was going to be brief and temporary. She didn’t expect or believe anything more than lust existed between them. This was just a one-night stand with the sexiest man she’d ever met. “Another promise, Cyn, I won’t let anyone harm you. I’ll keep you safe for as long as it takes to clear this matter up.” “How long will that take?” His other hand slid between her legs, warm and insistent. Wonderful. Her heart jumped inside her chest. She had to concentrate on breathing. Creamy moisture soaked through the crotch of her panties. “I don’t know for certain,” he answered. “But each hour that passes brings new information from many sources. I’m not working alone.” “Oh. That’s…good to know.” Her breath caught when his hands inched up her inner thighs, toward the aching, wet center between them. “Really good.” He moved out of his chair, pushed the table and ottoman away and kneeled in front of her. A whimper echoed from her throat in response to the hunger she read in his eyes. His jeans bulged in front, large and obvious.

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“Tell me something, Cyn. Tell me you want this. If you say no I’ll leave you be. I’ll sleep on the sofa.” Her fingernails dug into the fabric of the chair while she strained to keep her hands off him. She feared she’d claw him with her desire to bring him closer. Slowly, she wet her lips, watching his eyes follow the path of her tongue. “Oh yes. I want this, Trevor.” His hands caressed her thighs, from outside to inside and back again, driving her insane with need. She nodded, too tongue-tied to answer. “Please, don’t stop,” she said breathlessly.” Trevor tucked his fingertips inside the elastic band of her panties, hooked the fabric and then slid it down. She lifted her hips to help him remove them. Doing that exposed her pouting pussy to his gaze. He made a deep sound that could have been pain or pleasure. “Beautiful Cyn, so beautiful.” He reached for the hem of her t-shirt and slid it up. She raised her arms and let him pull it off. His smile could have lit up Manhattan. Her nipples had peaked into such hard nubs that she couldn’t help squirming in her chair in anticipation of his hot mouth on them. She leaned forward and offered her aching breasts for his caresses. Trevor captured her face between his hands first. “How is it possible a woman as gorgeous as you are isn’t married already? The men in this city are fools.” Cynthia stared at him with foggy eyesight. “Doesn’t matter now. Kiss me, Trevor. Kiss me everywhere.” “Tell me what you like?” “Anything. I’ll do almost anything. But if you wait much longer I’m going to get pissed off.” “Adventurous, demanding little minx. You may have met your match tonight, darling.” He took her mouth in a hard kiss, forcing her lips to part beneath his, thrusting his tongue deep inside. This was no plea, no slow seduction. He demanded this kiss, that she yield herself to him. She arched into his body, wrapping her arms around his lean waist. He tasted of wine and spices and pure male sexuality. Their tongues danced together, slowly, faster, pulling out and plunging back inside in the timeless dance that humans everywhere had shared since Adam and Eve. Trevor made her head swim and her bones melt like butter. Her juices flowed, making her slick and ready. Her hands found their way under his soft sweater and met the hard muscles beneath. She found smooth hot skin and let her eager fingers explore his chiseled torso. Her exploration dragged the sweater up his chest, tracing and defining each rippling bulge with her fingertips, twirling around his flat nipples and up until she reached his shoulders. Trevor pulled away from her just long enough to whip his sweater off. He tossed it over his head without a care for where it landed on the floor. The look he gave her was

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hard and restless. The sight of his muscular chest and abdomen made her mouth water. She wanted to lick every inch of him and suck on his flat nipples until they pearled into tiny beads against her tongue. His skin was so tight, with a trail of dark hair that began at his breastbone, trailed down to his navel and disappeared into the top of his jeans. She reached for his zipper. “Lean back,” he ordered, pushing her with his hands on her shoulders. “There’s something I’ve wanted to do since this morning. I’m not waiting any longer.” She closed her eyes and bit her lip with expectation. When he cupped her breasts she let go of the moan she’d been holding back. His hands were warm, gentle. He plumped and squeezed her flesh softly, then dipped his head down and ran the tip of his tongue around her left nipple. Cynthia felt herself come unglued. He slipped that sensitive bud between his lips and sucked, softly at first, then harder when she responded with more gasps and moans. When he let that nipple go suddenly, she whimpered her objection. But his lips soon closed over her right nipple and he plucked the slippery-wet left one with his thumb and finger. Bolts of electric pleasure zapped through her body and centered inside the aching spot between her legs. Trevor used his mouth with great skill. He sucked gently but with enough pressure to make her arch for more. She wanted to cry when he let go of her nipples to place hotmouthed, urgent kisses across her ribs. He palmed her thighs, forcing her legs apart and then ran his hands up and down from knees to hips. His gaze fixed on her naked sex. He smiled a lazy smile that made her body throb with anticipation. Slowly, his hands inched closer to the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. When his fingertips brushed lightly over her smooth pussy lips, she shivered with delight. “You surprise me, Cyn.” “Why?” “I hadn’t expected this.” Gently he ran his thumb over her parted, slick crease. “You shave. What a delicious, sweet treat for me. And to think you hid this treasure under that modest skirt and boxy sweater.” She grinned. “I wasn’t dressing to impress this morning. Are you just going to tease me?” “Darling, I intend to enjoy every last drop of you.” He slid his fingers between her wet folds and stroked her from top to bottom, flicking his thumb over her throbbing clit, making her shudder. “Mmm, juicy. Dessert has never been this good before. Now scoot your lovely bottom to the edge and prepare to be devoured. I want to feel you come all over my tongue.” “Oooh. God,” Cynthia moaned. With his help she scooted and held her breath, anticipating the hot, first touch of his mouth on her flesh. She reached for his hair when he lowered his head and grabbed two handfuls of the silky darkness. He kissed her belly, dragging a wet trail from her quivering navel down to her hot center. Tenderly, 79

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he dipped his tongue inside. Pleasure darted up from her core and spread like wildfire through her entire body. “Tre-Trevor,” she panted. “There’s something I have to tell you.” “Hmm?” he mouthed against her flesh, the sound tingled inside her body. “I, um, I don’t need much to come. Don’t take too long.” She bucked her hips, forcing his tongue on a deeper exploration inside her tender vaginal opening. “I’ll see what I can do about that,” he murmured. Slowly, first one and then two fingers penetrated her. Her inner muscles spasmed, squeezing his fingers, holding them deep inside her body. His tongue and lips settled over her clit while he pumped his fingers in and out, sending rhythmic, hot waves of incredible pleasure crashing down on her. “Oh, so good.” Cynthia pulled her knees up, opening herself to his probing mouth and fingers even more. He responded by thrusting into her firmly, deepening the penetration into her vagina. He sucked on her clit, deliciously tormenting the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Her body exploded with the pleasure he brought forth, arching up with rhythmic humps. She let her head fall back and cried out her release. He slid his fingers out gently, still stroking her with his tongue, lapping up the flowing juices like a dripping fruit. Finally, when she settled down and her breathing returned to normal, she felt him gather her up in his arms and lift her from the chair in one swoop. Her eyes flew open. His gaze was black as midnight, the lids heavy and sensuous. Dark hair fell over his forehead from the havoc her fingers had played in it. He looked devilishly handsome and still hungrier than a starving man. “Bedtime,” he whispered. Cynthia moaned with anticipation, weak as a kitten in his arms.

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Chapter Thirteen Trevor carried Cynthia to the bed and laid her on top of the comforter. Her knee still looked swollen under the golden light of the bedside lamp. The bruise was likely to take several days to fade from her tender pale skin. He hated the fact that he’d failed to protect her from injury. That won’t happen again. Sexual gratification had glazed her silver eyes into pure dark pewter. He’d barely heard her murmured words in the heat of passion, didn’t really believe she’d come so quickly under his deeply probing fingers and tongue. But she had, quivering and spilling her sweet tangy juice into his mouth. Ah hell! She even tasted like crushed strawberries and cream. Cynthia stretched out on the bed with a luxurious sigh. She pulled her long hair up and tucked the pillow higher against the headboard. Doing so lifted her succulent breasts. Both nipples were still peaked into hard, dark pink berries. He licked his lips at the thought of sucking them back into his mouth. Her eyes raked him from head to toe. She patted the empty space at her side. “Don’t stand there all night, Agent. Lose the pants and come to bed.” He didn’t know what he wanted to do to her first, spread her wide like a butterfly and plunge into her from above, turn her over and take her from behind or maybe he should let her straddle his hips and ride him to their mutual bliss? All sorts of possibilities for a long night of pleasures tumbled into his mind. “Technically,” he reached for the button above his zipper and worked it free, “what we’re about to do could get me fired.” Cynthia’s smoky gaze lingered on his hands and the zipper he inched down with agonizing slowness. His cock strained and jumped against the fabric of his skinhugging Lycra briefs. “Why?” Her silky pink tongue darted out to wet her lips. “I’m a consenting adult. I certainly don’t have a problem with it.” “Because you’re my witness.” He slid his jeans down and stepped out of them. Reaching for his overnight bag, she watched him remove a small foil packet. “I’m supposed to protect and keep you safe.” “I feel perfectly safe, Agent.” Cynthia eyed the condom with a tremulous smile and rolled onto her side. Then she braced her head on one hand and dragged her fingertips over the smooth curve of her hip. “Nice underwear. Take them off.” Her eager words thrilled him. His cock stabbed upward, burning to take all she offered and more. Making love to a woman who knew what she wanted from him was 81

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infinitely sexy and arousing. Would she object to the many different ways he wanted to take her? Somehow, he doubted it. Giving her a playful grin, Trevor ignored her plea and turned back to the small table that held the remains of their dinner. He poured the last splash of the Chardonnay into his glass and then carried it over to the bed. He held it out to her. “Hold this.” She took the wineglass from him without question. He peeled down his briefs and unleashed his erection. It bobbed against his abdomen, fully engorged and aching for her hot, silky wet depths. A breath of air gusted past her lips. He couldn’t remember ever having such a raging hard-on for his ex-fiancée, or the nameless, faceless, few-andfar-between liaisons he’d had since then. Miriam had been rather chaste and shy in her lovemaking. She’d only cared for the missionary position, almost never came with him inside her and never encouraged him to have his way with her. Cynthia’s bold, eager desire inspired him to test the harder edge he’d always felt inside himself. Facing her, he settled his weight on the bed with his knees. She rolled from her side onto her back again, still balancing his wineglass by the stem. Her soft, full breasts swayed against the rapid, shallow breaths she took. A subtle blush stained the pale, soft skin across her chest and slender throat. “Are you going to let me taste that luscious cock? Or just sit there staring at me all night long?” “Darling, I could stare at you forever. You’re beautiful.” Her eyes flickered for a second, the deep gray depths darkening when her pupils dilated. “Thanks. What do you want me to do with this?” Trevor took the glass from her. He swirled the wine into a golden whirlpool. “I’m going to drink from your body. Every dip, hole and valley will be filled and I’m going to lick and suck it from you. Ready?” Her breath hitched. She nodded. He touched one finger into the wine and anointed her bottom lip with it. Her tongue peeked out to follow the path of his finger. He shook his head. “Leave it there,” he warned her softly. “And keep your hands at your sides.” Her breath rushed past her parted lips. She clenched and unclenched her fingers in the bed coverings, like a sleek cat kneading her claws in pleasure. He dipped three fingers into the glass and carefully brought the drops to the delicate hollow of her throat. She held her breath for a second and closed her eyes. He dipped his fingers back into the wine and dribbled the golden liquid over her slender collarbones and into the valley between her breasts. The tiny puddles on her skin vibrated with each beat of her heart. Using his pinky finger, he placed a single drop of wine on the rosy tip of each nipple. Cynthia’s eyes flew open. She almost arched off the bed. “Careful, darling. Don’t spill. Hold very, very still for me.”

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She bit her bottom lip and visibly struggled to remain quiet. Goose bumps dotted her skin. He dribbled wine into her navel. It overflowed and dripped down her side, leaving a glistening trail across her skin for his tongue to savor. “Tickles,” she whispered on a strangled breath. “Almost there. Just a bit more here.” He carefully trickled wine into the hollow beside each lovely hipbone. “And here,” he said, pouring the remaining liquid into her slit. He watched the cold wine sluice down between her already wet, plump pussy lips. “Oh God, Trevor! That really tickles.” Cynthia’s body twitched in reaction but she managed to stay still. “Don’t move, darling.” He set the empty wineglass on the nightstand. “Perfect. Let’s have a drink.” Trevor straddled her hips, carefully keeping his tight balls and aching cock off the inviting heat of her pussy. Bracing his hands on either side of her shoulders, he lowered his mouth down to hers. The head of his cock bounced against the indentation of her navel. He gazed into her smoke-filled eyes for a moment, seeing her desire and curiosity. Without letting their lips touch, he stretched out his tongue and licked the glaze of wine from her lower lip. Her expelled breath sighed into his mouth, bringing with it the fruity bouquet of Chardonnay and the essence of her being. Woman. Warm, sexy. He drank her in and savored. “Delicious. So succulent and sweet.” She ran her tongue across her bottom lip. “I’ll make you pay for this kind of torture, Agent. When do I get to touch you, taste you?” “Soon. But not right now. Lie still while I drink my wine.” He dipped his tongue into the hollow at her throat and licked. The wine had warmed to her body temperature and beneath it her skin tasted salty-sweet. Moving down, he sucked the quivering puddle from her collarbones and down into the valley between her soft breasts. Cynthia moaned, the sound vibrating from her chest onto his lips. He trailed his tongue up the swell of her left breast and delicately skimmed away the tiny, golden bead of liquid that crowned her hard nipple. She inhaled a sharp breath and held it. He moved to her right nipple and her breath rushed out. He captured the other tiny drop of wine, very carefully prolonging her anticipation of the pleasure his mouth could give her. Cynthia twisted her fingers into his hair. He liked the way she held him close, as if she were afraid he’d try to stop and slip away before the sumptuous conclusion of their shared ecstasy. He caressed the feminine flare of her hips with both hands and dropped lower across her body. Like a thirsty animal he lapped up wine from each hollow beside her hipbones and then sucked from her navel. The soft swell of her belly jerked under this tiny penetration. She squirmed beneath him. He rimmed his tongue around her navel again, taking immense pleasure in her sensitivity and complete trust.

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His cock throbbed with need, hard enough to hang a coat from it. His eyes crossed with intense anticipation of the explosion he knew he’d have once he buried himself inside her slick, wet heat. Cynthia jerked once more, her breath gurgling from her throat. This time she didn’t scream out her release. Instead, she went into a state of suspended animation, holding her breath while her second orgasm rippled through her body with tiny, delightful quivers. With his lips on her belly he felt the wondrous contractions wash through her womb. He hadn’t even had the chance to lap up the wine that coated her glistening pussy. By now his cock burned with unbelievable pressure and his balls were so tight they felt like they were made of steel. He could no longer hold off the urge to plunge into her sleek channel and ease the sweet pain of his erection. “Sorry, darling. I can’t wait any longer to have you.” He quickly slid the condom onto his erection. Panting and breathless, Cynthia peeked at him from under her long lashes. Her cheeks were flushed with bright, warm color. Her full lips were parted and she drew in long breaths of air. “Oh thank God. I can’t wait either. Take me, Trevor, take me hard.” “With pleasure.” He moved between her legs, still kneeling and hooked his hands under her thighs. He lifted her up and opened her wide. Cynthia watched him with heavy-lidded eyes. He touched the bulging head of his cock to the slick, hot mouth of her opening. She wiggled her hips. “Now, Trevor. Please don’t make me wait anymore.” He rose up and thrust into her, growling with incredible satisfaction when her slippery folds parted to give him entrance. Her tight flesh gripped him like a hot, wet glove. She threw her head back across the pillow and gasped. Horrified that he’d hurt her, he remained absolutely still. “Are you all right?” A slow, languid smile played on her lips. “You feel soooo good. Fuck me. Now. Please, Trevor.” Her dirty talk spurred the beast inside him waiting to be unleashed. He pulled out of her luscious body with a long, deliriously enticing stroke and plunged back inside her hot, wet core as hard as he dared. Her breasts danced with the force he applied to her body. Her lips opened with surprised satisfaction. Encouraged that his forceful impalement pleasured her as much as it thrilled him, he picked up the pace and gave her what they both craved—a really fast hard fuck. “Mmm,” she moaned, biting her bottom lip. “Just like that, oh my God, yes!” Again her body tightened into another orgasm. Her vaginal walls squeezed him rhythmically, plumping the hot flesh that gloved his cock so tightly he thought she was burning him alive. Sweat popped out along his spine and face from the physical

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exertion. His own release wasn’t far away. His heart felt like it would break through his ribs and fly out of his body. Incredibly, another wave of orgasm jerked through her womb, tightening her body like a vise around his thrusting cock. Cynthia thrashed her head back and forth, moaning loudly, whispering “don’t stop, don’t stop” with each breath. He rammed into her twice more and exploded inside her hot, wet pussy, groaning with the most intense mind-consuming orgasm of his life. Trevor collapsed on top of her, eyes closed to the fireworks still going on inside his head, rushing through every muscle and bone in his body. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight, snaked her long legs around his and held him captive inside her body. She scattered his face with tiny kisses while he slowly caught his breath and came back down to earth. “You’re incredible,” she mumbled against his cheek. “So big, so hard. So perfect. Just incredible.” He opened one eye. She was smiling like the cat who’d just stolen the morning cream. Her eyes were soft again, heavy-lidded, glittering with spent pleasure. Tiny beads of sweat dotted her brow. Long strands of her hair tangled across her throat and spread out across the pillow like a bronzed fan. “You’re beautiful, Cynthia. Thank you.” Her smile widened. “Don’t thank me. You gave me the best fuck of my life just now. Four times, Trevor. I came four times in the span of what, half an hour? My God, you’re good.” A small chuckle escaped him. “I’m glad I could bring you such pleasures. I’ve never known a woman who could have multiple orgasms, or have them so quickly.” “Really?” Her eyes widened. “I know I’m not that unusual.” “Probably not. But I’ve never been with a woman who could. I find it fascinating and so very sexy. Makes me want to do it again. And again.” Something unreadable crossed her face. She loosened her arms and legs and turned her face away to stare at the wall. He slid out of her body and peeled off his spent condom with a tissue before tossing it into the small trash can by the nightstand. Then he moved close behind to spoon himself to her softness. Cynthia lay quiet, as if she’d retreated from him. “Something wrong?” “No,” she mumbled. “You don’t think I was, um…too easy?” “What? Why would I think that?” She tipped her face to look at him. “Some of the guys I dated thought I was easy, because I like sex and never really turned any of them down. But the truth was I used them, too.” “Why should you be ashamed about your own sex drive?”

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“I dunno.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I just was. I’d heard the name ‘slut’ in reference to me more times than I cared to during high school. After a while I just shut down and stopped dating all together.” “What about your last boyfriend? Did you use him, too?” She shook her head, pressing her lips together. “No. Nick was a good guy. Very nice. But he didn’t understand about the other driving force in my life. My work. I take it very seriously…and that interfered with his plans sometimes. We argued a lot.” “He’s a fool, darling. And quite frankly, I’m rather glad you two have gone your separate ways. Or else I wouldn’t be able to have you here, in my arms. To savor and make love to all night long. If you’ll let me.” “I’d like that very much.” She smiled shyly. “Thank you.” He planted a tender kiss on the curve of her shoulder. “For what?” “For coming to my rescue. And for being such a gentleman.” “I hardly think I qualify. A gentleman wouldn’t have seduced you just now.” “You are. I very much wanted the seduction. You do that very well.” He trailed his lips over her shoulder and down to her slender neck. She purred and closed her eyes, cuddling her soft bottom closer into his crotch. A man could definitely get addicted to such a responsive woman. In the back of his mind, he beat down the thought that what he’d done was wrong—when it felt so right. They’d met under duress and needed to stay together for her safety. Was it fair to assume what he felt was purely lust for her? He certainly wasn’t acting in the most professional manner. Cynthia yawned. He rolled back onto the bed, pulled her into the curve of his body, flicked off the light and dragged the edge of the comforter over them. She was deliciously warm and soft. Her skin felt like silk under his hands. She snuggled close and sighed, content. “Tired?” he murmured against her temple. “Exhausted.” She yawned again. “Good. Sleep, darling. I’ll keep you safe.”

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Chapter Fourteen Cynthia blinked awake and smiled. Despite a deep, satisfying sleep, she knew instantly where she was and with whom. Warmth enveloped her from head to toe. Trevor lay behind her, holding her close inside the curve of his body. One heavy, muscular arm draped over the arch of her bare hip. The crisp hairs of his crotch and thighs tickled her bottom and the backs of her legs. His breathing was slow, deep in slumber. She resisted the urge to wriggle closer to him, if that were at all possible. She’d been having a silly dream, the vivid images still darting through her memory like a flickering home movie. The dream where she and her brother played Cops and Robbers as children, running through the house screaming until their mother shouted for them to go outside and play. As a child, she’d loved that game most of all. She was always the robber and her brother loved playing the cop. Sometimes the neighborhood kids would get involved in their game. She still chose to be the robber and they all chased after her. The thrill of pursuit and subsequent capture remained with her all these years. She’d been safe then, free to explore her childhood fantasies—without the real-life horror and dangers of the last twenty-four hours crashing down on her. Safe. She felt warm and protected now. Fully awake, she took inventory of her surroundings. Pale gray light glowed around the edges of the drapery. She settled deeper into the pillow. Trevor’s impressive cock rested hot and long against her ass cheek. Her body hummed with satisfaction and a hint of delicious rawness between her legs. God, he was a fantastic lover! Too bad I was too tired to take him up on his offer for more. She’d had sex with a lot of different men. Not one of them had given her anything close to Trevor’s hard forceful thrusts. None had ever been so creative as to drink wine from her body, tantalizing and torturing her with exquisite licks until she thought she’d fly out of her skin for want of him. If she hadn’t been so exhausted, would he have been able to go again? Even harder? Would he laugh at her if she revealed her deepest, wildest fantasy to him? Or would he think her demented and weird? How many women ever admitted to having such a strange sexual fantasy? Trevor had been the first man to give her a hint that her deepest sexual desire wasn’t just a dream. Her heart picked an erratic pace and thudded against her ribs, loud enough that she thought she could hear it. Trevor promised to keep her safe from harm. How would he feel about tying her up?

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“What are you thinking, darling?” His breath feathered across her cheek with his soft spoken words. He hadn’t been asleep at all! She turned her head. His eyes were sharply focused and alert. She wiggled inside his embrace until she faced him. “I was dreaming about a game my brother and I used to play. Cops and Robbers.” “So, it was a happy dream? I felt your heart race.” Cynthia touched her finger to the dark stubble that shadowed his jaw. The rough feeling of it was incredibly arousing. She smoothed her whole hand over his chin. “Yes. It was a happy dream. Did you ever play that game when you were a child?” “Of course.” “And? What were you a cop, or the robber?” “I was always a cop.” His smile turned wolfish. He caught the hand she caressed him with and turned his mouth into her palm. He nipped the fleshy part beneath her thumb with his teeth. She gasped, startled by the playful bite. She tried to pull her hand back. He held it firm so that he could lick and kiss the small hurt, watching her reaction to pain and pleasure with hooded, velvet blue eyes. “Mmm.” She wet her lips. “I like that, Trevor. Tell me what you like. I’ll do almost anything.” Sensual heat flickered in his eyes for a moment, flaring brightly like lighter fluid igniting smoldering coals. “So you said last night. Almost anything. What is ‘almost anything’?” She dropped her gaze to his throat, admiring the sinewy cording of muscle and tendons. Under the covers, she moved her other hand into the small space separating them in the bed. Her knuckles grazed against his taut abs, gently skimming the undulating muscles and moved lower, past his navel, following the soft hairline lower still. “Almost anything” she said breathily, “is probably more than you…um, more than you’re comfortable with.” Her questing fingers found the thick hair nesting his cock. She feathered her fingertips even lower and found the branding heat of his semi-erection rising to meet her. Tentatively she circled him, amazed at the pulsing life and the way it expanded and grew until her fingertips couldn’t connect any longer. He was marvelously hard. She ached for him to fuck her again. He pumped his hips one time, filling her hand with his shaft. “How do you know I won’t be comfortable with ‘almost anything’? I’ve seen and done a lot of things that would shock a nice girl like you, Cyn.” A sly grin touched her lips. She met his eyes again and watched his pupils expand when she slowly stroked his length from thick base to the bulging head. She found a

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slippery drop of pre-come at the tip and smoothed it over his cock head with her thumb. “Because I’m not a nice girl, Trevor. Not in bed. And I really want to—” The shrill sound of his cell phone startled them both. He lay back and groaned heavily. “Christ almighty!” She flinched, pulled her hands away from his body and tucked them under the pillow. “Hold that thought, darling. I have to answer this.” Trevor sat up, threw the comforter aside with a sweep of his hand and reached for the annoying cell phone at the same time. He turned his back to her, sitting on the edge of the bed. “St. James.” Reality crashed into Cynthia’s blossoming fantasy, sending it careening out of her mind and body with sickening speed that left her feeling empty and nauseous. How could she so easily forget that her life was in danger? She had what he searched for. Would this frightening threat end if she gave him the damned diamond now? She lifted her head just high enough off the pillow to stare at her backpack. It peeked out from behind the TV cabinet exactly where she’d left it last night. It would be so easy now to just get up and give it to him, wouldn’t it? He’d take that beautiful diamond and be gone. She’d never see him again. Trevor dragged one hand through his hair and grunted into the phone several times. She felt awkward about listening to his private conversation. Eavesdropping was never something she enjoyed, although she’d done it before. “What the hell! When?” He stood up and stalked over to the table to write something on the hotel notepad lying there. She lifted the edge of the comforter and slid out of bed on the opposite side. He didn’t look her way when she picked up her backpack, her clothes and walked into the bathroom. As far as his phone conversation went, she didn’t want to know what happened, or why, or to whom. What she needed to do was sort out her reasons for not giving him what he needed most—the Russian diamond. She closed the bathroom door but didn’t lock it. Locking it seemed rude, somehow. This was his hotel room after all. Frosted glass encased the spacious shower stall on two sides. White and gray marble tiles framed the walls and floor. On a shelf above the sink were Trevor’s personal items, his comb, razor, shaving gel, toothbrush and paste. Thankfully, the hotel supplied a decent brand of soap, shampoo and conditioner for her long hair. Cynthia reached into the shower and turned on the water, waiting for steam to rise and billow into the bathroom, enough to fog the mirror. Gingerly, she stepped into the shower stall, afraid the floor tiles would be slippery. Her toes gripped the pebbled texture without sliding. Sighing with pleasure, she stood under the hot spray and soaked her hair, wishing she could wash her troubles down the drain just as easily.

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If she told him about the numbers on the diamond, would he cast her aside? She mulled over the newfound prospect that it mattered to her what he thought and that he cared. Solutions to her problem formed in her mind and she tossed them out one by one. She couldn’t find a single, simple way to tell Trevor she knew about the numbers engraved on the diamond without betraying her professional trust. By all rights, the stone belonged to Mr. Andrews. Most definitely the numbers were of real interest to Trevor. It was the only oddity and the only thing that made sense. How could she give him that information and not lose him or her career? She buried her face into hot jetting water and rinsed the thick lather she’d built up in her hair. A quick gust of air announced the shower door had opened and clicked shut again. Cynthia gasped in surprise, temporarily blinded by shampoo in her eyes. “Easy, darling. It’s just me,” Trevor said. “Here, let me help you.” Warm, wet hands cupped her face. Without words, he gently washed the suds away from her eyes, then tilted her head back under the water and massaged her scalp, freeing the remaining shampoo until her hair was squeaky clean from roots to ends. She blinked her eyes clear and gave him a shaky smile. Water spray splashed across his smooth skin and made every bulging muscle stand out with glossy definition. Desire warmed her blood at the thought of running her soapy hands all over his hard, wet body. He gathered her hair in his fists and squeezed excess water out of it. “Thanks,” she said. “I should just cut my hair to a more manageable length.” “That would be such a shame.” He slicked his hands down the wet strands hanging down her back. “You have such beautiful sexy hair. Makes a man want to wrap it around his hands and pull you close, hold you captive for his kiss. You do have a kissable mouth, Cyn.” Her nipples peaked from the seductive words and the image they invoked inside her head. She tipped her face up, offering her mouth. “So, what’s stopping you?” A dangerous gleam narrowed his eyes into fathomless pools of blue. Tiny drops sparkled from his dark lashes and curled the longer ends of his hair against his neck. Hot water sluiced between their bodies. Slowly, he wound her hair around both hands, inching up her body, trapping her inside his embrace. “You haven’t told me yet what you like from a man, darling. So I’ll ask another question, how do you like it?” “Hard,” she blurted out before her common sense made her stop. He listened, watching. His attention gave her courage to say the words she’d never been brave enough to say before. “I like hard, fast sex, Trevor.” He pulled her closer, her head held tight by the hair trapped inside his fist, firmly but just below the point of pain. Slick juices flooded her already wet pussy and dripped down her thighs. She swallowed the tight knot of excitement in her throat.

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“Cyn, Cyn.” His eyebrow jetted up. With a firm tug on her hair he exposed her throat. He licked a hot path from her collarbone to her ear and whispered, “Are you sure you know what you’re saying? I don’t want to hurt you.” She tried to nod but couldn’t move. “Yes, I’m sure. But I’ve never found anyone who could give me what I really want. I like a little…force. In my fantasy, that’s what really turns me on.” A growl of male excitement rumbled from his chest. He slid his lips against the side of her mouth and spoke against her wet cheek. “A little pain goes a long way when it’s given in the heady thrill of pleasure, doesn’t it?” Did he understand what she meant? What she wanted? Her breath rushed out of her lungs. She leaned her body into his, stabbing the aching tips of her nipples against his firm, slippery, wet chest. Her hands curved around his lean hips and grabbed onto the firm flesh of his tight ass. “Yes! Yes, it does. Can you do that, Trevor? Can you be hard with me and stay in control? Take me every way you can?” A muscle twitched in his cheek. Trevor stared into her eyes, seeming to judge her sincerity, her desire. “I can do that, Cyn. I like hard sex. But before we begin, we need some ground rules.” “There are rules? Like what?” “We need a safe word.” She blinked. “A safe word. Why?” He moved the hard planes of his chest across her nipples, sending arcs of fire surging through her body from both tips. His cock brushed against her belly, branding her with wet heat. “Say that word and I’ll stop whatever I’m doing to you. It should be an uncommon word but one that you’re familiar with so you don’t forget. Because if you beg me to stop I may not believe you really want me to. Do you understand?” “I understand.” She swallowed thickly, mesmerized by the proximity of his firm, sensuous mouth. “When can we start?” He groaned. “Choose your word. Carefully.” “Uncle.” “Uncle?” “Yes. Not very original, I know but it’s what my brother and I used whenever we wrestled with each other as kids. Whoever cried ‘Uncle’ first, the other stopped whatever torture we were doing and won the game. It’s a word I’d remember easily.” “Uncle it is. But this isn’t child’s play.” He grazed his lips across hers again. “Now, promise me you won’t be scared? And if anything hurts beyond what you find stimulating, you’ll tell me right away? You’ll say the safe word?” “I promise, I promise, I promise.” “Good.” He smiled, showing all of his white teeth. “You’re an exceptional woman, Cyn. Strong. Adventurous. And so beautiful. I’m going to make you burn, darling.”

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Her heart hammered with growing excitement. A trace of that excitement spilled from her lips in a long moan. Her pussy pulsed with need. She arched herself into his thrusting erection, squeezing the hot length between their bodies. “Oh, please, Trevor. Make my fantasy come true.” “And what fantasy would that be? Something…forbidden? Something a little dangerous?” Feeling bold, secure in the knowledge he wanted the same thing she did, Cynthia finally whispered the fateful words she’d never dared speak to a man, “Tie me up, Trevor.” “You little minx,” he growled. “Enough talk.” Before she knew what he intended, he released her hair, flipped her around so that she faced the shower wall and captured both of her wrists behind her back as if he were arresting her. Holding both of her wrists with one steely hand, he then forced her sensitive nipples against the cold, hard tile wall. Shock and excitement mixed in her blood like a heady brew, making her dizzier than if she were drunk. She struggled, trying to twist free from his strong grip. Her futile efforts seemed only to entice him more. And her inability to break free thrilled her. He growled into her ear, reached around her chest and captured one breast in his other hand, nearly flattening it with his palm. He massaged it roughly, just below the point of hurting. Then he pinched the engorged tip once, making it throb, making her strain for more. She gasped and tried to pull away. “Go on,” he whispered harshly. “Try to stop me. Try to escape.” His cock, with its rapid, straining pulse, nestled between her buttocks. She whimpered with expectation and from the thrill that coursed through her blood while she pretended to be taken against her will. “Bastard,” she hissed playfully. “Let go of me!” He forced one knee between her legs and pushed them apart, none too gently. He dragged his palm from her breast, down across her belly and slid it between her spread legs. Two thick fingers thrust past her swollen pussy lips, probed and then sank deep into her slick channel. Squeezing her eyes shut, she bit her bottom lip at his sudden but welcome invasion. She moaned and bucked into his hand, marveling at the firm control he kept on both of their bodies. Trevor finger-fucked her hard, then soft and hard again. “Oh yeah, you want it here, don’t you?” He drew out her juices until she squirmed uncontrollably against him. “Spread your legs. Bend over,” he ordered gruffly and tightened his grip on her hands. He stretched her shoulders back as far as they would go, holding her body like a bow for his pleasure. Excitement at being at his mercy coursed through her. She waited for his next move, trembling with expectation. “I wonder, how tight is your sweet little ass? Ever been fucked there, Cyn?”

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She tried to shake her head and yelped when his fist tightened on her hair. “No. Haven’t done that yet.” He slicked the hard length of his erection up and down her crack. “Another time, then.” In one powerful thrust from behind he drove the entire length of his cock into her pussy. She let out a deep breath and groaned, then squeezed her muscles around him. The toys she regularly played with had taught her exactly how to do this. There was no pain, only the satisfying fullness and tingling pressure as he filled her quickly, completely. But this was role-playing. He held her captive. She was supposed to act scared. She screamed against the wall, bracing her cheek against the misty tile. He wrapped his free hand around her body and cupped her sex again, rubbing her pussy lips in synchronous rhythm while he slammed into her body from behind. “You’ve been a bad girl, Cynthia. You’ve done this before.” “No. Oh God, never,” she mumbled between grunts of wicked pleasure. He tunneled through her swollen flesh until he found her throbbing clit. The spiral of intense ecstasy uncoiled inside her belly, unleashing a flood of juices around his cock. “Don’t lie to me,” he growled into her ear. He plunged in and out, stretching her swollen tissues ruthlessly. He teased her clit in the same rhythm. “Your lies will only make it worse.” “Noooo.” She was nearly breathless now, panting uncontrollably against his hard thrust from behind. “Oh yes!” Her orgasm shook her from head to toe, spreading like wildfire throughout her body and melting her bones. If Trevor didn’t have such a firm grip on her body, she would have fallen over, landed in a crumpled heap of quivering flesh beneath the shower spray. “Damn!” he swore loudly, his breathing rapid and harsh. He let her hands go and gripped her hips, digging his fingers into her skin. Then he powered his cock into her tight sheath, making a slapping sound with each forceful thrust. She braced her hands against the wall. Over and over he pounded into her, harder each time, until Cynthia knew she would be sore. His cock jerked inside her, spurting hot seed deep into her womb as he roared his release. She whimpered, completely spent, shaking and trembling from her excitement, deliriously happy. Her fantasy had come true. Instantly she wished for more. Trevor ran his hands over her spine, shoulders and hips, once again using a soft stroke now that they’d both been sated. He eased his still-thick cock out of her body and delicately washed hot water over her tender flesh. “Are you all right?” He turned her around to face him and leaned her against the wall with strong but gentle hands on her shoulders. She was as limp as a rag doll, unable to resist anything more he wanted to do to her. Her eyelashes fluttered open when he began rubbing sweet-scented soap over her arms and chest. 93

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“Cynthia? Talk to me. Tell me you enjoyed that?” “Mmm,” she murmured, still reveling in the intensity that continued to echo inside every cell of her body. “That was wonderful. You were wonderful. You just made my dream come true, Trevor.” “Mine too, darling.” He grinned, his eyes twinkled. “Next time, it will be even better with handcuffs.”

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Chapter Fifteen Watching Trevor dress was almost as much of a turn-on as watching him undress. Cynthia sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, a fluffy white hotel bathrobe wrapped around her body. Her wet hair draped across one shoulder while she worked a brush through each tangled strand. He donned formfitting briefs and tugged dark jeans up his legs. “I have to go out alone this morning.” Cynthia nodded mutely. “Do not leave this room, Cyn.” He tied the laces of his short boots with quick, efficient motions. Then he pulled a navy blue turtleneck sweater over his head. It messed up his hair, she wanted to drag her fingers through the thick, glossy mass. “You don’t leave for any reason,” he continued, “unless the hotel is burning down. Can I trust you with that?” “Yes. But why can’t I go with you?” He slid his gun harness over his broad shoulders and attached the other to his lower leg. He reached for his guns, flipped each weapon’s chamber open, peered into it, snapped it shut and slid it into place. His movements were confident and smooth. Gone was the fierce yet tender lover who’d shared her bed and shower. He’d transformed back into the dark and dangerous man from Interpol, determined to find his quarry no matter what or who stood in his way. “You need to stay here because I’m meeting with someone who might have some information about Andrews’ whereabouts. But he doesn’t know I’m coming and he’s not going to be happy to see me. I can’t risk having you there. Stay here.” He reached for his leather jacket and shrugged into it, effectively hiding his weapon. Then he opened his wallet and pulled out a card. “Here’s my cell phone number. Stay in this room. Promise me you’ll do as I say?” “Okay, I promise.” She pouted, reaching for the card. “Geez, I feel like a kid who’s been grounded and I haven’t even done anything to deserve it.” Trevor stepped closer to the bed. “Come here.” Cynthia crawled over to the edge and kneeled in front of him. He ran his hand down her wet hair and tipped her face up with his finger. “Don’t make me worry about your safety while I’m gone, Cyn.” She started to say she’d promised not to leave but the words died on her lips. He smelled of soap and that pure, sexy male essence that was uniquely his. He pulled her up by the shoulders and brushed the lightest kiss across her mouth. She let the tip of her tongue touch his upper lip. He went from gentle to demanding in the flash of a

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heartbeat. He crushed his mouth down on hers. She quivered under the onslaught of his kiss and savored the full thrust of his tongue into her mouth, the exquisite pressure of his lips against hers. Just when she was beginning to melt into a puddle on the bed, he released her, leaving her gasping for air. “Dammit, Trevor, that wasn’t fair.” “I know. It’s a reminder there’s more where that came from, and if you want it, you’ll stay put. I won’t be long. There’s a fruit basket in the living room if you get hungry. I’ll leave the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door. I’ve sent orders that the maids are not to bother with this room, not until I return. Nobody knows you’re here and that’s the safest thing for you. Do you understand that?” “Yes. Okay.” She sank back down into the mattress. His hard kiss and the clean, masculine scent of him made her brain fuzzy and her body hungry with renewed desire. She took a deep breath to clear the sex-fog from her head. “Will this be over today if you find Mr. Andrews? I’d kinda like to get back to my old life. I have a design to finish for a contest that’s due in two weeks and I’m running out of time to do my entry justice.” He caressed her cheek with his knuckles. “I hope so. It all depends on if I find him. I should be back before lunch.”

***** At one p.m. Cynthia hung up the phone after an all-too-brief and disappointing conversation with the Humane Society. No pure white shorthaired cat of Moses’ description had shown up since yesterday. Fresh tears pricked her eyes. She felt like screaming with frustration and worry for his safety. The thought of her sweet baby outside, alone, fending for himself, was enough to shred her heart to pieces. She pictured him scared, hungry, cold and tired. She sat on the couch wearing jeans and her favorite pale pink angora sweater, feeling heartsick and angry. She picked up the remote control and restlessly flipped through the channels on the TV, not really seeing any of the images that flashed across the screen. Guilt hunted the edges of her mind like the rabid hound from hell. The more she tried to avoid it, the closer it got to biting her in the ass. It made her fidgety and stole her focus. Her sketchpad and pencils lay scattered on the coffee table. Wads of discarded pages tumbled like paper snowballs on the carpet near the wastebasket. She couldn’t concentrate. Her creative spirit had apparently gone into hiding—and she knew exactly why. The American Jewelry Designer contest deadline loomed closer and closer. She had precious little time left to create her contest ring. She couldn’t do any of it until she

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cleared her mind and satisfied her conscience. All of her sketches focused on a round stone of exquisite beauty. It would be so perfect… That damned diamond and those cryptic numbers. What the hell should I do? Please, let Trevor find Mr. Andrews today. She wanted to give back the stone, let him and Trevor deal with it. Maybe then her fickle muse would return and this horrid nightmare would be done. But, what if Trevor didn’t find him today? Trapped. She felt cornered without any escape from this tangled, dangerous mess. Trevor’s hotel room, as spacious as it was, made her feel claustrophobic too. If she couldn’t work and be creative, she wanted to go out. A brisk walk would clear her mind. Agitated by her confinement, she stepped to the window and pulled the sheer inner curtain aside to look out over the city below. Heavy cloud cover turned everything into gloomy gray. The cold, damp weather glazed the window, dripped down the walls of buildings directly across from her view and settled into wet puddles on the streets. Morosely, she listened to the local weatherman on TV warn his audience of more snow on the way. How can I fix this? I have to do something! A desperate idea formed in her mind. It was distasteful at best, cowardly at worst. She could write a note with the numbers she’d copied down from her examination of the diamond and leave it for Trevor to find when he returned. That’s what he wanted, right? He wouldn’t care that she disappeared from sight once he had what he needed. And when she found Mr. Andrews again, she’d give him the diamond. Everyone would be happy. Best of all, she could avoid the painful emotions that no doubt would erupt if she had to say a formal goodbye to Trevor. Better to make a clean break. 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 97

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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

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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.

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“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.

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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.

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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.

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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 with 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.

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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?” Nausea made her head swim. She motioned to the back of his pawnshop, toward the privacy of a unisex bathroom. “Mind if I just take a leak first?” “Sure thing, baby-doll.” He waved her on with his long-fingered hand. “Don’t mind the trash. I haven’t taken it out yet.” “Thanks,” Cynthia mumbled. She moved quickly to the back of the pawnshop. She locked the door inside the cramped, pink tiled bathroom with faded flower wallpaper. She rested her backpack on the counter and then jerked out of her heavy coat. A cold sweat dampened her skin. She turned the water on and leaned over the sink, shivering under the oily grasp of fear. Her stomach clenched and she dry-heaved but nothing came up. It seemed everywhere she turned today, she ran smack into dangerous signals that her life was careening out of control and straight toward death’s door. How could those thugs who’d been chasing her know about Lu’s pawnshop? She felt trapped. Hunted and pinned down like an animal. She wanted to scream in frustration. Get a grip. You have to get out of town! Nobody knows about Mom and Dad’s cabin.

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She took careful, deep breaths to calm her nerves and jumpy stomach. When she felt moderately more in control of her emotions, she splashed cold water in her face and sipped a little to wash out the sour taste in her mouth. She dried her face and hands with paper towels and then opened her backpack. The stone she chose to sell was the half-carat, oval cut, pigeon’s blood ruby she’d bought at an estate auction last year. She knew ruby was Lu’s favorite, his birthstone. He’d give her a fair price for it. It would be more than enough cash to hide with for a long, long time. She’d rent a car and drive all the way up to Little Saranac Lake. Pay cash for everything she needed along the way, not leave a paper trail for tracking her whereabouts. The more she thought it through, the more sense it made and the more convinced she became it was her only option. Feeling much stronger with her plan of action, Cynthia tucked the ruby inside a one-inch square paper packet used by gemologists to buy and sell stones. She slid the ruby packet into her jeans pocket, picked up her coat and backpack and unlocked the bathroom door. When she stepped into the hallway again she saw Lu speaking with a big blond man at the counter. He stood with his back to her but she recognized him immediately. Quickly she backed up inside the bathroom and locked the door again. He was the same sinister man who had trailed her and Trevor last night, when they escaped from the coffee shop. Trevor. Dear God, her heart pounded at the mere thought of him. Had she made the biggest mistake of her life by leaving his protection? Warning bells hammered inside her head with renewed alarm. She had to find a way out of here. That man and his partner knew she frequented Lu’s pawnshop. Did the bastard pick up her purse after she’d dropped it in the street last night? He’d been following them, chasing after her. Of course he picked up her purse! That’s how he found out about her favorite pawnshop. He would have found Lu’s business card inside her wallet. How they knew she’d come here today didn’t matter anymore. And most likely, they had murdered Mr. Andrews. They’ll kill you too, if you don’t get your ass in gear and get the hell out of here! Lu’s bathroom did have a small window and she’d never be able to squeeze through the tiny space or break past the iron bars. He also had a back door with access to the alley between these buildings. The skinny hallway to the back door was long and dark. The door would be locked on the outside as a precaution from strangers entering the pawnshop from the alley. What were the chances she could sneak back there and escape without either Lu or the blond man noticing her? Cynthia pressed her ear to the bathroom door and listened. She could hear their muted voices, their laughter. If Lu was at all attracted to this man, he’d do his best to keep him occupied for as long as possible. If she was going to escape, now was the time.

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She opened the bathroom door a crack and peered out, thankful Lu’s fussy nature meant that he kept the hinges well oiled. The blond man appeared to be interested in whatever item Lu had on the counter. Cynthia took a deep, fortifying breath and tiptoed down to the end of the hallway, dodging empty boxes, paper supplies and neatly stacked piles of gay porno magazines along the wall. When she reached the back door, she opened it and squeezed through without looking back. The door slammed shut behind her on a gust of icy wind. They would have heard that! A fresh burst of adrenaline ignited her legs and she spun around to run. She collided with a heavy trash container, making a horrible noise. She pushed away from it and sprinted through the alley toward the street, panic urging her to run faster. A man emerged from the shadowed edge of the building and stepped into her path. She tried to dodge him at the last minute and yelped when his fist tangled into her hair. He jerked her back against the grimy brick wall. The force of it knocked the air out of her lungs. “Didn’t take you long,” sneered the short Asian man. He pinned her to the wall with his gloved hand on her throat. Despite his small stature, he held her like she weighed no more than an insect. She struggled, kicking and clawing at his hand to ease the crushing pressure on her throat. He smashed his leather-gloved fist into her temple. Stars exploded behind her eyes. Her body went limp. She fought to stay lucid and not lose consciousness. Through spinning vision and the roaring inside her ears she heard him speak into a cell phone. “Got her. She’s in the alley. Bring the van around back.” “Let go of me,” she growled as loudly as possible. “Shut up!” He stripped her backpack from her shoulder and dragged her away from the wall by the nape of her hair. “Come on, bitch. We’re takin’ you for a ride.” Cynthia stumbled. He whipped around to slap her again but another man’s authoritative voice stopped him in mid-swing. “Enough! Let her go.” She regained her balance, looked up and saw Trevor’s tall confident form walking toward them. A nauseating mixture of relief and fear welled up inside her stomach like a geyser ready to explode. Trevor didn’t make eye contact with her. He held his gun with both hands, aimed squarely at the man who held her captive. It gleamed with lethal intent. “Fuck,” her captor swore softly. For one split second she thought he would release her. But he grabbed her around the waist and around the throat again, using her body as a shield. She felt the pinprick edge of a knife jab into the tender skin beneath her left ear. Cynthia stiffened, too terrified to move a muscle or even breathe.

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Trevor didn’t lower his gun. Sweet Jesus! He looked so dangerous. And in tight, icy control. He continued to walk toward them, his steps measured and menacing, pushing the man farther inside the alley. He dragged her with him. Her captor tensed. “Drop the gun or I’ll slice her wide open, man. Do it!” The back door of Lu’s pawnshop burst open. Her captor swung about, twisting her body sideways with a vicious snap that threatened to break her spine. She saw his big blond partner race out into the alley. He also collided with the metal trash container and then skidded to a halt when he saw them, his pale blue eyes darting wildly between his partner and Trevor. The blond reached inside his trench coat. The sound of a gunshot exploded inside her ears. She jerked reflexively. Trevor hadn’t even taken his eyes off her captor when he aimed for the blond man. A shrieking howl split the air and the man crumpled to a heap on the ground, clutching his knee. His bulky frame writhed and he let out a high-pitched scream like a rabbit being skinned alive. He curled up in a fetal position and held his shattered kneecap with both hands. Bright red blood seeped from between his pale fingers. The man holding her swung back around to face Trevor, pushing her body between them. “I’m not going to tell you again.” Trevor took another step forward. “Drop the knife. Let her go.” He walked past the blond man on the ground, completely ignoring his pitiful groaning. Her captor jerked her back, the knife pricking at her neck in earnest. Fear clogged Cynthia’s throat. The smallest swallow would drive his weapon home. The sound of screeching tires from the street caught her attention. A large dark van pulled into the alley. The driver pointed a gun out the window and aimed at Trevor. He dodged behind the heavy metal trash container and crouched down on his knees. Her captor chuckled. “We’ll be going now. Come on!” He pulled her along the opposite wall, backing up toward the waiting van. “Cynthia!” Trevor called out. “Close your eyes.” She couldn’t take her eyes off him, too afraid to even blink. In a few more steps, she wouldn’t be able to see him behind the trash container anymore. She’d be dead. “Do it!” he shouted fiercely. “Close your eyes.” Tears welled up, making her vision blurry. She was pulled closer to the van. Whatever Trevor planned, he’d better do it now. She had to trust him. She squeezed her eyes shut. The second she did, another gunshot exploded in the small alley, followed quickly by two more. Her captor wrenched back, away from her. His grip on her loosened and his body slumped down behind her. The knife clattered at her feet. She was frozen in place, unable to feel her muscles or will them to move. When she opened her eyes again

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the first thing she saw was the hole that pierced the van’s windshield and the bloodsplattered glass. The driver’s body slumped over the seat. Trevor’s hand wrapped firmly around her upper arm and pulled her away from the wall. “Are you hurt?” “I dunno,” she mumbled. She looked down at the man’s crumpled form. A dark pool of blood spread out beneath his head. Dead. A black hole pierced his skull between his eyes. His dark, slanted eyes stared at nothing. Her stomach lurched into her throat. “Oh God.” The back door of Lu’s pawnshop opened again. Trevor pushed her out of the way and aimed his gun at Lu standing there in his bright red wig and blue silk outfit. “No!” Cynthia grabbed Trevor’s arm. “Don’t shoot him! He’s a friend.” Lu aimed a small pistol at the blond man lying in the alley. She didn’t even know he owned a gun. The blond dropped the weapon he’d pulled as a last effort. He grimaced in pain, grabbed his bloody knee again and resumed moaning. “I called the police already.” Lu kicked the discarded gun over to the wall with one of his high-heeled pumps, carefully keeping his weapon focused on the groaning blond hulk at his feet. “You okay, honey-pie?” Trevor studied Lu for a moment, then tucked his gun inside his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. “Keep an eye on that one,” he ordered. “My pleasure.” Lu beamed, apparently delighted to have the task of keeping the blond pinned to the ground. He turned worried eyes on Cynthia. “Girlfriend, you sure do liven up a boring afternoon. So, who’s your hunky boyfriend?” “He’s a cop. Sort of,” she answered woodenly. “Ooh,” Lu crooned. “You know how to pick ‘em, baby-cakes.” Cynthia moved over to the wall, away from the dead body of the man who’d held a knife to her throat. She rubbed the area where he’d pricked her skin and winced when she found a cut. Her fingers had a small smear of blood on them. Shaking with spent adrenaline, she sank down to her heels and buried her face in her hands. She concentrated on breathing while crouched against the wall for support. So far, she’d managed not to puke. Her sore knee bumped into her backpack. When she chanced a glance at Trevor, he spoke into his phone but his gaze burned at her with such fury that she had to look away. Damn! He was angry. Beyond angry. He was pissed. Would he even give her a chance to thank him for coming to her rescue? Could he forgive her for being so damned stupid? Probably not, judging by his body language. He looked stiff and totally unapproachable. Whatever feelings they might have shared for each other last night and this morning had been executed in cold blood. She knew he’d never forgive her now. Who could blame him? Because of her, he’d just killed two people and wounded a third.

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Police sirens sounded down the street, drawing closer with every piercing wail. They’d have a lot more questions for her this time. She picked up her backpack, repositioned it on her shoulder and bravely stood up to wait for them.

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Chapter Seventeen Cynthia slumped on an empty gurney parked behind one of three ambulances that had arrived on the scene, right behind the squad of police cars. The coroner’s black, windowless van departed with the bodies of the men Trevor killed to protect her. She couldn’t look in that direction. The implications of their deaths hit her with solid finality. An ambulance carried the injured blond man to a nearby hospital, followed by a squad car. Most likely he’d have surgery to repair his knee and then be carted off to a cell for recovery. Through a haze of confusion, she gave a preliminary statement to one of the police officers who then told her to “wait for further questioning”. After cleaning the shallow cut on her neck, a female EMT taped a small piece of gauze over the wound. Funny, it had felt so much worse, much deeper than “shallow”. “All done,” the woman said and patted Cynthia’s shoulder. “Apply some ice on your temple to keep the swelling down. Aspirin should help with any headaches if you get them. Since you’re up to date on your tetanus, the cut should heal quickly. See your doctor if you have problems, okay?” “I will. Thank you.” Cynthia eased off the gurney. Other than the deep throbbing inside her head from the man’s fist, she felt fine. When she stood, her legs wobbled and her feet felt like she walked on marbles. She braced against the ambulance door for a few moments. Her hands shook while she shrugged back into her coat and retrieved her backpack. She hadn’t had the chance to speak with Trevor yet. Things happened so fast once the police arrived and secured the area. Two of the city’s local TV stations had sent crews to film and report the event. Fortunately the cops kept them at a distance. She glanced around, looking for a safe place to watch the proceedings but stay out of the way. Trevor stood near the empty, blood-splattered van with Detectives Ed Marsh and Jack Sival and a dozen other cops. Red, white and blue flashing lights from seven police vehicles created a bizarre carnival effect over the crime scene. The lights bounced off the walls and hurt her eyes. The crowd that gathered appeared as an ocean of humanity pressed against hastily erected barricades. A tow truck backed up the alley toward the disabled, bloodied van. Cynthia winced from the high-pitched “beep, beep” warning the truck made. Two uniformed police officers guided the truck into the narrow space between the buildings. Thick diesel fumes pillowed toward her from the exhaust, forcing her to hold her breath or suffer a serious bout of coughing.

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When the tow truck cleared her path she looked up and met Trevor’s eyes. The force of his anger hit her like the scorching heat from a blast furnace. He left the detectives he’d been speaking with and strode toward her. A taut, barely contained power emanated from his body. A muscle ticced in his jaw, clearly visible as he approached. She’d never seen a man so angry with her. God, he was sexy! “Thank you for saving my life.” He didn’t say “you’re welcome”. Narrowed, hot blue eyes pinned her to the spot. “Besides the cut and the bruise on your face, you’re unharmed?” She cringed at the clipped tone of his voice. “Yes. I just want to go home and—” Without letting her finish he grabbed her hand and forced her to walk quickly with him, past the crowd of wide-eyed onlookers to where he’d parked his SUV in front of Lu’s pawnshop. He yanked the passenger side door open. “Get in,” he ordered. Cynthia pulled her hand free. “No! This whole, horrible thing is over now, right? They’re dead. You have what you wanted and you have that blond bully alive to question. Just leave me alone.” Detective Sival ambled up beside them. A cigarette stub bobbed from his lips. He wiggled the stub to the corner of his mouth before speaking. “Problems?” “No,” Trevor growled at him without taking his eyes off her. “Yes,” she said defiantly at the same time. Trevor scrubbed a hand through his hair. Detective Sival’s ink-black eyes showed concern and that unique blend of curiosity and suspicion that cops had. “Wanna tell me about it, Miss Lyons?” She closed her eyes for a second. She felt tired, weak and emotionally at the bottom of the barrel. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Detective. I just want to go home now.” In contrast to Trevor’s hard face, Sival’s turned soft and sympathetic. He dropped his cigarette on the sidewalk and crushed it under the scuffed toe of his shoe. “I’m sorry about that. You should rest. Maybe you’d feel more comfortable coming with us? We can put you in a safe house, if that’s what you’d prefer.” The thought of still being involved in any way, even for her own safety, appalled her. “Why? I’ve already given you my statement of what happened back there, Detective. It’s over, right?” “We think so.” Sival cocked his head at Trevor. “He doesn’t. I think it would be a good precaution if you came with us. You shouldn’t be alone.” “It’s not over, Cynthia,” Trevor cut in. “Too many people know about the diamond by now.” He leaned his arm across the open car door and glared at Sival with brazen challenge. “Including you, Detective. And your partner. Hell, even your esteemed Captain Hill.” Sival reached inside his pocket for another cigarette and slid it between his wide lips. He didn’t light it. “You assume a lot, Agent St. James. Let me set you straight on 111

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something. We don’t have time to go chasing after one little lost diamond. Plenty of homicides, kidnappings and burglaries to keep us busy. With all due respect, if the lady doesn’t want to go with you while you finish your wild goose chase, she has the right to come with us. We’ll keep her safe.” Trevor’s lip curled into a snarl that would do a wolf proud. Barely leashed fury radiated from his taut body. Was this the same man who tenderly licked drops of wine from her quivering skin last night? She shook off the mental image of him, naked, bringing such pleasure to her body with his expert touch. Thinking about his loving wouldn’t get her anywhere right now. What she needed to do was diffuse the nasty situation brewing between these two men. “Detective, can I have a moment with Agent St. James alone?” Sival glanced between her and Trevor, nodded and walked a short distance away to light his cigarette. When he was far enough, she turned to face Trevor. “You haven’t been back to your hotel room yet, have you?” “No. And you shouldn’t have left it. You gave me your word you’d stay there.” She flinched as if he’d slapped her. “I’m sorry but that all changed when I saw Mr. Andrews’ body dragged out of the river on TV.” “Cyn, listen to me.” He softened the harsh tone of his voice. “This isn’t over yet and you are still in danger. You’re a key witness. Those men were waiting for you when you got here. By now, they know everything about you, your habits, who your friends are, everything. You must believe me when I tell you the men who were here aren’t the only ones involved. Trust me on that. They were hired help. Just because I took a few out of the picture doesn’t mean this is over.” Intense scrutiny flared inside his midnight-blue eyes. She had to look away. Guilt covered her like a lead blanket and she didn’t have the strength to crawl out from beneath it. She could almost hear the suction from the black hole her life had fallen into. It was hollow, loud and scary as hell. She bowed her head and studied the sidewalk beneath her shoes, then took a step forward and lowered her voice so that only Trevor could hear her confession. “I’m sorry, Trevor. When I saw what happened to Mr. Andrews, I thought the best thing to do was leave. That was when I decided I’d caused you enough trouble and that you should know the information I had. It’s on the note I left for you, back at the hotel. And then I put the diamond inside the envelope too. I swear I have no idea what those numbers mean. They don’t even make sense to me. I just want to be done with all this.” He went so still, so silent for a moment that she had to look up to see if he’d heard her. “I see,” he said with icy formality. “You wrote the numbers down?” She swallowed and nodded vigorously.

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“Sweet God, help me to understand why you chose now to let me know this.” His voice sounded raw, so pained that it hurt to listen to him. “Cyn, please get into the car. We’re going back to the hotel.” She took a step back, glancing over at Detective Sival. “No, Trevor. I don’t want anything more to do with this. I have…things to do. For my own career. I want my life back the way it was.” The muscle in his jaw twitched. “This is what you prefer?” She could only nod, too choked up to trust herself to say another word. “Very well.” He slammed the passenger door shut with finality. “If I need to speak with you, I’ll contact the detectives for your whereabouts. Do you still have my card?” She nodded again. “Good. Keep it with you, Cyn. Just in case.” He started to reach up, as if he wanted to soothe the throbbing bruise on her temple. She shied away from his hand. Compassion and sadness flickered inside his gaze and then it was gone. Trevor stepped back, opening a chasm wider than the Grand Canyon between them. He walked around to the driver’s side door and got in without looking back. The engine roared to life, the tires squealed under his impatience as he drove away. She watched until the black SUV disappeared into a river of traffic. He was gone. A cold feeling of loss and abandonment flowed through her with such force that she trembled. Her body grew numb from the inside out. Seeing him leave, insisting he do so, hurt. The stench of cigarette smoke assaulted her nose. She turned. Detective Sival stood quietly behind her, his eyes crinkled in his attempt at smiling without losing his cigarette. “You did a smart thing, young lady, not going with him.” She tried to return the smile but failed when her lip began to quiver instead. “I hope so, Detective.” “I know so. He’s a loose cannon.” No, he’s not! her mind screamed silently in Trevor’s defense. But she couldn’t form words in her dry throat. “Come on,” he urged. “Let’s find my partner and get you to the safe house. You must be exhausted.” She hesitated before allowing Sival to lead her to the plain blue sedan he and Marsh used. He put her suitcase in the trunk then opened the door and ushered her inside. Weariness invaded every cell of her body, making her feel heavy and boneless at the same time. She slid gratefully into the backseat. Sival leaned down and gave her what he probably thought was a friendly pat on the knee. “You just relax, Miss Lyons. I’ll take good care of you.” His dark eyes focused on her backpack and his hand lingered on her knee a second too long. A shot of warning flared into her numbed brain like the bright flash of a

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camera when you didn’t expect someone to take your picture. Did he think she still had the diamond? She scooted toward the center of the backseat out of his reach. “Thanks, Detective. I’m okay now.” He smiled, showing more of his nicotine-stained teeth than she cared to see before he closed the door. She watched him walk away out of the corner of her eye and then followed his path in the rearview mirror. Every nerve in her body scrambled to sudden alert for some reason. Her skin prickled as if ants crawled over her. Why? She was with a police detective, New York City’s finest. Certainly she was safe with them, right? In the mirror, Cynthia saw Sival pull his partner, Ed Marsh, away from the uniformed police officers on the scene. The two men stood with their heads bent close together and with their backs to the car so she couldn’t see their faces. The tiny voice inside her head, the one that warned of danger, urged her to flee. Her logic argued. Why? What was wrong? Cynthia glanced in the mirror again. Both detectives were speaking to the police officers now. She reached a hand to the door. Sival turned around to look at the car. Cynthia gasped and jerked her hand back. Was he able to sense her thoughts of fleeing? Wasn’t it common knowledge that police detectives had unusually honed instincts? She waited until he turned his attention away again. The urge to disappear into the crowd and get as far from them as possible became a demand she couldn’t ignore. The car was situated near the edge of the crowd. Those people standing closest were still craning their necks to get a better view of the tow truck and the blood-splattered van passing by them as if on parade. Sitting inside the car muted the noise on the street. The hum of her own blood pounding through her ears sounded much louder. The interior smelled of Sival’s stale cigarettes and the cold, greasy aroma from a bag of half-eaten French fries left on the dashboard. Nausea returned with a sour bite on the back of her tongue. Slowly, she scooted across the vinyl seat to the opposite door, closer to the crowd. She forced herself not to panic, to act calm before she opened the door and then stepped out. Neither the detectives nor the police officers noticed when she got out of the car. The people standing around paid no attention. With her heart in her throat, Cynthia ducked under the barricade tape and pushed her way through the crush of people standing there. When she broke through the crowd, she walked quickly to the subway station at the end of the street and didn’t look back.

***** Trevor parked in front of the hotel with a screech of tires and left the engine running. The valet attendant grabbed the driver’s side door as he swung it open in his haste.

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“Park it, sir?” “No,” he growled at the young man. “Leave it up front. I’ll not be long.” His cell phone trilled inside his front pocket as he hurried through the lobby toward the elevators. O’Rourke’s number showed up on the ID. “Where are you?” he demanded. “Tricky little minx she is, boyo. She slipped away from them exactly the way ya predicted.” He tamped down the relief that surged through his body at the news of Cynthia’s escape from the detectives. He didn’t trust them and apparently she didn’t either. Not the way she tried to make him believe. Turning away from her had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. It accounted for why he’d gotten lost driving back to the hotel. His mind had been fried to a crisp fighting off his demons. By the time he realized he wasn’t driving toward the hotel, he was halfway to the Bronx. The elevator doors opened and Trevor stepped aside to let a couple with a young boy clinging to both his parents’ hands walk out. Most likely he’d lose his cellular signal inside the elevator. He opted to wait for the next one and finish his conversation with O’Rourke on Cynthia’s whereabouts first. The diamond inside the envelope in his hotel room could sit a little longer. “Where is she?” “I had to leave my car,” O’Rourke said. “She took the underground again and went straight to her apartment. Funny thing, though, she never went inside.” “She doesn’t have a key for it yet. Where did she go then?” “Around to the side alley. Had herself a good look around down there. Do ya have any idea why she’d do that, St. James?” Trevor sighed. “Yes. She’s looking for her pet cat. The animal disappeared after her apartment was broken into. Cynthia’s quite attached to him. Did she find him?” “Poor lass,” O’Rourke said, clucking his tongue into the phone. “No, she came out and headed straight up the street, then hopped the city bus. I barely managed to catch a taxi.” “Don’t tell me you lost her. Where’d she go?” O’Rourke stayed quiet for one unnerving moment too long. Trevor grimaced, knowing what the man would be saying, fearing it just the same. “Go on.” “First she went to another pawn shop. Came out from there in a hurry. Then she took another taxi and stopped at a rental car shop, outside of Brooklyn. I waited, watching for her to come out. I’m sorry, St. James. She drives faster than you do through this city.” Trevor’s heart sank to his shoes. “You lost her.” “I’m afraid so. The taxi driver and I almost came to fisticuffs over his driving skills, or lack thereof, compared to hers.”

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“Blast it all to bloody hell!” He stared at the cell phone, wishing he could reach through it to strangle O’Rourke. But it wasn’t really the Scot’s fault. A woman dressed in a chic business suit joined Trevor to wait for the elevator. She gave him a dirty look. He moved farther away without apologizing to her for his swearing. Trevor closed his eyes and tried not to think how scared Cynthia must be, if she didn’t even feel safe with the police. “What do ya want me to do now, St. James?” He took a deep breath. “She has a brother in Chicago, her twin actually. I believe she said his name was Paul. Paul Lyons. He’s traveling in Italy right now. Find him. I want his phone number, home address, everything. She could be driving to stay at his place, or maybe he knows where she’d go to lay low. Perhaps there’s a friend or other family member here in New York or on the East Coast within driving distance.” “Will do,” O’Rourke said. “Did ya retrieve the numbers from the stone yet?” “No. I met up with some traffic delays on my way here. I’m at the hotel now. I’ll call London to confirm the numbers and then check out of the hotel. I’ll meet you at your place for follow-up.” “Then what? Are ya planning to chase the lassie down?” Trevor didn’t answer. The way O’Rourke worded it, as if he encouraged Trevor to do so, made him realize he did have ulterior motives where Cynthia Lyons was concerned. He wasn’t ready to stop stirring the feelings that brewed between them. “She’s still in danger,” he agreed. “Doesn’t matter that she gave me the diamond, the people after her won’t know that. And I’m not going to announce it to anyone.” “Not even the police captain? He should pull his men off, ya know?” The insane horror he felt when he saw the man’s knife pinned at Cynthia’s soft throat returned and solidified into cold anger—the kind of calm fury that made men do strange things. “They would have killed her, O’Rourke. As easily as they popped two into the man we pulled out of the water this morning. Whoever’s after her believes she still has the key to that account. I’ll find her first.” “Ya’d use the lassie as bait, man?” “No!” Trevor lowered his voice. “No. I’ll be with her.” O’Rourke groaned loudly into the receiver. “Why not let the American police handle that problem now, St. James? Or, are ya staying involved for other, more personal reasons?” Trevor ground his teeth together. He couldn’t find words to explain how or even what he felt for Cynthia. He just knew he had to find her and protect her. “I’ll let you know if revenge is as sweet as they say it is.” “Are ya emotionally involved with her, man? Can’t say that I blame ya for that.” “Yes. No. Dammit! I don’t know, O’Rourke. I haven’t had much time to think about it. Got to go.” 116

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He snapped his cell phone closed. O’Rourke’s demented, amused chuckle echoed in Trevor’s ears, long after the elevator doors slid shut.

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Chapter Eighteen The farther north Cynthia drove into upper New York, the heavier the snow fell. The compact-sized rental car wasn’t equipped with snow tires. Even with the window defroster on high, she still had to stop every few miles to scrape icy snow off the windshield wipers when they crusted over. The fact that she hadn’t driven a car in almost a year and had never driven one through more than six inches of fresh snow, didn’t help matters either. The darkness unnerved her. Funny, she never realized how very dark the country was, compared to the continuous light in the city. Her hands and shoulders burned from the long fight to keep the car on the road and out of the ditch. If she slid off a curve, she’d be stuck until another car passed by. It was late enough at night that most of the farmhouses she’d passed were dark, their occupants deep in slumber. She didn’t have her cell phone with her. Or a blanket to keep warm, or food and water to survive a long, freezing night out here alone. The prospect of frostbite spurred her on, slowly putting mile after mile behind her. When she turned off the county road and onto the resort property, a huge swell of relief washed through her. She laughed, feeling giddy with her accomplishment. Harold Snyder, the manager of the Little Saranac Lake Resort was the only yearround resident. He lived alone in the first cabin. He wasn’t pleased at all when she knocked on his door at midnight. The porch light flicked on, nearly blinding her. He scowled at her through the window. She’d never known him to be a very friendly person to begin with. At this late hour, she was happy he answered the door at all. When he opened the door, his thinning, white-floss hair stood up on one side of his head and sleep wrinkles creased his already leathery face. “Hi, Mr. Snyder. Sorry to wake—” “You’re late.” He handed over the key and slammed the door shut. “Sorry to wake you. Thanks for the key.” She made sure to say it loud enough for him to hear through his door. So much for welcome back. Cynthia returned to her little car and drove another two miles on the winding, snow-covered dirt road around the frozen lake to her parents’ cabin. She began to relax at the first sight of the cozy, three-bedroom log structure tucked inside the protection of old oaks and towering pines. She hadn’t been here in five years. Except for the thick blanket of snow, everything was as she remembered it. A curl of steam rose out of the roof vent, indicating that the furnace had been turned on earlier. Inside it would be comfortable and warm. And safe.

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She parked right in front so she wouldn’t have to stomp through too much snow. Once the optimistic light of morning embraced the cabin she planned to shovel the front porch and walkway, since Mr. Snyder hadn’t done that for her. Performing a few domestic chores would restore her good humor and help to eliminate the tension that burned like a hot poker between her shoulders. No doubt she’d find plenty of small tasks to keep her hands and mind busy. Happy memories returned, of long summer days spent here with her family. The lake was always cool and refreshing. She and Paul had learned how to swim, paddle a canoe and fish here. They’d tied a tire swing on the sturdiest oak and spent hours flying through the air on it, pretending to be Superman and Wonder Woman. At night, her father would make a fire in the pit and they’d toast marshmallows and weenies on sticks while her mom read aloud from the great adventure classics of Jack London and Ernest Hemingway. Inevitably, she’d fall asleep curled up against her brother. Dad would carry her to bed. He’d leave the curtains open the way she liked. Then, just before she drifted back off to sleep, she’d gaze at the velvety black sky and pretend the stars were diamonds, waiting for her to grow up so she could collect them. Shit! A lot of trouble nipped on her heels now because of her passion for precious gems. Diamonds in particular. It had to stop. No more running away from her problems. Doing so never solved anything and usually made things much worse. There’d been plenty of opportunities yesterday to trust Trevor, heed his warnings and give him that damned diamond. Along with her need to protect her client’s property, her real desire had surfaced as well. She’d allowed the pure, alluring beauty of that perfect stone to cloud her judgment. Standing in the snow up to her calves, shivering while she stared at the cute little cabin that held so many memories for her, Cynthia realized she’d coveted the Russian white diamond for herself. It doesn’t belong to you! All of this trouble could have been avoided if she’d just believed in Trevor from the beginning. He hadn’t tried to pry or lure the stone from her. He’d respected her desire to shield her client, trusted her and then committed the ultimate sacrifice on her behalf. He’d killed two men to save her life. Cynthia burst into tears, shuddering under the falling snow with only the quaint, dark cabin as silent witness. It felt good to finally let go and spill out her grief. After a few moments of loud, uninhibited sobbing she realized that self-pity wouldn’t help her current situation. She wiped the wetness from her cheeks and blinked to clear her sight. “God,” she snuffled aloud, “Toughen up. The worst is behind you now.” Surely Trevor hated her. If only they’d met under better circumstances. Maybe then, they would have had a chance together? Now it was too late to mend the bridges she’d torched between them.

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Chapter Nineteen Trevor parked directly in front of Cynthia’s apartment building. He didn’t want to go ‘round and take precautions this morning. After yesterday, if anyone were still scouting her place, he hoped they’d confront him. Then he’d have a valid reason to release the pent-up anger and frustration boiling inside him. At times like this, there was a lot to be said for a good physical fight. He turned off the ignition. As far as he could tell, traffic appeared normal for this time of day. School was in session, so there were no children outside playing games or riding bicycles. A young woman carrying a violin case came out of the building, braced herself against the stiff wind and moved briskly along the sidewalk. One of Cynthia’s neighbors, he recalled. She’d told him they were musicians. “Why do ya need to go to her place?” O’Rourke inquired before Trevor took off this morning. “Cynthia’s not going to be there. She’s smarter than that.” Yes, she was. But still, he felt he’d missed some small clue. He’d seen Cynthia’s apartment but hadn’t had the chance to really investigate the building or surroundings, except for the roof. That had come up empty, except for the burning memory of what she’d said about sunbathing up there. Just thinking about that made him hard. He shifted in his seat. Focus, man. Once inside her place, he hoped to find a hint to her current hiding place. The police had done a fine job of finding nothing. Besides the blood smears and a partial shoe print, they had no trace on the man who broke in and attacked her. None of the hospitals reported a man coming in to the ER for treatment of blunt-trauma head injuries—the likes of which could have been made by a frightened woman fighting for her life with a golf club. How Cynthia had been able to disappear amazed him still. What surprised Trevor even more was that he didn’t hate her for it. If he’d learned anything from his service with Interpol, it was that certain gems cast spells over some people, making them act out of character where sanity and good, common sense ordinarily ruled. Simply put, Cynthia had been bespelled by the lovely Russian white diamond. All things considered, she’d reacted in a most normal fashion. Her saving grace had been the return of her common sense after she saw how another person had already died trying to keep the jewel. She’d escaped at the most opportune moment and in plain sight. The numbers Cynthia left in his hotel room were legitimate. A member of the Steinbrunn family had called early this morning to thank Trevor personally for his work

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in recovering their family fortune. He should have felt elated. But reading Cynthia’s handwritten note left a hole in his heart. Clearly, their time together meant something special to her. He couldn’t rest until he found her again. His cell phone rang. He didn’t recognize the caller’s ID. “St. James,” he answered. “This is Paul Lyons. Who is this? A man named O’Rourke left me a message to call your number immediately. Something about my sister, Cynthia. What happened to her? Is she in trouble?” Trevor smiled and gave thanks to O’Rourke’s tenacious fact-finding abilities. “Hello, Paul. Thank you for returning our call. My name is Trevor St. James. I’m a recovery agent for Interpol.” “Who? Interpol? What the hell does that have to do with my sister? Is she okay?” “I don’t know at this point, Paul. She’s missing. Your sister could be in a lot of trouble, I’m afraid. I’m hoping you can help me find out where she might be.” The line was quiet for an unnerving second. “How do I know you are who you say? What happened to Cynthia?” “Unfortunately I can’t show you my ID through the phone, so you’ll have to trust me. I want to help your sister, Paul. Do you know where she would go? Is she at your place in Chicago?” “No.” Paul’s breathing sounded scared on the phone. “She’s not there. And she’s not answering her phone either. Are you a police officer?” “I’m an Interpol agent. I recover lost or stolen gems.” “Goddammit! If you hurt her, I’ll break your fuckin’—” “Settle down, Paul. I’m looking for her to protect her, not harm her. I need to know where is. Do you have any ideas?” “Yeah, I know where she went. But I’m not telling you over the phone, not until I know who, or what you are. I’m calling the New York City police department first.” The line went dead. Quickly Trevor redialed the number. It was busy. He left a message, urging Paul to call him back, pleading with him not to call the police with any information on his sister’s whereabouts. Trevor feared giving the police a valuable lead. He had to move quickly. Trevor exited the car and approached the locked, steel door of Cynthia’s apartment building. A row of call buttons graced the panel beside it. He tapped on them one at a time, hoping someone would answer. “Hello,” a sleepy-sounding man’s voice said over the speaker. “U.P.S. delivery,” Trevor announced, using his best American accent. “I need your signature, sir.” Foolishly the man buzzed him inside. Did people really not learn anything from watching crime shows on TV?

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He took the stairs up to her apartment three at a time. From inside his leather jacket pocket he fished out a locksmith’s tool. He inserted the slender piece of metal, wiggled it a few times and unlocked her door. The door across the hall from Cynthia’s apartment clicked open at the same time. He tensed, reaching a hand inside his jacket for his gun. When no other sound came, he glanced over his shoulder. A gray-haired lady with a head full of pink plastic curlers stood there. She peered at him through half-rimmed, tortoiseshell eyeglasses. She wore a red velvet dressing gown, the kind with a zipper from neck to hem and white socks on her feet. Her smile warmed her sallow complexion. “Hello.” Trevor opened Cynthia’s door and tucked the locksmith’s tool back into his pocket. “Hello,” he answered. “I’m Ellie Perkins, Cynthia’s neighbor.” She opened her door a little wider. “I see you have a key to her apartment. You must be her new boyfriend.” “Boyfriend…ah, yes.” How could he squash such a sweet, hopeful grin? “Hmm,” she murmured, pursing her thin lips together and making no pretense about looking him up and down. “You’re very handsome. I was wondering, is she okay? We haven’t seen her for a few days. Not since that horrible burglary a few days ago.” There was no use worrying the old woman. “Yes, Cynthia’s fine. She’s a little scared still and doesn’t want to come back here yet.” The lady frowned in sympathy. A white cat pushed a delicate nose at the space between the door and the woman’s legs and then darted through before she could react fast enough. “Oh, Moses! Come back here.” Like a streaking white ghost, the cat ran across the hall and slipped past Trevor, disappearing into Cynthia’s apartment. He pointed in the fleeing feline’s direction. “That’s Moses? Cynthia’s cat?” “Yes,” Mrs. Perkins nodded. She took a step out of her apartment. “Let me just get him back.” Trevor held up his hand. “That’s okay, really. I’ll take care of him. Where’d you find him?” The lady glanced worriedly at Trevor and then shuffled back to her own apartment. “I found him hiding in the stairwell after the police took Cynthia away. I couldn’t just leave him out on his own, you know? That would be cruel. So, I’ve been taking care of him for her. I know how much she loves him and he’s such a good kitty. I’ve really enjoyed his company.” She rubbed her hands together as if she were chilled. “Well, Cynthia will be glad to know that, Mrs. Perkins. She’s been very worried about Moses. That’s why I’m here anyway. I’ll tell her you were so kind and bring him to her now.”

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A sad smile creased her face. Her blue-gray eyes blinked behind her glasses. “Thank you. Maybe I’ll get a cat, too.” She brightened. “Anyway, I’m glad Cynthia’s okay. Such a sweet girl. But I’m sure you know that, hmm?” He scratched his chin. “Sweet. Yes, she is.” Tastes good too, he thought wickedly. “And she’s very quiet, always working. Oh, I hope she’s doing much better now. Would you tell her I said ‘hello’?” Trevor smiled back. “I sure will. I’d better find Moses and be on my way back to her. She’s going to be very happy to know he’s been so well cared for. Goodbye, Mrs. Perkins.” “Bye-bye,” she waved, giving a little sing-song to her voice before closing her door. He slid inside Cynthia’s apartment and gently closed the door behind him. The window in her living room had been replaced but shards of glass still glittered on the carpet. Obviously the landlord didn’t believe in cleaning up after himself either. Trevor pictured Cynthia’s pet walking through that glass and cutting a paw. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” he called out and grimaced at how silly he felt saying it. He moved slowly through the living room. Where did the fickle puss go? He preferred dogs over cats. Dogs came when you called them. He eased through the living room, scanning the walls, the furniture, the tiny crevices where things could be hidden in plain sight. The police hadn’t been successful in finding her safe. Searching for her cat would be a good reason to sniff out any other secrets she might have left behind, the kind the NYPD had missed and might possibly give him a clue to her whereabouts. A collection of framed photographs lined one wall. He stepped closer. These were family photos. Her twin brother looked nothing like her. In fact, the twins took after the opposite sex parent. They seemed to be a very close family with lots of carefree hugging, happy enthusiasm and wide smiles captured on film. He envied her that. His cell phone rang inside his pocket. He didn’t bother to look at the ID this time. “St. James,” he answered. “Boyo, yar in luck,” O’Rourke chimed with excitement. “The two numbers from the hotel phone were calls she made yesterday, all righty. The first was to the humane society. I presume to find her pet cat?” Trevor stepped into Cynthia’s small, tidy kitchen. The cat in question bent over a ceramic bowl and delicately lapped water with a slim pink tongue. “Most likely. I’ve found him, by the way.” Moses meowed before sauntering over with a long, white tail held high in the air. The animal wrapped his lithe body around Trevor’s lower leg and rubbed against him in total adoration. No wonder women loved cats. He bent down to rub his finger over the silky fur between the cat’s pointy ears. “And the second call?”

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“Was made to a real estate company, Miller–Christensen,” O’Rourke continued methodically. “The lady I spoke with, Joyce Burnett, is one of their representatives. I had to do some fancy backtalk.” O’Rourke stretched out the word “backtalk”. Trevor bit back his automatic retort, knowing that the wily Scotsman was teasing him about knowing Cynthia’s whereabouts. “And what did the lady reveal to you?” “I found out that Cynthia’s parents have a small summer cottage for sale, or ‘cabin’ as she called it. The property is in upper New York, about three hours’ drive from the city on Little Saranac Lake.” “Interesting,” Trevor mused, still petting the cat. “I’m assuming since this cabin hasn’t been sold yet, that it’s vacant?” O’Rourke whistled a merry tune. “As a matter of fact, Ms. Burnett was kind enough to let me know that the owner’s daughter would be there for a few days. If we were interested, it’s available for viewing at any time. All she had to do was call the manager to let him know. Now, I think I should make the trip to check it out, seeing as how yar busy today. The cabin sounds like a nice, quiet little place in the country. After all the excitement ya caused, I could use some rest and relaxation, ya know?” “Ah, mon ami,” Trevor chuckled. “I’m the country lad, remember? You have allergies to things like grass and cows.” “Oy! In case ya haven’t noticed, it’s winter. The grass is finally dead, covered with snow. As fer the cows, well, I try not to get too close to the drooling beasties. Besides, the pretty lass ran from ya. She smiled at me. She likes me.” Their lighthearted banter served to lift Trevor’s grim mood. He scooped Cynthia’s cat up with one hand and stood. The feline purred and cuddled eagerly against his chest. Much like the woman herself. A satisfied grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. How pleased and grateful she’d be to see her pet again. “O’Rourke, I’m holding her lost cat on my arm. If nothing else, seeing him alive and well will make her smile more than your grimy mug, trust me.” “I’m sure of it, St. James.” O’Rourke’s dramatic sigh gusted through the phone. “Now, be careful. And be gentle with her. Do ya need anything else before ya go?” Trevor moved to the door. “No. You do excellent work, O’Rourke. It’s always a pleasure working with you. Just give me the address and I’ll be on my way.”

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Chapter Twenty Cynthia woke with renewed resolve to fix everything currently wrong with her life. A sound night of sleep inside the snug cabin and bright morning sky helped put things back into their proper perspective. No more running away. She had to face her problems and tackle them one at a time, or else she was no better off than a gerbil on a wheel—going nowhere, fast. Getting rid of that damned diamond and leaving New York City had been the first step in the right direction. The next step was to buy food and supplies for her stay in the cabin. The place was still furnished but not a crumb remained to satisfy her growling stomach. She ventured into town for breakfast at a local diner and then shopping. On her return several hours later, she silently thanked cranky Mr. Snyder for using his truck to plow a path through the resort. Not that he’d do such a task for her but it felt nice to think so. The wall of snow piled alongside the road reached up to the car’s windows. Bags of groceries and new clothes filled the backseat. From behind the protection of her new, sporty sunglasses she admired the pristine landscape surrounding the quiet, frozen lake. Tall pines drooped under the weight of snow on their bristly, green limbs. Blinding white late afternoon sunshine cast everything into stark relief. The clouds had cleared early and left the sky a spotless icy blue. The color reminded her of Trevor’s eyes. They’d become hard and cold when she’d made the decision not to go with him yesterday. An icicle had pierced her heart when he looked at her one last time. Cynthia dug her fingernails into the steering wheel and bit her bottom lip hard. A tight twist of guilt and regret hitched in her chest whenever she thought of him. It would go away. It would! She’d forget all about Trevor St. James, Interpol Agent. Soon. She just needed to stay busy, to focus on her ring design for the contest. Working would do that. How many times had she forgotten what day of the week it was when she was working? The sketchpads and art supplies she bought at the craft store in town would provide all the sustenance her aching heart needed. A carton of premium-quality ice cream and two bottles of Merlot tucked inside her groceries would soothe her mind for a few days, at least. She’d figure out what to do about the empty ache inside her body later. Cynthia parked in front of the cabin. She juggled her keys and two paper bags of groceries to the door. When she tried to insert the key, the door pushed open. Hadn’t she locked the front door before she left this morning? Was she really becoming so absentminded she’d forget simple things like that?

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She glanced around and noticed for the first time the porch and footpath had been shoveled free of snow. The old, rusty snow shovel leaned against the wall. Despite her earlier desire to shovel the walkway, she hadn’t yet. Would Mr. Snyder do that? She scoffed. It was hardly his nature. She felt lucky when he’d plowed the road to the cabin. Stricken with indecision and a renewed sense of caution, Cynthia stood at the door for a moment longer. She jostled her grocery bags to get a better grip on them and looked around the front yard. No other cars, no sign of anyone else. She blew out a long breath into the frosty air. Her overactive imagination would relax once she got everything inside and locked the world out. Pushing the door all the way open, Cynthia stepped in and stamped her boots on the latch hook rug she’d made with her mom one summer. She pocketed her keys and set her grocery bags down on the floor. A crackling fire blazed in the fireplace. She removed her sunglasses and stared at the flames. There hadn’t been any firewood last night. “Mr. Snyder? Are you in here?” Meow-ow-ow. A white cat ran toward her, tail high. “Moses?” Cynthia blinked to be sure he wasn’t just an apparition. “Mo! Oh my God! Mo-Mo. Oh, my baby. You’re alive. You’re safe.” She dropped to her knees and held her arms open wide. Moses jumped into them. She hugged him, snuggled her face into his soft fur, planted kisses on his furry head and paws. “Thank you, God. Mo, how the hell did you get here? Oh, I don’t care, I don’t care. I’m just so glad to see you again.” Mo’s purr couldn’t get any louder. He dug his claws into her coat and clung to her with all his feline strength. Cynthia stood up slowly, deliriously happy to have her cat back safe and sound. Then, little by little, she realized how improbable it was for Moses to have walked here by himself. Someone must have brought him. Still hugging Moses close, she took another step inside. She looked behind her. The door stood open. Her car was near, the keys in her pocket. A clammy finger of fear inched up her spine and refused to go away. Paul? No, he was still traveling on business. She’d left him a message but would he be able to get here so fast? Could it be one of the police detectives? No. They didn’t know about the cabin and wouldn’t have cared about her cat if they found him. So, who? Trevor would be on a plane by now heading back to England. His job here was done. He’d forget about her in a few days if he hadn’t already done so. “Hello?” she called out, trying to put some force into her voice. “Mr. Snyder? Is anyone here?” Hearing nothing except for the popping of logs in the fire, Cynthia inched into the living room. From the corner of her eyes a shadow moved through the long, dark

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hallway. She stopped, heart crammed in her throat, hugging the cat so tightly that he meowed in protest. “Sorry, baby,” she whispered to him. “Hello? Who’s there? Whoever you are, you’re trespassing on pri…” He looked like a dream coming from the dark into the light. She held her breath. The tall, masculine figure walking toward her was instantly recognizable, as was the deep, sexy voice with the British accent. “Hello, darling.” Moses scrambled out of her arms from the death grip she unwittingly applied to him. Cynthia felt rooted to the floor, arms suddenly empty. “Trevor?” “Yes. Were you expecting someone else?” A part of her was elated to see him. Another part quaked in fear. “Trevor. I thought… How did…?” Breath gusted from her lips. “I don’t know what to say.” “Ah, well then. Words aren’t necessary just yet.” He lifted a pair of handcuffs from one finger and dangled them in the air. All the blood in her body dropped to her feet. Did he plan to arrest her? Panic stabbed inside her brain like a white-hot poker. She backed up. “Moses, come here, baby. We’re leaving.” The cat meowed and wandered farther away. Cynthia spun around and ran for him. She intended to grab him and flee but the cat had other ideas. He zipped past her and ran to the kitchen, stopping right beside Trevor. A gleam of triumph danced in Trevor’s eyes. “Good puss.” Panic turned to anger. She had to leave or she’d explode from too many emotions boiling inside her. He followed with those handcuffs glinting in the light. On a spurt of alarm she ran through the living room. Trevor gave chase, vaulting over the edge of the sofa. Only steps ahead of him, Cynthia leaped over the grocery bags she’d left on the floor and dashed out into the bright sunlight. Blinded for a moment, her boots skidded on the slick, compacted snow. She slid into the car. She scrambled upright and closed her fingers on the door latch. Trevor tackled her from behind, locking his arms tight around her body. Breath whooshed out of her lungs. Her feet left the ground. The world spun up and around like a carnival ride. With his greater weight and strength Trevor took her down into the snow. She landed on top of him, buffered from the fall by the firm length of his body. Before she could catch her breath he rolled and pinned her on the bottom. Icy snow billowed around her head and inside her coat. The cold stuff clung to her face and throat. He shackled her wrists with his large hands and straddled her thighs, kneeling in the snow. She tried to dislodge him, bucking and squirming fiercely but only ended up giving herself a pinching pain in her lower abdomen. His face loomed close, eyes dark, with a slightly crooked grin on his mouth that smacked of triumph.

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“Let. Me. Up!” She struggled against him with each word. “What’s this? No undying gratitude for bringing your cat to you?” “Get off me!” “Not until you calm down and stop trying to run away.” She stopped fighting, panting heavily from the nearly toxic mix of adrenaline, fear, shock and anger pumping through her blood. All she had the power to do was glare at him. Being captured and half buried in the snow was a highly undignified position to be in. “How’d you find me?” Trevor’s blue-flame gaze burned into hers. Dark hair tousled over his forehead, nearly touching his eyebrows. His skin was slightly flushed and his lips curved up, as if he enjoyed her struggles. She knew then what it felt like be prey caught in the grip of a cunning predator. And amid the panic a tiny thrill of excitement sparked and flickered inside her. “Cyn, Cyn.” He made a tsking noise. “You made two calls from my hotel room phone, remember? They were easy enough to trace.” That hadn’t occurred to her at all. Her heart sank another notch. “Shit. My real estate agent told you where I’d be? I’ll fire her ass for this!” “Now, now, darling—” She braced against him, grunting from the exertion. “Don’t ‘darling’ me!” He tightened his hold on her wrists. Cynthia winced and he softened his steely grip. “I didn’t speak with her, O’Rourke did. There’s no need to fire your real estate agent. After all, it’s not entirely her fault. O’Rourke charmed the socks off the unsuspecting woman. That’s one of his great skills as a support agent. She didn’t give him the address. That was easy enough to find on the internet from the basic information she did give.” “Oh.” Chill seeped into her body from the bed of snow she lay in. She started to shiver. Despite the stiffening of her muscles, she felt a softening inside her heart toward Trevor. It was truly thrilling to see him again, especially when she’d thought she never would. And he’d rescued her cat, too. He had to get a few brownie points for that. “Where’d you find Moses?” His grin widened. He looked thoroughly pleased. “I met your lovely gray-haired neighbor, Mrs. Perkins. She found him the night of your break-in and has been taking care of him until your return.” Cynthia stared, slack-mouthed. “Really? Well, that was nice of her. I didn’t even know she liked cats.” “Apparently she does.” Trevor nodded, grinning. “As far as I can tell your kitty’s in good health.”

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Her anger dissolved like the ice on a pond beneath a warm, spring sun. Slowly her mind began forming coherent thoughts again. “So, where’d you park? I didn’t see your car, or I would have driven right on out of here.” “I know that.” His eyebrows dropped ominously. “That’s why I took great pains to hide the car. Now, let’s try these on for size, shall we?” Trevor brought her wrists together, held them with one hand and whipped out the handcuffs from his back pocket with the other. Before she could blink or realize what he intended, he locked them in place around her wrists. “What are you doing?” she squeaked, eyes going wide. “I’m not taking any chances you’ll run off again. Let’s get you up and warmed inside. Did you buy any coffee while you were shopping? Nice little cottage, by the way. Very cozy. But I couldn’t find a damned thing to eat or drink inside the place.” “Coffee, yes, I bought some. The cabin’s been vacant for almost a year, that’s why there’s no food. I have several more bags in the car.” She threw her cuffed wrists in his face. “Now take these off!” “Non, ma chéri.” His grin looked entirely too hungry for her liking at this point. “I’ve a few things in mind for you and those cuffs will work nicely with what I’ve got planned. Starting with this.” He slanted his mouth down to hers, licking and nipping on the sensitive corners. When she opened her mouth to protest, his tongue danced past her lips in one hot slide. The kiss was full of passion, demanding at first before it became a slow seduction that left her sizzling and quaking. Her body responded like a match to dry timber, flickers of warmth quickly exploding into flames. Certainly she’d melted her way through the snow down to the dead winter grass. She’d never been kissed like this, so masterfully, so thoroughly until every corner of her brain and body yearned for more. Trevor lifted his mouth, breathing hard. He nuzzled her nose. “There. That ought to give you some clues for how I feel about you.” Before she could protest or question his motives, he rose to his feet, grasped her forearms and pulled her upright until she stood in the snow. Her legs had turned to melted butter. Would she ever get used to that feeling whenever he was near? He started to brush snow off her backside, his hand lingering to smooth over the curve of her ass beneath her coat. Her traitorous body responded with an appreciative moan. “So…does this mean everything is done? You found the diamond and those numbers?” “Yes, I found them, right where you said they’d be.” “I’m not being arrested?” He quirked an eyebrow. “You haven’t committed a crime, darling. Come along. Any more questions will be answered inside. I’m starved and I know your kitty would really appreciate something to eat, too.”

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Trevor wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pointed to the door. Relief made her agreeable. She went willingly but couldn’t help yanking on the handcuffs. When they were inside again she lifted them up. “Please, Trevor, take these off. I’m not going to run away.” “Mmm, you’re beautiful when you beg, darling. I’m beginning to like the idea of you under lock and key. You’ll be begging for a lot more by the time I’m done with you. Now, over here. Sit.” Trevor gave her a gentle push until she sat down on the sagging plaid sofa in front of the fireplace. He reached into his front jeans pocket, removed a tiny key and held aloft for her to see clearly. She sighed. He’d changed his mind and would be removing them after all. Smiling with relief, she raised her cuffed hands. “You said you have more groceries in the back of your car?” He opened one handcuff. “Yes. And some clothes and supplies that I—” He clapped the loose handcuff closed around the wooden arm of the sofa. “What are you doing?” She yanked. The cuff held firm. “I thought you were letting me go?” “Not quite yet, darling. You relax, pet your kitty with your free hand while I carry your things in and fix us something to eat.” Moses sat beside her feet as if he’d been summoned to keep her company. The cat looked so calm and accepting of everything, his eyes like slivers of emeralds against his silky, alabaster fur. He jumped onto her lap without waiting to be invited, tucked his paws under his body and curled his tail around to his chest. His purr started loud and content, sending soothing vibrations through her jeans and into her legs. “Traitor,” she muttered at him softly. Cynthia smoothed her free hand over Mo’s gently arched spine. Being tied to the couch unnerved her but she doubted that Trevor had anything but pleasure in mind. Hadn’t she asked him to do this while they were in the shower at his hotel room? She darted a quick glance at him, desperately trying to suppress her smile. “Thanks for bringing him to me.” “You’re welcome.” Trevor headed back out the door to the car.

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Chapter Twenty-One Cynthia made herself as comfortable as possible on the sofa, despite the inconvenience of being shackled by one hand to the armrest’s wooden spindle. Once Trevor left her alone she examined the locking mechanism on the gleaming stainless steel handcuff closely but she could find nothing to pick at it with. She tried compressing her fingers to see if she could wiggle out, only to chafe and scuff the skin on her wrist and hand with that useless attempt. After a frustrated huff, she just gave in. She sniffed the air, her mouth watered at the delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen. He made plenty of noise by banging pots and rifling through drawers but never asked her where things were. She relaxed, resigned to being his captive. Besides, after that kiss and his promise of more, did she really want to be freed? Confident that her captor had no devious, painful intentions, a wicked pleasure curled inside her belly. The hot rush of guilty anticipation tantalized her. She touched her fingers to her lips, reliving that amazing kiss he’d given her outside. Her blood still hummed with hope for more of that. Cynthia kicked off her boots, shrugged halfway out of her coat and let the bulky wool droop behind her back with one arm still encased inside the sleeve. She’d just have to wait for whatever he planned. The mid-January sun slanted through the living room window, rapidly angling down to the horizon. Sunlight set the sky aflame with bold streaks of orange and red, casting the snow into pinks and violets. She tucked her legs under her and watched the fire in the hearth die down to glowing embers. Moses returned from the kitchen. Trevor had called him for some sort of kitty meal and the traitor had immediately deserted her lap with his tail held high. What had he fed him? She hadn’t bought cat food. Moses hopped up onto the cushion beside the fireplace, hiked a hind leg into the air and began his after-dinner grooming ritual. His loud purr filled her with comfort. Her eyelids drooped. A jaw-cracking yawn escaped her mouth. She began to doze off. “Dinner is served, my lady.” Cynthia blinked awake. Trevor carried a large wooden tray her mother had always used to bring lunch down to the docks. He set it on the coffee table in front of the couch. She gaped at the sumptuous meal. “Oh my God! You made all that?” Chuckling softly, he set out two plates. “Linguine with red pepper clam sauce. Herbed parmesan cheese bread and a mixed vegetable salad. All from things I found in your grocery bags. Hardly a lot but adequate, I hope?”

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“Are you kidding? It looks great. And it’s not even close to what I’d planned to make with those ingredients. Smells even better. Now uncuff me so I can eat.” He shook his head and sat down beside her. The sofa cushions sagged between them. “Like I said, I like having you under lock and key. Here’s a fork, darling. You only need the one hand for this.” She snatched the fork from him, incensed that he still wouldn’t release her. But she also had to admit she enjoyed being his captive. It had naughty appeal too. Trevor poured wine into two glasses and placed everything within reach of her free hand. She couldn’t wait to wrap her fork around the pasta with creamy clam sauce. After a few mouthfuls, her hunger eased and she chewed more slowly, grateful that Trevor reserved comment on her ravenous appetite. He seemed quite intent on finishing his own meal. She reached for her wine, swirled the lusty Merlot in her glass and sipped. There were questions she needed to have answered and he’d promised to do that once they finished eating. Their eyes met. He swallowed and winked at her. “I can see your curiosity won’t be contained any longer. Go ahead. Ask anything you like.” Cynthia took a deep breath. “Those numbers were correct?” He nodded. “And?” She gave him a pointed look. “Aren’t you going to tell me about it? Did the Steinbrunn family get what they wanted?” “They did. And they thank you.” “Oh, well, they’re welcome to it, whatever it was. What did those numbers represent?” Trevor sipped his wine, made a smacking sound with his lips before looking at her. “You were correct, the number ‘9’ was the Cyrillic letter ‘g’. I wouldn’t have noticed it had I looked at the stone myself.” Cynthia sat back, exasperated with his roundabout answer. “Okay, so? What did it represent?” “Exactly one hundred and thirty-two million six hundred thousand and five euros.” “Wha-what?” “I should start at the beginning.” He bit into a thick slice of bread. “Damn right, you should.” She put her empty plate aside and refilled their glasses with Merlot. “But go ahead and finish your dinner while I ponder that figure you just quoted. Holy cow,” she murmured and took a big swallow. “That’s a helluva a lot of money. I can’t even think in numbers that big.” He finished eating, set his empty plate on top of hers and picked up his wineglass. He leaned back and draped his arm around her shoulders. Even though she was still handcuffed, the warmth and weight of his arm comforted her. She let her head fall back, cushioned on his biceps.

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“Feel free to spill your guts now, Agent.” She lifted her glass to him in a toast. “I’m all ears.” Smiling, he whispered seductively, “And I find your ears so attractive.” “Good.” She grinned. “Now why don’t you start by telling me who etched those numbers into that diamond?” He snuggled her closer, clinked his glass to hers and began his tale. “It begins with Josef Andrevsky, a master diamond cutter. He married the Steinbrunn’s only daughter, Elsa, whose family originally discovered and owned the Yakutia diamond mine. Josef and his younger brother, Mikhail, lived with their elder sister, Franjeska. She worked at the mine as a rough diamond sorter. Both Josef and his brother were expert craftsmen during a time when such a skill was rare and highly sought-after.” “Sounds like a close-knit family.” “Hmm,” he muttered. “As a master diamond cutter, Josef earned the respect of Elsa’s father but the elder Steinbrunn never considered him as anyone more than an employee. That is, until Josef began to woo Elsa. She was a very spoiled, headstrong woman. Despite her father’s opposition to such an arrangement, they married.” Cynthia sat up higher. “He didn’t think Josef was good enough for his daughter?” Trevor shook his head. “The Steinbrunns were Jewish and Josef Andrevsky was Russian Orthodox. To soothe her father Josef did accept Judaism as his faith.” “That’s major. He must have loved her to change his religion.” “Perhaps for a time, he did.” Trevor took another sip of wine. “The mine prospered. Their wealth grew until the Nazis invaded in 1941, which I told you about already.” “Why did the Nazis target them?” she asked. “Because of their religion. The Steinbrunns immigrated to Russia from Germany in the 1900s. Josef accepted Judaism as his religion when he married Elsa. A perfect reason for Hitler to take their wealth and property. Had they been Russian Orthodox or German Protestants, most likely none of this would have happened.” Cynthia sat wide-eyed, listening intently. “Go on.” “Josef was a shrewd man. He loved money, having it but not spending it. Elsa’s father died before the war broke out and her younger brother, Wilfreid Steinbrunn, assumed ownership and control of the mine. Wilfreid and Josef didn’t like each other. They fought over how to increase the mine’s production. Late one night, Wilfreid was found dead in his office by a cleaning woman. He’d been summoned there by Josef earlier. The cleaning woman claimed she’d heard the two men arguing loudly but didn’t remember hearing or seeing anything to implicate Josef in Wilfreid Steinbrunn’s untimely death.” “That’s so sad,” Cynthia muttered. “I can’t imagine family members hating each other so much.”

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“Yes, they treated each other quite horridly,” Trevor commented dryly. “Although she had no proof, Elsa accused her husband of murdering her brother because he wanted sole control of the mine. By then Josef had acquired a certain amount of respect, or fear, from community officials. He was never arrested. Elsa left him and returned to her brother’s home with her baby son. She and her sister-in-law, Wilfreid’s widow, raised their young children together. “Meanwhile, Josef claimed her family’s wealth and sole control of the Yakutia mine. With Wilfreid out of the way, Josef and his brother Mikhail began transferring all the money out of the family’s Russian account. When Elsa confronted him, he told her he put their wealth away for safekeeping. Russia was experiencing its own economic and political upheaval at the time, so his assumption that the money wouldn’t be secure in a Russian bank was correct. He transferred the entire sum to a Swiss bank, a novel thing back then.” She sat speechless for a moment and then gasped. “And those numbers on the Russian diamond were for the Swiss bank account! I would have never guessed.” “Exactly as Josef planned.” Trevor smiled. “Josef told Elsa he’d give her access to her family’s money only if she returned his baby son to him. She didn’t, fearing for the child’s life.” “But,” she interrupted again, “what motive would he have for killing his own son?” “None. I assume it was her own fear. What mother wants to give up a child she loves to a man she hates?” She shook her head. “There’s no way.” “Precisely.” Trevor nodded. “Josef kept the bank account information to himself. Only his brother, Mikhail, knew about it.” “Wow,” she said. “This is the stuff of novels. Somebody should write their story down. So what happened after the Nazis arrived?” “Josef, Mikhail and their sister, Franjeska, made plans to flee the country. They knew they had to travel light. Josef engraved the numbers on one of his larger diamonds. Franjeska sewed the gems into the linings and hems of their coats and pants. Their plan to escape under cover of night failed when the vehicle they traveled in broke down. They were found by a troop of Nazi soldiers. Of course, upon capture the SS officers also discovered the diamonds they tried to hide in their clothing. One officer in particular, Heinrich Schulz, claimed those gems as his own. They were spoils of war and he kept them.” Cynthia gulped, not wanting to comprehend the dark fear of that time, not wanting to think about the families torn apart, the death camps, torture and gas ovens. But she couldn’t disregard the awful truth of history. “Did Elsa survive?” she asked, hopeful. “Sadly, no. She died the first winter at the Sobibor death camp. Her sister-in-law, Nadia Steinbrunn, struggled to raise Elsa’s son, then three years old, along with her two

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children, a five-year-old boy and six-year-old girl. As miracles would have it, when the camp was liberated, they’d all survived. As well as Mikhail and Franjeska Andrevsky.” “What happened to them once they were liberated?” “The Steinbrunns accepted refuge in Britain and settled in Wales. After the war ended, Mikhail and Franjeska returned to the town of Yakutia in Siberia. Mikhail had nerve damage to his hands and feet from frostbite and wasn’t able to work. Franjeska took care of him, earning income as a housekeeper. A few years later she became pregnant by the married man who employed her. When the wife of this man found out, she made a public spectacle of Franjeska as a common whore. This cast great shame on Franjeska and she was unable to find other work. She named her illegitimate son Matthias. Shortly after that, Mikhail encouraged his sister to travel with the baby to the United States with him.” Cynthia’s throat tightened. “And what about Josef? Even though he stole the money, did he ever confess to the murder?” “We’ll never know. Josef was separated from his siblings upon their capture by SS officers and sent to the Treblinka death camp. He’d tried to escape after two days. Nazi guards shot him in the back. He died on top of the fence, tangled in the razor wire. The guards left his body hanging there for weeks, to rot and be a warning to other prisoners.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, God, that’s awful.” Hearing of Josef’s violent death while trying to escape something as atrocious as the death camp didn’t atone for the bad deeds he committed on the Steinbrunn family. But no matter what his crimes, his death was gruesome. “Want to hear more, or had enough?” Trevor asked, finishing his wine. “Uh, no. I appreciate you telling me the story so openly. Thank you for trusting me with it. But, that’s enough for now. I think I have more than enough of this history to muddle through. I see why the Steinbrunn heirs were so eager to recover their stolen family fortune. I’m glad they survived and now they’ve got what was rightfully theirs.” Trevor stared into his nearly empty wineglass, a thoughtful frown marring his brow. “Do you understand now why I couldn’t let you know what those numbers represented?” She smiled. “You thought if I knew there was an unclaimed bank account worth more than one hundred and thirty million euros that I’d try to claim it?” His eyes glittered. He said nothing. “I don’t think I would. There can be nothing but trouble associated with that kind of money. I wouldn’t even know what to do with a million euros, let alone more than a hundred and thirty million! Besides, the money didn’t belong to me to begin with.” Trevor’s smile warmed his calculating look. “I thought so but I’m very happy to hear you say that.”

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He set his glass down, took the empty one from her numb fingers and set the fragile goblet beside his on the table. He snuggled close and began caressing her face with a finger. “Shall I give you something else to think about now?” She kissed his fingers when his hand moved closer to her lips. “Yes. Otherwise, I’m going to have nightmares about death camps and—” “Shh,” he whispered in her ear. “We haven’t had dessert yet. I think you’ll like it.” “You like ice cream too?” “I love it.” He glanced up, his gaze half-lidded and sensual. “And I know exactly how I want it served.” She shivered from the intensity of his gaze. “I can’t wait to indulge, Agent. Serve it up.”

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Chapter Twenty-Two He uncuffed Cynthia just long enough to undress her. She’d come willingly into the largest bedroom, explaining that this had been her parents’ room. The chamber was dark, lit only by a slant of light from the hallway. Cynthia wasn’t protesting as much after he kissed her again, not even after he’d made it pretty clear that he planned to cuff both her hands to the headboard. Her beautiful gray eyes widened and the fluttery pulse at the base of her throat jumped wildly when he clicked the second handcuff into place. She lay with her arms stretched over her head. Her full breasts, crowned by dusky pink nipples, bobbed with each rapid breath she took. Cynthia appeared not quite certain what to do next but more than a little excited by whatever he planned to do to her. The fact that she trusted him this much both thrilled and amazed him. He watched her squirm a little, jerking her legs back and forth across the quilt. Her impatient kicks gave him tantalizing peeks at her glistening pink pussy. God save him! He could smell her sweet heat. He braced himself for patience and a long night of loving. First, he planned a feast for their senses. He wanted Cynthia totally crazed with the need for sexual release before he plunged into her tight body this time. He wanted her to beg him to take her again, to need him as badly as he needed her. When he produced two soft kitchen towels for her ankles, she made a gurgling sound deep in her throat. He wished he’d had time to plan ahead and buy silk scarves to tie her with. She spread her legs willingly and allowed him to tie each ankle with the plain terrycloth towels. Once her legs were spread wide and secure, he took a moment to gaze over the beauty of her body. His balls throbbed painfully at the sight of her pouting, wet slit. Unable to resist any longer, he grasped his stiff cock and slowly stroked himself. She watched. Her breath hitched, her eyes grew wide. It was all he could do not to fuck her quickly right then. Stop! He would spill himself now if he didn’t. Not how he wanted to start the night. “You’re enjoying this?” he asked. “Yes.” It came out barely as a whisper between her breathing. “Have you played bondage games before, Cyn?” He circled the delicate bone of her ankle with his finger, just below the cloth knot. “No.” “Why not?”

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She licked her lips and swallowed hard. “I never could find a man who wanted to play. Or anyone I could trust enough. I trust you, Trevor.” A spiral of warmth curled up inside his heart. He inched his fingers up her leg going to the inside, drawing small circles on her skin until goose bumps rose in the wake of his touch. “That’s good to hear, darling. You remember our safe word, right?” She swallowed again. “Yes, I remember.” “Good. Now, relax for a few minutes. There’s only one more thing we need.” He made a hasty retreat to the kitchen, his dick pointing the way. He opened the freezer, picked up the chocolate ice cream that Cynthia had purchased and hurried back to the bedroom. Grinning from ear to ear, he set the container on the nightstand, intent on feasting his eyes again on her splayed body. Trevor balked at the unexpected guest. Her cat lay curled beneath her left armpit, green eyes mere slivers in a contented white face. If cats could smile, this one surely did. The animal snuggled there as if he planned to spend the night against his mistress’ soft, naked skin. “Oh, no,” Trevor chuckled. “I don’t think so, mister. Out with you.” He pointed to the door. The cat merely meowed at him. Cynthia giggled. “I’d help but…” She wiggled her fingers, indicating her tied-up status. Trevor reached over, scooped the lazy feline up and carried him to the hall. “Out.” He shut the bedroom door. Silvery light spilled into the bedroom from a full moon. The room seemed brighter, yet more mysterious now than with the hall light on. “What do you plan to do with that?” she asked, eyes on the ice cream and smiling as if she guessed his intentions. His blood raced, eager to get onto the bed with her and begin. “I’m having a little dessert. And if you’re a very good girl, I might let you have a taste.” “I don’t see a spoon. But I have a suggestion for what you could use.” She glanced pointedly down at his cock. “That has possibilities,” he said, tilting an eyebrow at her. “Especially since it would be going into your beautiful mouth. But right now, I have something else in mind.” Trevor picked up the carton and very carefully straddled Cynthia’s waist, keeping his balls off the enticing softness of her lower belly. He popped the lid off the ice cream carton. “God, Trevor,” she gasped, pulling against her restraints. “You’re gonna kill me, I swear it.” “Anticipation is everything, darling. You’ll not die from such sweet torture.” He poked his finger into the ice cream, testing its texture. “Did you know that the Romans used the bodies of nude female slaves to serve food to guests?” 138

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“What? Oh, so now I’m a serving platter?” “Mmm and a more beautiful and delicious dish I’ve never found. It was a totally hedonistic practice. One that I’ve always fantasized about. Drinking wine from your body our first night together only whetted my appetite for more, Cyn. I’m going to make you burn with desire, sweat through one orgasm after the next until you’re screaming my name.” She bucked her hips up, pushing her belly against his balls. Her breathing had already increased and he hadn’t even done anything yet. “Trevor, please.” “Patience, darling.” He took a taste test, licking the frozen chocolate off his finger while she watched with wide, hungry eyes. She’d chosen a good quality ice cream. “Excellent. Hungry?” She nodded eagerly. Trevor loaded his thumb with the cold, creamy treat and placed a tiny dab on her lips. She licked it off, moaned with delight and sucked his thumb into her mouth. He let her swirl her hot little tongue around his thumb for a few seconds. Like he’d done with the wine, he dotted ice cream onto the peaks of her nipples. Then he scooted his body down and placed more into her navel. Trevor lowered his mouth to lick the sweet, creamy treat off her pebbled skin. Cynthia’s moans grew louder. She squirmed and shivered under each touch of his tongue, every nibble from his teeth on her quivering skin. He sucked each hard nipple into his mouth, taking more of her plump, soft breast inside to warm it and lave her soft flesh with his tongue. She pulled against her handcuffs, moaning and sighing and struggled to move her legs. “Sweet heaven,” he groaned in between curling his tongue around one pert nipple again. “The Romans were so right.” “About,” she panted, “what?” “A man could dine off a woman’s lush curves and never feel full. I don’t think I’ll ever have enough of you, Cynthia Lyons.” She went from writhing and moaning beneath him to completely still, not even breathing. Had she spoken the safe word they’d agreed upon and had he not heard her say it? He sat upright and set the ice cream aside. “Cyn? What’s wrong?” She tucked her chin to her chest and opened her eyes. The moonlight made them luminous and very dark, like swirling black smoke. “Nothing’s wrong, Trevor. I just want to know if you meant what you said, or are you just saying that in the heat of passion?” His heart thudded heavy inside his chest. It felt peaceful and right to admit this to her. He reached up and swiped a strand of long, silky hair off her forehead. “I meant every word. What do you think about that? Could you ever get enough of me?” Slowly, she shook her head, her eyes locked with his. “No. You intoxicate me, Trevor.”

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He traced his finger down the line of her nose, across her lips, the point of her chin and down the soft curve of her throat. He let his finger rest on her pulse there. Her skin was warm beneath the cold, silvery light cast by the moon. “All I can think about is how to lure you to my bed, how to keep you there.” Cynthia smiled, flashing her white teeth. “You don’t need to lure me to your bed, Trevor. I love what you do to me. I love how you make me feel with every tiny touch, every kiss, every hard thrust inside me. So, what do you think about that?” “I think,” he said, kissing his way across her cheek to her lips, “I should stop talking about making love to you and just do it.” She met his mouth eagerly, her slick little tongue already dancing out to engage his. She tasted of wine and chocolate ice cream and the promise of a lifetime of passion. Cynthia wiggled her hips beneath him, searching for the heat of his cock with her hot, naked pussy. Trevor repositioned himself to kneel with the ice cream carton between her spread legs. A long, hard shiver raced through her body when he let the cold carton touch her thigh. She tossed her head back against the pillow and groaned, “Oh, no. Oh God, I’m gonna die.”

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Chapter Twenty-Three Trevor’s first touch at the juncture of Cynthia’s thighs made her gasp and jerk her hips up like a wild animal trying to escape a trap. She sucked in a long, hissing breath. He’s not going to hurt me. When she relaxed again, he spread ice cream up and down her wet slit. She pressed her lips together to keep from crying out like a cat in heat. The cold dessert melted on contact with her skin and sent tingles straight to her clit. She stiffened her legs and pointed her toes. “Hold very still for me, darling.” He scooped more ice cream onto his fingers. “I have a special treat for you.” Cynthia fought the urge to buck beneath him. The idea that he’d made dessert out of her body and planned to eat her with his talented tongue, teeth and lips drove her to the very brink of sanity. She was wildly aroused by their little bondage game, too. Being at his mercy, her body totally exposed to him and unable to move her arms and legs, thrilled her like nothing else. She was his captive, tied to the bed to do with as he pleased. Oh and how he teased… “Trevor, please.” “Please what, darling? I like it when you beg for me. Tell me what you want.” She bit her bottom lip, tugging against her restraints. “I want you, Trevor.” He chuckled, trailing his fingers in circles around her pussy but not quite touching the heated flesh at the center of those throbbing lips. “You have me, darling. What do you want me to do to you?” Cynthia groaned in frustration. “Anything. Lick me. For God’s sake just fuck me!” “With pleasure,” he growled. She braced, anticipating the first probing touch of his hot tongue into her eager vagina. Cynthia shrieked from the sudden icy cold that plunged inside her core. Her feminine muscles flexed in protest. “Trevor! Did you just put ice cream inside me?” “I most certainly did. Now, I feast.” He licked her inner thighs with long, broad strokes. Tiny rivulets of melted ice cream and her own hot juices trickled down the delicate line to her ass. She clenched her buttocks together. Goose bumps danced on her skin. Her pussy felt like it was on fire from the double torture of ice cream and his hot, teasing tongue.

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“Ah, such sweet heaven,” he murmured between firm probes into her sex. Trevor held her hips still when she could no longer control herself. He sucked one side of her labia into his mouth and strummed his tongue across the plump flesh before moving to its twin. Trevor lapped at her opening, slurping and sucking until she was certain not one dollop of ice cream remained inside her core. He tunneled the tip of his tongue through her sex until he found the hardened pearl of her clit and then swirled around the tight bud of nerves in an ever-closer spiral. Finally he nipped at her with his teeth. “Aaaah!” Cynthia grabbed onto the headboard with both hands and dug her nails into the pinewood headboard. She was beyond panting. She grunted from the tightly coiled knot inside her womb. “Trevor, stop! I can’t stand any more.” “Oh but you can.” He kissed the inside of each quivering thigh. “You will, darling. Here, let me show you how easy it is.” A thick finger probed the tight flesh of her vagina. It felt so good to have him push inside! Very slowly, he stretched her by pressing up and down. She held her breath. He flicked her with his tongue again, harder, making her gasp and slipped two fingers inside. He pumped them in and out, twisting his fingers side to side, alternating between nibbles and licks across her straining clit. The electrified knot inside her belly uncoiled. On a strangled gasp, lava-hot sensations whipped out and around her abdomen with blinding speed until she screamed out her orgasm. Still, Trevor indulged her trembling flesh with his tongue. He made wet sounds between her legs she would have normally found embarrassing. But not with him, not with Trevor. It was clear this was what he wanted from her. To give her body over to his expertise, to allow him to tie her up and bring her pleasure, pleased him. He murmured words of encouragement, urging her to a full, complete release. When she quieted, he moved from between her legs and kissed a moist trail to her navel. Her stomach twitched with delightful aftershocks. A warm flush infused her blood and turned her bones to jelly. While she lay there, panting and sighing, he smoothed his hands down her legs and untied the knotted cloths from her ankles. The handcuffs loosened from her wrists. He brought her hands together and kissed the skin burned by her struggles against the cuffs. She opened her eyes and smiled. He looked so striking with the moonlight spilling across the angles of his face, his broad chest and that upright, straining cock. It arched rigidly up to his navel and glistened with dew at the tip. “Since you’ve untied me, does that mean I get a chance to torture you now?” “Was that torture?” He grinned. “The best kind. I want to return the favor.” He kissed her fingers. “Whatever my lady desires. We have all night.”

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Cynthia chewed her lip for a moment before saying, “Does that mean you plan to leave in the morning?” “Certainly not. Unless you want me to go?” “Definitely not.” She glanced over at the ice cream carton on the nightstand. A coating of white frost shadowed the waxy, outer label. “Is there any left?” Trevor picked it up and peered inside. “Plenty. But it’s beginning to melt.” “Great.” She crawled upright and took the ice cream from him. “My turn. You’re on the bottom this time, buster.” “Buster?” He lay down, folding his hands beneath his head. “What does that mean?” “I dunno. It’s a friendly sort of nickname I used on my brother when we were teenagers. I think it might have something to do with that Forties movie star, Buster Keaton. He always played the bad-boy type.” “So, I’m a scoundrel?” She giggled, feeling lighthearted and oh-so-happy. “Yeah, like my brother used to be. Naughty and full of mischief.” “Your brother. You say that with such affection. You’re very close to him, aren’t you?” A sad sigh escaped his lips. “That’s admirable.” Cynthia cocked her head at his swift mood change. Was he really sad, or just relaxed? “Paul and I are close. We’re twins. We used to share all of our deepest darkest secrets with each other. Still do.” She winked at him and then dipped her finger into the soft ice cream. His erection drooped. She widened her eyes with dismay. Was it the thought of cold ice cream on his hot shaft that did that? Or the conversation about her brother? “Trevor, what’s wrong? Are you sure you want to talk about this now?” He glanced down at his sagging cock, then sighed and lay back down. “Yes. I need to get some things off my chest.” “Your timing really stinks.” He lifted one corner of his lips in a parody of a smile. “Sorry. I’m serious, though. We need to have a chat.” “Uh-oooh. Why don’t I like the sound of that?” “Fear not, darling.” Trevor reached up and caressed her lower lip with his thumb. “I still want you, all night long. But I need to talk to you now.” “All right.” She put the carton back on the nightstand, took a deep breath and gave him her full attention. “What would you like to talk about, handsome?” “You. Me. My family.” “I’m listening. Tell me about them.” 143

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He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure where to start. It’s a rather thorny tale.” The muscle in his jaw clenched with tension. She rubbed her hand over his arm to soothe him, massaging the full roundness of his biceps beneath the smooth hot skin. “You know,” she said, “we all have skeletons in our family closets, Trevor. I’m not going to judge you because of who yours are or what they did. It doesn’t matter.” She dipped into the ice cream and painted his chest and belly with intricate patterns. Trevor grunted, whether from her words or the cold dessert on his skin, she couldn’t tell. “Why don’t you start by telling me about your childhood? What was it like to be an only child, to have both your parents dote on you?” “Being an only child was a lonely experience. I wished for brothers.” His gaze focused on the ceiling, his voice flat. “My mother miscarried four times before she became pregnant with me.” “I’m so sorry.” Cynthia rocked back a little. For him to share such personal information meant he cared about her as more than just a fling. Now was her chance to pull away. Did she want to? No. She wanted to know everything about Trevor St. James, good and bad. “That had to be very hard on your mom.” “She’s a remarkable woman. Very strong-willed.” He shrugged. “It was hard on her, especially since my father needed a son. After I was born I think my parents just felt grateful they had one heir born to the family name.” She snorted. “That’s so medieval.” He laughed. “In many ways, England is very old-fashioned. Medieval isn’t far from the truth. The concept of a male heir is still, like you Americans say, a big deal.” “Heir to what?” “The St. James name, of course. It has to do with being born with the family jewels, so to speak.” “Ah, I get it. If you aren’t born with balls you won’t carry the prized family name into the future. A name is no big deal. Lots of women keep their own family names these days, even after marriage. And having children out of wedlock isn’t taboo anymore. Of course it happens a lot by mistake but some career-minded women choose to do that.” Trevor reached for her hand and placed it over his heart. “That’s not something I believe in,” he said. “Do you?” The strong, steady thump of his life beat beneath her fingertips. Her gaze locked with his. “Which part?” “The part about choosing to have children outside of marriage.” “Well, no. Not for myself. I had a wonderful childhood with great parents. I love them and can’t imagine growing up in a home without them. And my brother. I’d want my children to have the same. But on the opposite side of that coin, I’m not my mother.

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She was a homemaker and happy with that. I’m very career-minded, Trevor. I’m an artist, a jewelry designer. That’s part of who I am and not something I can just give up.” “A man would have to be a total fool to ask that of you. My mother didn’t give up her career when she agreed to marry my father.” Cynthia blinked. “Good for her. What does she do?” “Believe it or not, you and she have a lot in common. She’s an artist, a sculptor.” She gasped, smiling. “That’s awesome!” “I agree.” He kissed her hand and let it go. “Now, as I said, being the only child and heir in my family is a very big deal.” “Why?” His voice grew soft, as if he regretted something. “I’m heir to Whitrose Hall, my family’s estate in Sudbury.” Cynthia sat up straighter. “So that means what, that you’ll inherit a house? That’s not so bad.” “I’m afraid it’s more than a just a house. There’s the land surrounding the house and other property, too. And when my father dies the very old title, Earl of Sudbury, and all the responsibilities of that title will pass down to me.” She gaped at him. “You’re kidding, right?” “I’m afraid not.” “Oh my God,” she murmured. “Wow. So, that makes you what? Royalty or something?” “Not royalty. Nobility. A member of the very stodgy, British upper class.” “Wow,” she said again, louder. “But didn’t you say your father was a farmer who dabbled in politics? Can he do that and still be an English Lord something or other?” Trevor smiled as if he remembered something funny from his past. “He certainly gives it his best shot.” Cynthia relaxed. For a moment she’d thought the worst but there were no murdering parents in his family. At least his mother seemed modern enough to keep working. She didn’t understand what being a member of the British peerage entailed, only that it meant he was most likely the son of a very wealthy family, with a long, documented history. The whole proper English upper-class thing was confusing at best. Especially for someone raised in a working middle-class, American family. “I’ve been foolish,” he continued, “you’ve made me realize how much.” “That’s a good thing?” “Definitely. You’ve made me rethink my future goals. You’ve made me realize how important my family really is to me. I’ve never had a very good relationship with my father. For some reason we were at odds with each other from the day I was born. He assumed his only living son would follow in his footsteps without qualm or question. Fortunately, my mother is a free spirit and encouraged me to explore everything that

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interested me. She gave me the drive to do something different, if that was what I wanted.” “And,” Cynthia said softly, “I’m guessing that by joining Interpol, you did just that. I’m also going to guess it didn’t go over so well with your dad?” “Not in the least.” Trevor stared at the ceiling so hard she looked up too, wondering if the roof was about to cave in on them while he talked. “My father has spent the majority of his life dedicated to preserving a rare, primitive breed of cattle called Bohaty. They’re a solid white breed, quite beautiful. Bohaty are believed to have originated on the British Isles from the Roman occupation.” “So that’s why you called him a farmer. You speak as if this has new meaning for you, Trevor. Like you’ve had a revelation. Are you thinking of changing careers, going back to live and work on your family’s farm? Perhaps make amends with your dad?” He glanced at her and smiled and her heart jumped at how handsome and happy he looked. “Yes. When I began my university studies, I majored in agriculture and animal genetics, mainly to appease my father. What I didn’t do was admit to him how much I enjoyed those subjects. I suppose it became a contest of wills and I was determined to best him.” She drew her finger down the contour of his hip and muscular thigh, knowing that he planned to spend the rest of his life in England. Stubbornly she refused to think more about that. They had time together now and she intended to make the best of it. “But your dad must have been very proud of you, too?” “If he was, he never showed it. I’ve been very stubborn about accepting my destiny. As a child I balked at the privileges my family’s social status afforded me. I wanted to earn my own way, not be offered everything I desired on a silver plate. I enjoyed reckless sports and did everything to drive fear for my life into my father’s heart. I was quite cruel to him. Funny I should only see that now, after I’ve been so determined to make Interpol my life’s work. I didn’t desire a home life. I ran from it. Until I met you, Cyn.” A rush of happiness blossomed inside her chest. Was he planning on spending more time with her? She threaded her fingers into his. “Go on, tell me more.” He squeezed her hand. “You like what you’re hearing?” “Yes. Tell me about your home.” “It’s country living. Quiet. Old-fashioned in many respects. Sudbury is a small town, though only an hour’s drive from London. Quite honestly, the idea of breeding rare cattle, tending to pastures and one small orchard, riding horses, enjoying the outdoors from sunup ‘til sunset all have an intensely satisfying appeal that they never had before now.” “That sounds so idyllic, Trevor.” Cynthia sighed. “I love horses. Even cows. That’s why I love coming here. Many years ago, there was a farm down the road. We used to

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visit them, play with their kids, ride their horses, feed the cows. I enjoyed that a lot. I haven’t been here in so long I’d forgotten about how much I enjoyed it.” “What kept you away?” he asked softly. She shrugged. “I was trying to get my career established. Now my parents have retired, moved thousands of miles away to Hawaii and put this place up for sale. Coming back here made me realize that I don’t want them to sell the cabin. I like being out in the country.” “Must they sell? It seems your family’s memories are quite rich here.” “They are.” Cynthia closed her eyes for a moment. “But Mom and Dad are counting on the sale to help carry them through retirement. They bought the place before my brother and I were born, as investment property. I’m really going to miss it.” “I know how you feel,” he said slowly. “I never saw that as a child or young man either. I couldn’t wait to leave the family farm. I wanted excitement and to explore the world.” She tipped her head sideways and grinned at him. “Have you had enough excitement chasing after bad guys, trying to find lost diamonds?” “Most definitely. And through it all, I found something more precious than all the gems in the world.” Cynthia touched her fingertip to the moisture that beaded on the tip of his growing erection. She licked the salty-sweet dew off her finger. Her body still hummed with sexual awareness. His cock bobbed awake, slowing swelling to that impressive length she craved. “And,” she encouraged him with another feathery caress on his cock. “What did you find during your adventures as an Interpol Agent?” “A woman.” Her heart stuttered against her ribs. Did he mean her? “Not just any woman, I hope?” She wrapped her fingers around his shaft, stroking ever so softly up from the thick base to the plum-shaped head. Should she take a chance and ask if he meant her or some other woman? Jealousy twisted her insides. His cock throbbed with life inside her grasp. Trevor reacted to her touch now, not some other woman. This discovery was scarier and more thrilling than letting him tie her up. Cynthia sucked in a deep, fortifying breath. She had to know, had to hear him say the words. “Why don’t you tell me about this woman you found and I’ll tell you if I think she’s worthy of such a handsome, caring, sexy man as you are?” His body tightened. In the moonlight, the muscles of his chest and stomach flexed in response to her caresses. But he held himself still, not even thrusting deeper into her hand. “She’s so beautiful.” His voice sounded raw. His eyes glittered from the moonlight slanting across the bed. “She’s sweet and considerate, cunning when she needs to be.

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Protective and with very high standards. Definitely intelligent and marvelously creative.” “Wow. All that?” “Oh, yes.” He groaned. “And she gives an amazing hand job.” Elation bubbled inside Cynthia’s chest. Me! He wants me! She tightened her fingers around his rock-hard shaft and grinned when he sucked in a quick breath. “I’ll bet this woman you speak of so fondly has an even better mouth.” “She’d better,” he grunted. “Because she smeared my body with ice cream and it’s going to take a lot of licking to clean up the mess.” “Mmm, not nearly enough ice cream on you. Time to enact my next fantasy.” Cynthia reached for the carton one more time. It had melted to a milkshake. “One chocolate-covered cock coming right up.”

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Chapter Twenty-Four Trevor held his breath while Cynthia painted more liquid chocolate up and down his shaft. She concentrated on her masterpiece and nibbled on her bottom lip. Cool, sticky dessert dripped down to his balls. It was unbearably ticklish. When she glanced up, her eyes gleamed with carnal intent. Clearly, she enjoyed her turn at teasing him. Every little touch of her clever fingers, every glimpse of her luscious, full breasts swaying above him, tormented him. He was going to explode if she didn’t take him into her mouth soon. Since he’d caught her outside earlier and rolled her beneath him in the snow, he’d had a burning desire to make love and possess her, the likes of which he’d never known before. In his entire career, that moment of capturing Cynthia overshadowed every other triumph. Mine. The primitive possessiveness of his thoughts astonished him. A man had to be very careful about expressing such Neanderthal-like ideas. Hidden behind the disguise of civilization, he suspected they were still very true for most men. It took every last ounce of control he’d had not to throw Cynthia on her back, strip her and fuck her senseless in the snow earlier. He wanted to claim her as his mate, bind her to him with words and action. If she would agree to marriage, he’d do it now! She bent over him, one hand on each side of his hips and flicked her hot little tongue over the tight buds of his nipples. Pleasure drew his balls up tighter. Her hair fell forward and created a silky, dark curtain around him. He gathered a handful and breathed in her ripe strawberry scent. Her breasts bobbed over his stomach and brushed against the straining ridge of his cock. He closed his eyes and ground his teeth together to keep from howling out his lust. Cynthia hadn’t flinched when he admitted his true identity as a wealthy British nobleman. She’d shown only mild surprise. Confusion, perhaps. He suspected she’d ask a lot more questions once that new knowledge had a chance to sink in. Being an American woman insulated her from the privilege of his social status. Americans were such an independent, democratic lot and Cynthia expressly so. If she didn’t care about all the baggage he carried with his name and title, it worked for him. “Cyn, darling, a man can only take so much. I ache beyond bearing.” “Mmm but you taste so good.” She flashed a carnal grin at him. “And I love that little note of desperation in your voice. That and this body, so hot and creamy sweet. I could lick you all night long.” She moved down his stomach, dipping her tongue into his navel and swirling the ice cream out.

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He was in agony and reached for her, grabbing fistfuls of her long hair. “I need your mouth on my cock. Now.” Cynthia glanced up. She licked a smear of ice cream from her lower lip. “Hurts that bad?” “Yes. No more playing.” Her eyes narrowed, looking sly. “Good. Then I’m doing it right.” “There was nothing wrong with ah—!” Her lips settled over the burning tip of his cock. His breath whooshed from his lungs when she slid down and took all of him into the wet, velvet heat of her mouth. She moved up his length, caressing the bulbous head with her tongue. Then she probed the tiny slit that crowned it. That simple, erotic act sent hot shivers racing up his spine. She hummed with pleasure, the sound vibrating against his entire shaft. Her cool fingers found his balls and cupped them. She rolled his tight sacs gently but with just enough pressure to make them throb against the smooth skin of her palm. He jerked his hips up and fucked her mouth. She took it all and pumped his cock with tongue and lips, creating suction to drive him insane. “Cyn,” he gasped. “I’m going to come. Do you want that?” She slid her mouth up his shaft, letting her teeth skim him. His cock popped free from her succulent, talented lips and into her hand. “Next time,” she said, panting from her efforts. “But right now, I want this magnificent cock inside me.” Cynthia grabbed a condom from the nightstand and slid it onto his erection. Then she threw a leg over and straddled him, kneeling on the bed. He grabbed onto her hips and helped guide her down. When his cock touched the hot entrance to her body she surprised him by thrusting herself down, taking him all the way in to his balls. She threw her head back and moaned long and low. “Yes! Oh God, yes, Trevor. You feel so good.” She looked so uninhibited and wanton, so enthralled by the tight joining of their bodies. Her hair whipped around her shoulders and draped beside her lovely, bouncing breasts. He reached up and cupped the full globes in his hands, marveling at their soft weight. This was no gentle fuck. She rose up and down, moaned and wailed “yes, yes, yes” with every rapid breath. Trevor grunted from the rhythmic contractions that began inside her womb. Cynthia’s slick sheath rippled around his cock, squeezing, milking him with every wave of her orgasm. She arched her hips back and forth, drawing him deeper inside her body. He wanted to shout from the thrill of watching her ride him. Groaning loudly, he released the floodgates and exploded inside her. He pumped his hips up, thrusting his cock deeper until an orgasm ripped through him. Her tight pussy clenched around his pulsing cock. Their rapid breaths and mingled moans of pleasure filled the small bedroom. The heavy, musky scent of their lovemaking perfumed the night air. Sweat trickled down

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his arms and temples. Cynthia’s skin had a pearlescent sheen to it that glowed in the moonlight, like a marble love goddess come to life. Her breasts tipped up with dark pink peaks. Eyes half-opened and smoky, she smiled lazily. Her hair tossed like a wild mane around her shoulders when she leaned forward and braced her hands on his chest. “Trevor,” she said breathlessly, still impaled on his cock with her tiny feminine muscles clenched tight around him. “I don’t want to let you go.” He grinned, thoroughly pleased, enchanted by her eagerness. “I’m perfectly fine staying inside you.” “Oh thank God, because I’m not done.” Despite his level of sexual satisfaction, he thrust his hips up, forcing his cock deeper inside her. “The night is young. What do you have in mind now?” “A little game.” Cynthia reached across the bed and lifted the handcuffs in the air. A wickedly sweet grin curved her lips. “Wanna play Cops and Robbers, Agent?”

***** He’d given her a head start. The game had turned into Hide and Seek more so than the raucous Cops and Robbers of her childhood. Cynthia had been thrilled when Trevor agreed to this—despite feeling a little silly too. Quite simply, it felt good to just cut loose and be playful after the stress of the past few days. She crouched down, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties and crept around the dining room table as silent as a mouse. At first, she’d been apprehensive about leaving all the lights off in the cabin. She’d feared having flashbacks from her attack a few nights ago in her apartment. But then the game wouldn’t be this much fun or suspenseful. Casting her fears aside, she’d agreed to leave the lights off. The full moon provided plenty of silvery radiance to see by. From her hiding place, she listened. Damn, the man was good! She couldn’t hear a thing. She knew which floorboards in the old cabin creaked underfoot. Certainly he wouldn’t and she’d counted on that advantage to give her clues to his whereabouts. The furnace kicked on, rattling through the vents for a few minutes until it warmed up. She peeked under the table, looking for signs of Trevor moving about in search of her. A loud meow from behind made her gasp. Cynthia clapped a hand over her mouth. She found Moses and pulled him to her. “Shh,” she warned Mo softly, wanting to giggle like a schoolgirl. She petted him to keep him quiet but he started to purr. The cat’s low bass rumble sounded entirely too loud. There! A tiny sound from the kitchen—like a bare, masculine foot treading on the cool tiles. Cynthia scooted Moses out of her way and moved from the cover of the

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dining room table toward the hallway. She’d be past the kitchen before he came out and he’d never see her. The dark hall appeared long and narrow ahead. No windows for moonlight. She hugged the wall, inching toward the first bedroom that used to belong to her brother. Her goal was his closet. It was deep and she’d hidden in there before during a similar, though much more innocent, game. If it were summertime, she’d sneak out the window like she and Paul had done as kids, run around to the back porch and come up behind Trevor before he knew where she’d disappeared to. Her heart raced with excitement. She reached the door to the bedroom and felt the cool wooden doorjamb beneath her fingers. Quickly she slipped around the corner. She bumped her nose into Trevor’s chest, uttering a squeak of surprise. “Gotcha,” he whispered. “I win.” He wore his briefs and nothing else. Trevor clapped his handcuffs around her wrists again and pushed her face forward against the wall. Cynthia wiggled her fingers inside the cuffs. She was quite familiar with them now and knew how much she could struggle without scraping her skin. Between their bodies she stroked the hardened length of his cock inside his underwear. He pressed his body into hers, flattening her against the wall, shoving his firm erection into her fingers even harder. Pushing her hair aside, he nuzzled the exposed curve of her neck and ear. “Damn,” she complained. “I thought you were in the kitchen.” “Maybe I was. Maybe I wasn’t,” he said, his voice a growled hush. “Either way, you’re mine now, to do with as I please.” “What are you going to do?” Trevor’s fingers dipped into the line of her panties and tugged them down her legs. Goose bumps of excitement puckered across her skin. The smooth wall felt hard and cool under her cheek. She tried to push him back, experimenting with how much control he’d give up. The man didn’t budge. His erection probed at her butt cheeks, hot and insistent, stroking up and down. Instantly her pussy flooded with juices at the thought of him taking her from behind again. He stripped off his own briefs and then nudged a knee between her thighs, forcing her to widen her stance. “You need to be searched. A bad girl like you, I’ll bet you’re carrying a concealed weapon.” “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not,” she teased, barely able to keep from giggling out loud. “Let’s see now,” he breathed into her ear. “Could you be hiding a weapon here?” One large hand slid under her t-shirt and found the heavy swell of her breasts. He tunneled his fingers between them, drawing tantalizing strokes up and down her cleavage. She gasped when he pinched a nipple, pulling on it before letting go.

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“I’m not hiding anything there.” Cynthia squirmed against each tug on her nipples. The sensitive peaks hardened and throbbed. She wished for the soft, warm comfort of his tongue on them and arched more firmly into his hand. “Or, could you be hiding it,” his fingers skimmed down her belly and cradled her dewy moist sex. “Here?” She bit her lip and strained against the delightful feel of his large hand cupping her wet pussy. The level of excitement he’d sparked through her blood made her dizzy with need. Tipping her hips forward, she tried to force his fingers to probe past her saturated folds and give her the satisfaction of penetration. To prolong their role-playing, she shook her head “no”. “I think you’re lying.” He caught her earlobe between his front teeth for a heartbeat before letting go. “We need a lie detector test. Come here.” Trevor pulled her wrists behind her and guided her to the bed. He tugged the pillow to the middle, unclasped her cuffs and reattached them to the headboard. “Lie down,” he ordered in a gruff whisper. “Face down, bottom up.” Eager and obedient, Cynthia knelt on the mattress, using the headboard that her hands were secured to for support. She was ever so thankful her knee didn’t hurt any longer, because it would be such a shame to stop now. Her heart pounded with wickedly sweet suspense. Cream dripped from her greedy cunt, making the insides of her thighs slick. “What do you want?” “I want your lovely ass in the air.” A sharp smack to her bare cheeks punctuated his point. Cynthia uttered a muffled squeal from the sting of his hand on her butt. A fresh wave of cream flooded the folds of her excited pussy. “I’ll have to inspect every inch of you first,” he said. “And then I’m going to give you a lie detector test.” “Oh, please don’t do this,” she begged in role-play but slowly moved into the position Trevor wanted. “Honest, I’ll tell you everything, anything you want to know.” This bedroom was much darker than the others. The window didn’t face the glowing moon. Cynthia rested her face on the mattress, using her elbows and knees for balance. Trevor soothed her stinging butt cheeks and dipped his fingers into the valley of her ass. He tunneled down to her wet slit, spread her pussy lips and then slicked the moisture back up. He swirled a slippery fingertip around her tightly clenched anus. “What a beautiful little rose hole.” She swallowed her trepidation. Did he really mean to try anal sex? Her desire to experience it warred with her notions that it was wrong. Naughty. Forbidden. God! It was wonderful. Cynthia pulled uselessly on her handcuffs. She wasn’t ready to use the safe word they’d agreed upon but she needed to let him know this new experience made her nervous. “Um, Trevor, I don’t know about this.”

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He dipped his fingers into her pussy again, gently probing, teasing her vaginally and across her clit, drawing out more of her juices. “Cynthia, you remember the safe word we agreed to?” She nodded, burying her face into the quilt. “Do you trust me?” She gulped air, arching into his fingers. He explored the exquisitely sensitive skin around her anus at the same time. Incredible sensations thrummed inside her, racing up like tingling spirals from her ass to her belly button. “I trust you, Trevor. I do. But I’m…scared.” “Shh,” he said, gently swirling slick heat up and down the responsive skin between her ass and pussy. “Don’t be scared. You’ll enjoy this. I promise, darling, no pain. Just the most incredible pleasure. Relax.” This wasn’t a game anymore. Trevor played with her cunt, fingers dipped in and out, over her clit and back. He stroked her buttocks with the warm palm of his other hand. She believed him and started to relax. A thick fingertip explored her nether hole. She held her breath, expecting his penetration to hurt. Gently, he pushed a little deeper and stopped, giving her muscles time to adjust and loosen. Using his other hand he slipped two fingers inside her vagina and gently pumped in and out of her slippery flesh. “Oh,” she moaned. “That does feel good. Do it some more. Fuck me with both hands, Trevor.” “Gladly. Take a deep breath for me.” Trevor braced her thighs open wider with his knees. The thick finger inside her canal wiggled back and forth, gently stretching that tight muscle open. Cynthia sucked air into her burning lungs. Every nerve ending in her body sparkled like a Fourth of July firecracker. When Trevor slowly inserted two fingers, her breath rushed from her lungs at the tingling sensations. The fit was incredibly full and tight. He moved his fingers in and out, up and down, creating a sensual rhythm of unbelievable proportions inside her body. Her skin burned. She rocked back and forth, urging him on. “There you go, darling. Feel it, let it flow. You’re almost ready.” She barely heard his murmured encouragement. Her vagina tightened around the probing fingers of his other hand. Through experimentation she discovered the control over how much pleasure she felt in her ass. Squeezing her muscles around his fingers when he pulled out increased her enjoyment. Trevor settled his knees between hers on the mattress. The bed groaned under their combined weight. When he pulled his fingers completely out, she whimpered at the sudden loss. “No, don’t stop!” “Easy, darling. You’ll like this even better.”

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He drove his penis into her vagina twice. She squirmed from the unexpected, deep penetration. Then, he slid out, pulled her ass cheeks open wide and slipped the head of his thick, wet cock into her now well-prepared hole. Cynthia held her breath, bracing herself for the moment of pain but pain never came. Once he was all the way in, he stopped and rested inside her. The length of him throbbed and pulsed, hot and so tight. He draped his upper body over her back and reached between her legs to sink his fingers back into her dripping pussy. Her clit sizzled when he strummed his thumb over the aching nub. “Oh, oh my God! Trevor,” she panted and bumped back against him. “Fuck me. Please, fuck my ass, your fingers on my clit. Oh yes!” His chuckle rumbled into her spine. “Slow, darling. This has to be done slowly. I don’t want to hurt you.” “Doesn’t hurt,” she grunted. The handcuffs binding her to the bed bit into her wrists. She grabbed onto the heavy wood spindle and used it as leverage to make him move inside her. “Feels soooo good! Please, Trevor.” “Mmm, the lady begs me to fuck her. I think I’ve reached Nirvana.” He rocked his hips back a fraction, withdrawing in a slow slide of ecstasy. “Oooh, yes,” she hissed. “Again, again.” He taunted her from her clit into her vagina and out again, covering her slick sex all at once. Her body had never been so alive. His thickly muscled thighs kept her legs spread wide apart in wicked, sinful invitation for more. Trevor settled into a slow, deliberate rhythm, drilling deep into her with each stroke while low rumbles of pleasure escaped his lips. She ground her eager, burning clit against his probing fingers in shameless demand. When her orgasm struck, bright lights flashed behind her eyelids. She curled her spine up like a cat and then, gasping, arched back down. Trevor followed her body, rocking and bucking with her. Warmth burst inside her, evidence of his own release. He never let his fingers or his lovely hard cock leave her body until the last tremors died.

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Chapter Twenty-Five Cynthia Lyons snored. Back in the main bedroom Trevor listened for a moment longer, enjoying the feminine snuffling noises she made. He gathered her limp, warm body closer and tugged the quilt up to her chin. Deep in relaxed slumber, the woman of his heart murmured incoherently and then resumed her soft snoring. He loved that sound. He’d never been a fan of cuddling. Now, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do more than hold her close after the amazing sex they’d shared. Cynthia’s playful personality, impish grin and lusty body had turned the tables on his basic nature. His cock twitched at the mere thought of making love to her again. And again. She had the most deliciously tight ass. It had taken every ounce of control he had not to pump himself into her deep channel with more force. He hoped she wasn’t sore from her first experience at anal sex. She’d given him her body to pleasure. And her trust. It was a most precious gift. Moses jumped up on the bed, landing light as a sparrow atop the quilt. Brilliant green eyes studied Trevor and Cynthia for a few seconds. After having been tossed out by Trevor earlier, the animal seemed to think about how welcome he’d be on the bed with them now. He’d never slept with an animal in his bed but, apparently Cynthia did. If he intended to become more than a passing dalliance for her, he might as well make the adjustment now. Trevor wiggled his fingers in the air as an invitation. Moses padded closer, purring. The cat delicately sniffed Trevor’s hand with his pink nose. After a soft-as-air meow, he then curled into a white ball of sleek fur beside his thigh and went to sleep. All right. He rolled his eyes. Cats could indeed be good company. For the first time in his life, he felt like a complete person. Whole. Satisfied. Undeniably happy. Strange. Being in love was going to take some getting used to. He bent down and placed a feathery series of kisses on Cynthia’s temple and gazed at her peaceful, sleeping face in the soft moonlight. They had a lifetime to explore love together. He had every intention of doing just that, every day. He sighed into the night, content to hold Cynthia while she slept. His mind raced ahead with plans for the future. But first, he had to secure her safety. Careful not to disturb his sleeping beauty, Trevor stretched his arm out to the nightstand and fumbled around until he found his cell phone. After nearly knocking over the spent carton of ice cream, he managed to pick up the phone. He’d set the

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phone to “do not disturb” earlier—not caring if it violated protocol this one time. Having those few hours of carefree time with Cynthia had been worth it. Trevor flipped the phone open with one finger and pressed his message playback button. There was only one. From O’Rourke. “St. James, hold on to yar hat. Fingerprints from the body with Matthew Andrews’ ID are a match for Calvin Sewell, aka Nut Cracker. He was an expert at security systems and safes, did some time in the Massachusetts state penitentiary for a jewelry heist in Boston a few years ago. My guess is he came back empty-handed from Cynthia’s place and injured to boot. They must’ve decided he was too much liability. There might have been a chance she could ID his voice, if he’d been caught alive. Anyhoo, ya’d best keep yar eyes sharp.” Trevor’s blood turned to a slow-moving river of ice. One of his suspicions had just been confirmed. He clicked off the phone and set it aside. They were coming. The lure of the diamond’s secret would prove too strong for them to ignore. He’d finish this case once and for all. Above everything else he’d protect Cynthia with his life.

***** Fuzzy, gray light filtered into the bedroom and painted the walls with the first colors of morning. Cynthia stifled a big yawn. Every inch of her skin rested against a hard, warm, naked male body. From the corner of her eyes she saw the twin tips of Moses’ ears. Her cat had found a nice snuggle spot on Trevor’s other side. A satisfied grin played on her lips. She stretched her legs down along the length of Trevor’s hairy shins until she found one of his feet and then she rubbed her toes across his. “Woman, that tickles,” he grumbled into her hair. “I know.” She rolled over, tipped her face up and met his half-lidded, reddened eyes. “Hey, didn’t you sleep at all?” Trevor didn’t answer. He just smiled and smoothed his palm up and down her spine. “Don’t tell me you’re an insomniac. What kept you awake?” “Guard duty.” She wiggled around and rose up on her elbow. “What are you talking about?” “You’re so gorgeous in the morning, darling.” He captured a lock of hair that had fallen over her shoulder and wrapped it around his finger. Cynthia swatted his hand away. “Stop that. You’re avoiding my question, Agent.” Undaunted, Trevor eased his hand down the center of her chest, brushing over the sensitive skin between her breasts. Her nipples peaked instantly, prepared for his suckling. “Mmm, I adore that soft, sleepy look in your eyes,” he said. “Makes me hard just looking at you. Wanna fuck?”

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“Sure.” She caught his wandering hand and held it away. “But first, tell me why you think you had to stay awake all night on guard duty?” He brought her fingers to his mouth and nibbled on them, licking and kissing. “I’m expecting company.” Cynthia blinked. “What? Who? Did you tell someone you were going to be here with me? The only people who know I’m here are my real estate agent and my brother. And Paul wouldn’t tell anyone.” “He would.” She sat up in the bed and grabbed the sheet to cover her naked state, suddenly very self-conscious. “Why would he do that?” “Well, he’s worried about you, of course. He sounds like a very protective brother.” “You spoke to him? When?” “Yesterday.” Trevor flipped onto his side and rested his head on his fist, completely unconcerned for his own naked state while they conversed. A shadow of dark stubble dusted his chin and upper lip. His cock had thickened with the stirrings of arousal. She forced her gaze away from his rising shaft and let out an exasperated breath. Resisting this man was a daunting task. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” “What?” His eyebrows wiggled. “And spoil all the fun I had with you?” Cynthia sank back onto her heels, hugging the sheet to her chin. “Is that all it was, Trevor? Just fun?” His face turned serious again, his eyes darkened. “Don’t even think that. What happened between us is only the beginning. I’m not planning to let you go, Cyn.” Relief and happiness burst through her worries, like a ray of sunshine after a stormfilled day. “I’m so glad, Trevor. I really love being with you.” “Me too.” He smiled gently and reached out to caress her cheek with his fingers. “But we’ll have to talk about ‘us’ later. Right now, I need to let you know something important.” Cynthia sighed. Hadn’t he given her enough information to digest and mull over last night? First the story of how the Russian diamond and the Holocaust were intertwined and then he’d told her about being an English lord’s only son. She hadn’t even had time to think about what that meant if she and Trevor became more involved—if they had a future together. “If it’s about my brother, don’t lose sleep over his reaction. I told you, he worries too much. He’ll settle down once I tell him about us.” Trevor’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Your brother’s under the misguided assumption I mean to do you harm, since he wouldn’t believe I am who I said. He called the police because he couldn’t contact you.” “The police?” She groaned. “Oh, shit. He’s such a worrywart. I called him and left a message, I told him I was okay. What did you tell him?”

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“Not much. He hung up on me after he threatened me with bodily harm if I let anything happen to you.” Cynthia gasped. Then she laughed. The image of her much smaller brother having a fistfight with Trevor was comical. Trevor had at least six inches and fifty pounds of hardened muscle over Paul’s slender form. “What’s so funny?” Trevor asked. “Nothing.” She grinned. “You’ll have to meet my brother first to understand. Who do you think is coming here?” Trevor’s blue gaze burned in the morning light. “The people who wanted the diamond to begin with. They’ll be coming. I’m certain of it.” Again her mouth opened in surprise but this time she found no humor to go with it. “But, but…I thought that was over. Done. I gave you the diamond. Problem solved, right?” “Not exactly.” How could he continue looking so calm? He tried to pull the sheet from her. She tugged it back. “You lied to me last night. When I asked if this was over you said it was.” He gave her a lopsided grin, drawing his fingertip gently up her arm to the curve of her shoulder. “I know and I’m sorry about that. I didn’t want to worry you needlessly until I had more information. You’ve had enough trauma. I only wanted to protect you.” Cynthia squeezed her eyes shut. God, did he have to look and sound so sincere? It would be so much easier to stay mad at him if she thought he was lying again, even if he did it to keep her safe. “All right. Apology accepted. I appreciate your concern, Trevor. The last couple of days have taken me so far outside of my normal realm. I was beginning to doubt my sanity. I’m better now and I want to know everything. Who are they?” Trevor sat up in one smooth, powerful motion, reminding her of the effortless athleticism of her cat. He lifted his knee and rested his arm across it, perfectly at ease with his nudity and looking maddeningly handsome. Seductive. Confident. Sure of himself as a man. “I have suspicions.” His eyes grew flat and ice-cold. “Nothing substantial.” “So, the guys who attacked me in the alley—there really are more of them?” “The tip of the iceberg. If my suspicions prove correct, those behind this and the attacks on you will come to the surface now. I want them. All.” She swallowed. “You’re sure they’re coming today?” “Most likely.” A chill ran down her spine. She shivered and rubbed at the goose bumps on her arms. “But, why?”

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“Because they don’t know you gave me the diamond. They still think you have it.” The corners of his lips curled up and then flattened, as if he pretended to find humor and failed. “That’s really not funny, Trevor.” Cynthia frowned. “How much time do we have?” “I can’t be certain but I’ll be forewarned. They won’t take us by surprise. I didn’t let anyone know you gave me the diamond or that I’d already given the information to the Steinbrunn family. I have to keep that secret in order to solve this case. Which is why you need to get ready to go.” Alarmed, eyes growing wide, she pulled the sheet up higher. “Go where?” “To the cabin next door. Your resort manager, Mr. Snyder, gave me a key to the place.” “He did? He knows about this?” “He knows what he needs to. The cabin’s unoccupied. You’ll be safe there. We’ll walk through the woods to the back entrance. Leave your car parked in front here to lure them in. I’ll come back here and wait for them.” “Alone?” Panic filled her chest. “How many of them are there?” He grinned, giving her another glimpse of that confident, sexy, indomitable male attitude. “Worried about me?” She blinked. “Well, yeah. I don’t want you to get hurt, or—” Trevor put a finger to her lips and halted her words. “Won’t happen, darling. I know it looks that way but I don’t work alone. I’ll have backup.” “Who? Your spy buddy, O’Rourke? And cranky old Mr. Snyder?” “Among others.” Mischief gleamed in his eyes. “I do have the advantage of surprise. They’re expecting to find you here alone. It’s sure to knock them off-kilter when they find the big, bad wolf has invaded the cabin in the woods.” “Oh, great,” she quipped sarcastically. “This isn’t a little freakin’ fairy tale!” He reached out. She jerked away, not wanting to be soothed from her rightful fear. “I’m okay, really. I can deal with this.” “No, I’ll deal with it.” She snorted and glanced around the room, seeing things that reminded her of a happier, much less complicated time in her life. “Well, thank God my parents are ten thousand miles away. Mom would have a tizzy about this, after she chewed my ears off.” “I like your mother already. She sounds quite normal.” Cynthia couldn’t help the smile. A small measure of her initial panic faded, going from total blackness to just foggy gray. “You should dress. I need to get you settled into the other cabin soon.” “Crap, I don’t like the sound of this. Maybe we should hightail it out of here? We should leave. Together. Now.”

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“I’m staying. You’re leaving.” He flipped his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. Then he captured her wrists and pulled her off the mattress too. The sheet she’d tried to use as a shield slithered to the floor. “But—” “Shh,” he hushed. “No ‘buts’. Well, except for this fine specimen.” He wrapped his arms around her, his hands dropping down to cup her bare ass. The urgent, hot steel of his penis pressed against the soft mound of her belly. Warmth flared inside her body but didn’t quell her uneasiness. Her heart pounded in her chest, making her throat feel tight. Despite her determination to show Trevor a brave front, she quaked at the mere thought of facing armed criminals one more time. He was playing it cool for her sake, trying to distract her from worrying. But she knew better. “I’ll go on one condition.” Trevor tipped his head sideways and lifted his eyebrow in question. “This isn’t up for discussion. I must know you’re safe to complete this, Cyn. I’d rather not repeat what happened in the alley.” She firmed her chin, determined not to give in completely. But he’d succeeded in forcing the memories of what happened the last time she’d refused to trust him. Like a vicious slap to the face, they came crushing back into her. She’d had a knife pressed into her throat. Others had died. Her fingers automatically went up to probe the small scab on the side of her neck. “Okay,” she relented. “I’ll get out of your way so you can finish your job.” “And you’ll stay there? Promise me. Say it.” “I promise. I’ll stay there this time.” Tension melted from his posture. She curled her arms up and cocooned herself inside his protective, warm embrace. It felt good to let him take charge of everything. This was his job, his authority. Trevor was so strong and confident, almost cocky about it, while she grew nauseous at the thought of more violence. Having experienced two attacks on her life in just a few days was enough for a lifetime! “Promise me you’ll be all right?” she whispered against his shoulder. “I promise.” He nuzzled the top of her head and placed a tender kiss there. She molded her body to his hard, muscular contours. Even though she’d promised herself she wouldn’t run away from her problems anymore, it felt like a really good idea right now. “We could disappear,” she tried one last time. “We could go to Jamaica or someplace like that. Somewhere hidden and warm. They’d never find us.” “Darling,” he whispered in her ear. His breath felt hot and soft. “Get dressed before I decide to spread you on the bed again and have my way with you.” “Okay, okay. Do I have time to take a shower? I’m kinda sticky all over.”

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Trevor chuckled. “It’s against my better judgment. However, given the sticky situation, I’ll give you five minutes in the bathroom.” “Thanks. I’ll be quick.” Cynthia closed her eyes and prayed for his safety. If anything happened to him, what would she do? What could she do? For the first time in her life she’d found a man she could trust and love. She didn’t want to lose him. Not now. Not ever! She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on tight for just one more precious minute.

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Chapter Twenty-Six Trevor dressed quickly in yesterday’s jeans and sweater, shoved his feet into his boots. He slid his weapons into place, not feeling complete without them. The sound of running water in the bathroom across the hall told him Cynthia had started her shower. He grabbed his cell phone, flipped it open and dialed O’Rourke’s number. “Ya didn’t answer my call,” the cheeky Scotsman chided. “Did ye have a nice night together?” A lingering smile of remembered, shared ecstasy touched Trevor’s lips. But he didn’t waste time with idle banter. He had business to attend to. “Where are Sival and Marsh?” “According to the police clerk, the captain sent them out on another assignment already,” O’Rourke clicked his tongue in a soft tsking sound. “Another homicide, this one drug-related. Nothing said about the body swap so far. I’m still investigating.” Trevor scrubbed his knuckles across the stubble on his chin. “Any word on her brother?” “Yes. He booked a flight out of Rome to La Guardia yesterday evening. He should land this morning. I’ve asked Detective Sival to have someone there to escort her brother once he lands. Don’t want to risk him, too.” “Good,” Trevor murmured. “If they know about her brother, they’ll try to use him to get to her. My gut tells me he’ll want police intervention anyway. According to Cynthia he’s very protective of her. She called him a worrywart.” O’Rourke chuckled. “If she were my sister, I’d be one, too.” He strode into the kitchen with his cell phone pressed to his ear and eyed his wristwatch to ensure she didn’t take more than her allotted fifteen minutes. He had just enough time to make a pot of coffee and fill a thermos for her to take. A couple of sandwiches would be good, too. He’d already discovered her habit of skipping meals. He wanted her safe and away before the shit hit the fan here. Even if nothing happened until late in the afternoon, she was just going to have to wait it out. “Okay, stay on it, O’Rourke. I’m taking Cynthia to a safe place nearby to keep her out of the line of fire this time—” He paused. A car approached. The familiar purr of an engine outside captured his attention, muted by the snow-covered pines and winding road that led toward the cabin. “St. James?” O’Rourke said. “You still there?” Silently, Trevor inched over to the living room window, careful to stay in the darker corner. He peeked out through the slit between wall and curtain. Another sunny mid163

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winter day, the surroundings looked pristine and quiet. Directly in front of the cabin, Cynthia’s snow-topped rental car blazed with cheery red color under the bright sunshine—a certain beacon for these new arrivals. A strange car eased around the final bend in the drive. He identified the new-model black sedan as a Lexus, by the distinctive logo on the hood. “I’ve got company,” he announced. “Eh?” O’Rourke queried. “Now? Who?” “Not certain. I don’t recognize the car.” “Could it be the resort manager?” “Not likely. Besides, from what I can see, this car wouldn’t suit the resort manager. He prefers old trucks. Whoever it is, the driver’s taking his time on his approach, checking things out carefully.” Tiny hairs on Trevor’s neck rose up and his spine itched. On the phone line, O’Rourke jabbered ideas out loud, mixing names and descriptions and scenarios into one another with a rapid and heavy brogue that was difficult to decipher. One by one he negated them all. Trevor imagined the Scotsman frowning with speculation, pulling on fistfuls of his curly, silver-streaked red hair in frustration while he tried to figure out who would be making such an early approach, alone. “Is it the fat man or the thin man?” O’Rourke finally asked. The car stopped on the driveway, a hundred yards from the cabin’s front door. The engine idled, a trail of white exhaust floated into the air behind it like a ghostly apparition. Trevor kept to the shadows, his attention focused on identifying driver and passenger. “Interesting,” he muttered under his breath when he could finally see enough. “Looks like both of them.” The car inched forward. The driver parked behind a large pine tree, once again completely obscuring his view. Obviously, two men inside didn’t want to be seen by anyone in the cabin. That bore ill will. “Got to go, O’Rourke. Get down here as soon as you can. It’s show time.”

***** Cynthia had just finished her fastest shower ever when the bathroom door burst open. Trevor’s face was dark and grim. A dangerous, almost feral light glowed in his determined gaze. He shoved a towel at her. Then he grabbed her arm to steady her out of the tub. “Hurry. We’ve got unexpected company.”

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She hugged the towel to her chest, still blinking water from her eyes. He dragged her across the hall back into the bedroom. “They’re here? Now? I thought you said we had a little more time?” Trevor scowled and tossed her clothes from the pile on the floor onto the bed. “Obviously, your sudden disappearance yesterday sped things up. Get dressed.” Cynthia didn’t bother drying off. She struggled into her jeans, tugging and pulling them up her wet legs and hips. “So, what do we do now? Are we still making a run for the other cabin?” “No, I don’t doubt they’d break in and eventually find the tracks we left in the snow. I want you to stay inside this bedroom. Don’t come out for any reason until I tell you it’s safe.” He removed the smaller gun from his ankle holster and checked it over. “Do you understand me?” She twisted her arms and torso into a t-shirt and yanked a sweater over her head and dripping hair. “Yes, I got that part.” Ignoring her socks, she shoved her feet into her boots and jammed a toe in the process. She bit back a cry of pain. “Who are they?” “Don’t worry about who they are, Cyn.” Trevor reached for her hand. He placed the small pistol firmly in the middle of her palm and wrapped her fingers around the rubber handgrip. Her mouth dropped open. “What are you doing? I don’t want it.” She tried pulling her hand away. He tugged her hand back. His grip was hard and unyielding. “Cynthia! Listen to me. You keep this gun with you. It’s very easy to use.” She shook her head. “I’ll stay in the bedroom. You keep the gun, Trevor.” “I have one. My backup’s not here yet. I need you to stay in the bedroom and remain quiet. If anything goes wrong, I want you to be able to protect yourself.” Horror flooded her mind. The prospect that Trevor could be injured, or killed, made her whole body go numb. “No. Don’t say that.” “Anything can happen, Cyn. The best you can do is be prepared for any unfavorable possibilities. Look here.” He pointed to a little switch on the side by her thumb. “This is the safety. It’s on. The pistol won’t go off accidentally. Flip the switch over to fire. This is a very simple handgun. Use both hands, aim and squeeze the trigger. At close range, you’ll hit whatever you aim at. Just remember to aim for the middle of the chest. You can’t miss. And keep your eyes open. Any questions?” “N-no.” She frowned at the gun, testing the full weight of the weapon in her grip. “Funny, when you said you’d show me how to use one I had the impression we’d spend the day at a firing range, aiming at paper targets. I didn’t bargain on this.” “You’re doing fine.” Trevor let go. Then he backed away toward the bedroom window and yanked the curtains closed. A dull darkness filled the room, adding to the heavy expectation of more violence. She stood with her knees locked together, both hands clasped tight around the little pistol.

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He pointed at Moses sprawled on the bed. “Keep him in here with you. I’m going outside through the back door. I’ll work my way around the cabin and come up behind them.” “Do you really think they’ll break in?” “If I were them, I most certainly would. Stay here and stay quiet. I’ll take care of everything else.” He stopped at the doorway and gave her a wink. “I’ll call out to let you know it’s me coming in. Wouldn’t want you to shoot my head off by accident.” She gaped at him and then snapped her mouth closed. “Not funny, Trevor. Go, before I lose my nerve.” He closed the door with a jerk of his wrist, leaving her alone. She heard the latch click shut. A thick silence enveloped her senses. The bedroom walls moved closer and the ceiling dropped lower, as if it had suddenly caved in. Cynthia gulped in air. Her lungs ached like she’d just run the six hundred-yard dash in school without a warm-up. Her hands trembled around the pistol. She stared at the deadly power in her grasp, paranoid of dropping it by accident. Her gaze landed on the bed. Snuggled amidst the rumpled bedcovers, Moses appeared completely oblivious to impending trouble and the emotional geyser that threatened to explode from her. Calm and serene, the cat groomed his furry white belly with long strokes of his pink tongue. She focused on her beloved pet, on his soothing licking sounds, his peaceful face with eyes closed. Her heartbeat quieted, her hands lost their tremors. “Safety’s on.” She took a deep breath and lifted the deadly little pistol to eye level. It was incredibly clean and shiny and smelled faintly of oil. Surprisingly, now that she’d relaxed she found the gun wasn’t as heavy as she’d thought at first. The grippy rubber handle felt warm, her fingers fit neatly into the molding. And seated snug inside the chamber rested a .22-caliber bullet. Enough to kill someone. “Oh, dear God. Please don’t let me have to use this thing.”

***** Trevor stepped out into frosty morning air, careful to close the cabin’s back door with as little sound as possible. Shade from the cabin cast the backyard into a winter wonderland of long, pale blue shadows, cast by the tall, snow-covered pines standing like giant sentinels on watch. Treading lightly, he inched along the cabin’s rough timber walls with the familiar weight of his 9mm secure in his right hand. When he reached the corner, he waited and listened. The car’s engine had stopped. No sound of the two men inside the car breached the still morning air. Tiny birds flitted from branch to branch in a nearby tree, their happy chirps unmindful of any potential danger. He had to be careful not to startle them into flying away, alerting the intruders

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to his presence. Overhead, a commercial airliner streaked across the pristine soft blue sky, trailing a white line and a distant belated roar. He chanced a quick look around the corner. The rear of the sedan peeked out from behind a bristly pine tree at the end of the driveway. Were the men waiting in their car? And if so, for what or whom, did they wait? Three firm knocks sounded on the front door. Wrong. They weren’t waiting. Trevor moved along the side yard toward the front. He squatted low and peered around the cabin, just far enough to see the porch but careful to remain out of sight. He hunkered down against the wall and spied on them with one eye. Two men stood there. One tall and thin, huddled inside an expensive-looking camel-hair coat. His dark, silver-threaded hair gleamed from precise grooming. Matthias Andrevsky, aka Matthew Andrews. The last known photos of him from the FBI and Interpol coalition team dated back at least fifteen years. Time had been kind to him. He hadn’t changed that much. The other man did the knocking, his meaty knuckles rapping loudly on the wood. The bulge beneath his suede and wool shearling coat was unmistakable. Trevor arched a sardonic eyebrow. Interesting company Captain Hill kept here. He knew from his meeting with him that Hill carried a .45-caliber Smith & Wesson at his hip and a very determined attitude now, judging from the taut line of his big shoulders. Trevor wasn’t surprised to see these two together. They’d been roommates for several years in a dormitory for delinquent teenaged boys, right before Matthias was sent to a foster home, then ran away and went missing. Apparently Andrevsky and Hill had maintained a friendship and well-informed contact through all these years. It still didn’t explain why the Russian had involved the police precinct captain. Trevor knew why Andrevsky had used Cynthia to obtain those numbers from the diamond. He was nearly blind without his glasses. Obviously she gave him the wrong numbers. If they’d been correct, Matthias Andrevsky wouldn’t be here now, Cynthia wouldn’t have been attacked and the Swiss bank account would have been wrongfully, but legally, liquidated. But why was Hill here? How was the captain involved in this? What part did he play? On the porch, Matthias turned around and scanned the immediate area. The thick lenses of his eyeglasses flashed in the morning sunlight. “You are certain this is her rental car?” He kept his voice low but it was easy enough to hear the very slight Russian accent that remained. “It has the right plates.” Darren Hill knocked again, hard enough to make the cabin door rattle on its hinges. “Miss Lyons! Open the door. It’s Police Captain Darren Hill. I need to speak with you.” After another moment of silence, Matthias grew restless. He stepped off the porch. “Perhaps she decided to go out for a walk?”

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“She ain’t out walking, Matt.” Matthias shrugged. “She could be in the shower, unable to hear us. Let us wait inside the car for a few moments, Hill. I don’t desire any more violence so early in the morning.” “Bullshit,” Hill grumbled. “She’s avoiding us, hoping we’ll just go away. You wait here and stay out of sight. I’m going around back to check things out.”

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Chapter Twenty-Seven Cynthia shuddered each time the man outside banged on the front door, demanding entrance. His voice roared through to the bedroom. He claimed he was the captain of police, Darren Hill. What the hell was he doing here? How did he find her? It didn’t matter. Relief surged into her chilled bones, calmed her jumping heart. Shouldn’t she let him in? Where was Trevor? Why hadn’t he greeted the captain and let him inside to help deal with the murderers who were coming for her? Then there was silence again, the kind that feels muffled. She flattened her ear against the bedroom door and strained to the slightest sound. A whisper. A cough. Footsteps. Anything! Her fingers ached from her tight grip on the Beretta. She had to look at her hands to force them to relax. Certainly she’d be safe now, most likely the entire New York State police force stood outside talking with Trevor. They’d be setting up a plan to capture the bad guys. Letting go of the gun with one hand, she reached for the door latch. Then snatched her hand back. I promised him I’d stay here. She chewed her bottom lip, torn between her promise and her need to know that he was safe and standing outside talking to the captain. She tiptoed to the bedroom window and inched the curtain aside for a peek. Nothing. Just trees and snow. She wished this bedroom faced the front so she’d at least have a clue about what was happening outside. Would it hurt to go to the living room and look? She wouldn’t leave the cabin, just look out the window. She’d still be out of harm’s way. Slowly, Cynthia cracked the door open, afraid to make any noise, prepared to slam it shut again if need be. There was still no sound from outside. The lack of it had her nerves spiking. Was something wrong? She hugged the wall and crept along the hallway toward the living room, the pistol still clamped tight in one hand with the business end pointed at the floor. Brilliant sunlight framed the window, slicing through the darkness around the edges of the curtain. She hurried past the couch, over to the far wall. Adrenaline pumped into her veins with icy heat and made her palms damp. She angled her head against the wall and peered out. The man standing on the porch was instantly recognizable. Matthew Andrews! He was still alive? A strange mixture of surprise and relief welled up inside her. Her last

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impression of him as a nervous, gentle man returned. He was harmless, just another wealthy client who wanted his privacy, his property and then he’d leave. Everything was okay now—he could take possession of the diamond. A single gunshot from outside cracked through her joy. Instinctively she jerked back, eyes wide, her lips clamped tight on a muffled, surprised squeak. And on the porch, Matthew Andrews pulled a long-nosed gun out from beneath his coat and crept out of her sight.

***** Trevor didn’t have much time to work through a plan when the hulking form of Darren Hill appeared around the corner. Hill stopped short, surprise clear in his hazel eyes. “Hello, Captain.” Trevor lifted his gun, aiming for the man’s broad center. The surprised expression on Hill’s face melted into a confident sneer. “Agent St. James. I should have known you’d be sniffing around here.” “Let’s do this nice and quiet-like,” Trevor said. “Open your coat, drop your weapon and step back.” Hill took a deep breath, blowing out a long stream of frosty air like a locomotive. “Now, don’t be in such a hurry. Why don’t we talk about this? I’m willing to cut you in–-” “I said, drop it.” “All right, all right,” Hill nodded agreeably. “Take it easy. You damn Brits are a touchy bunch, aren’t ya? Out of good faith, I’ll do as you ask. Maybe then you’ll be more willing to talk.” Trevor nosed his weapon higher, aiming for the man’s heart now instead of his belly. “Keep your voice down. I know about your Russian friend out there. Seems a shame to waste two bullets this morning. Your gun, Captain. Slowly.” Hill plucked open the buttons on his coat and gently drew one side away from his body to expose the black butt of his Smith & Wesson. Trevor focused on every twitch of the man’s eyelids, every curl of his thick fingers as he reached for it. There was no way to wrestle the weapon from him, not without his cuffs and not without alerting Matthias Andrevsky. “You know,” Hill said amiably, “I’m not above letting you in on a cut. Split three ways, a hundred thirty million euros equals about a hundred fifty million dollars these days. Think about it. Fifty million dollars each. And all of it tax-free, too. Wouldn’t you like to retire, Agent? Take that money and enjoy the rest of your fuckin’ life, instead of sweating it out by other people’s rules?” Trevor narrowed his gaze on the man. “I’m not interested in the money. Out and drop it.”

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“You’re not?” Hill’s eyebrows rose up into his bald, lined forehead. “Well, that’s mighty high of you.” He unsnapped the gun, plucked it free with his thumb and forefinger. “The girl, then? Take her. I know you have an itch for that pretty thing. Couldn’t keep your eyes off her the other day. Keep the diamond, too. All I really want are the numbers.” “The girl,” Trevor repeated, carefully keeping a tight rein on his anger. “Her name’s Cynthia, in case you’ve already forgotten. She’s not your property to bargain with. Neither is the diamond, or the numbers engraved on it.” He motioned with his gun in an obvious reminder for Hill to drop his. With more speed and agility than Trevor would have guessed, Hill dove for the low, snow-covered bushes clustered around the house. Trevor had expected him to try something. He fired before the man rolled away. A spike of red blood shot out into the air, along with Hill’s agonized howl. He rolled in the snow, landed facedown while clutching one hand inside the other. “Fucking bastard!” Hill screamed. “You shot my finger off!” Hill’s gun skittered under the snow several feet away. Trevor took a precious moment to scramble out to find it, not daring to leave Hill within reach even with his shooting hand disabled. The enraged man might still try to take a potshot at him with his off-hand. He spotted the silver and black weapon and reached for it. “Not so fast,” another man’s voice said. “Don’t move.” Trevor froze, his own gun pointed down and away by instinct while he tried to find the other. He didn’t need to look up to know Matthias Andrevsky had arrived and had a gun aimed at him. “Shoot him!” Hill bellowed. He jostled his snow-covered bulk around to a sitting position and clutched his bleeding hand tight to his chest. “The girl’s inside. Shoot already!” To his credit Andrevsky cocked a disbelieving look at his boyhood friend, Darren Hill. “I don’t like violence,” he said in quiet, no-nonsense tones. “But I will shoot him if he moves. Drop your weapon, Mr. St. James. Do it!” Reluctantly, Trevor let his gun topple into the snow at his feet. Andrevsky jerked his chin at Hill. “Can you walk?” “Of course I can walk,” Hill grumbled. “He shot my finger off, not my foot.” Andrevsky snickered. “Get up. Go inside and find the girl. I want my diamond, Hill. You find it. I’ll keep the British agent right here, out of the way.” “Idiot,” Hill growled, rising up like an angry bear. “He can’t be left alive. Now give me the damned gun!” The mention of Cynthia struck a chord of fear inside Trevor, more than fear for his own life. Neither of these men could be allowed to find her!

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Hill reached out with his uninjured left hand. “Give me the gun, Matt. I’m perfectly in my right to kill this fucking British bastard!” “No!” Andrevsky pushed his hand away. “This isn’t how I planned it. Nobody was supposed to die. I shouldn’t have told you anything about my family, nothing about my diamond.” Angry red blotches colored Hill’s cheeks. “Your stupid plan didn’t work, did it?” “I have the diamond,” Trevor said calmly. Both men turned to scowl at him. “Hand it over, then,” Hill demanded. “Or by God, I’ll splatter your brains out right here and search your body myself.” Trevor had no idea how this would play out. He seriously doubted Andrevsky would fire at him. The man had a repulsed look on his face, held his gun with disdain. But Hill would. He’d been a trained police officer and detective with more than twentyfive years of service behind him before his final promotion to Captain of Police. Hill was physically injured, angry and determined to get what he’d come for—a diamond with the key to a fortune that didn’t belong to him. His already puffy face swelled with hatred, his hazel eyes clouded with greed. Standing there and doing nothing triggered the next step. Hill swung back to Andrevsky and made another grab for the gun. Andrevsky jerked it away. He was taller than Hill and held the weapon up and out of his reach. Trevor had the insane image of two little boys playing a risky game of keep away. On that one second of their distraction, he reached for his own gun buried almost knee-deep in snow. He froze when he heard the unmistakable click of a bullet being chambered. “Stop!” Andrevsky shouted. Trevor looked up in time to see him shove Hill away, hard enough to make the heavier man stumble back. Andrevsky had his gun trained on Trevor again, more firmly committed this time. Gone was the disdain, replaced by a new, firmer resolve, a look that would kill if pressed too hard. What he saw out of the corner of his eye made Trevor’s blood run cold. No amount of looking death in the face could have prepared him for the vision of Cynthia standing there, the little pistol he’d given her clutched tight between her white-knuckled hands, aimed at Andrevsky. He dared not look at her directly and give her position away to them. She edged closer into full view, barely sparing him a flicker of attention. Her eyes were huge in her pale face and zeroed in on the men who threatened their lives. At the same time, as frightened and angry as he was that she’d disobeyed him again, he was very glad to see her. “Don’t move!” She sounded much more adamant, more in control than he would have imagined. Both men stiffened, their eyes darting sideways. Hill groaned when he saw her and then resumed nursing his injured hand.

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“Don’t turn around, don’t do anything,” she ordered. “I know how to use this gun. So just stop this shit.” She peered around Hill’s big shoulders at Trevor. “Are you okay?” He only nodded. Andrevsky still had control of his weapon. Even though it dangled from his fingertips, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to use it now. He was a man being pushed too far and that was infinitely more dangerous. With Cynthia standing there, so close, Trevor had to take control of the situation. She turned a hard eye on the tall Russian. “You’re the last person I expected to see here, Mr. Andrews…or whatever your real name is.” Trevor dared a step closer. “It’s not his real name. Cynthia Lyons, meet Matthias Andrevsky. He is Franjeska’s son. Josef’s nephew.” Cynthia twitched as the reality of his identity sunk in. “Where is my diamond?” Andrevsky asked her, ignoring what Trevor had claimed only seconds ago, that he had the diamond. “I don’t have it anymore, Mr. Andrews…Andrevsky,” she said. “And from what I know now, I don’t even think it belongs to you. You lied to me.” The Russian’s face mottled with hot color. “You gave me the wrong numbers!” “Of course I did, because I couldn’t really read them either. I told you that. You tried to use me. Why? Because you couldn’t read those numbers yourself? Just my dumb luck that you picked my name out of your hat. You endangered my life, Mr. Andrevsky. Why’d you do that? All you had to do was come back and pick your damned diamond up and then you would have had it and the numbers.” “That is what I planned.” Andrevsky turned to glare his contempt at Hill. “You didn’t need to hire those men. They were murderers!” Hill snarled. “Just shut the fuck up, Matt! I did what I thought was best when she screwed up.” Cynthia drew in a long breath before she continued her tirade against the Russian. “And to think I actually worried about you when you didn’t show up the next morning. Do you have any idea how terrified I was when I saw on TV how they found your body in the river? Obviously, it wasn’t you. You’re still alive. So, who’d you kill?” Andrevsky jerked his head at Hill. “That was his doing. Now where is my diamond, Miss Lyons?” She lifted her chin. “I told you I don’t have it. And another thing, Captain Hill, aren’t you ashamed of yourself? My God, you’re a police captain. People put their trust in you. Whatever happened to your honor, your duty to protect the public?” Hill didn’t answer, he just scowled at her. “What, your police pension wouldn’t be big enough for you? I know what it was. Greed. You got greedy,” she said with solemn finality. Trevor admired the firm jut of her chin, her sheer willpower to stay calm, keep up a conversation and maintain their focus on her. She did a pretty good job of getting a 173

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confession out of him. With Andrevsky’s attention focused on her, Trevor stole a few precious inches closer. It would take too much time and be too noticeable if he searched for his own 9mm buried in the snow or Hill’s gun. He hoped to snatch the gun out of Andrevsky’s hands before the Russian regained his wits and found the fortitude to try something stupid. Fortunately, Hill had become preoccupied with the pain of losing a finger. The big man dropped to his knees and cradled his bloody hand while he moaned and rocked back and forth. A dark red stain smeared the front of his coat and pants and dotted the snow with crimson. In the far distance, a siren wailed. O’Rourke hadn’t wasted any time getting reinforcements. Andrevsky jerked at the sound. His eyes flinched behind his thick glasses when he saw how close Trevor had gotten to him. Trevor recognized the do-or-die hardened gleam in the man’s gaze and the firming of his chin, one split second before Andrevsky fired. The bullet grazed Trevor’s arm with enough force to spin him around and drop him to his knees. It stung like a knife cut. Fortunately Andrevsky’s aim was off and he’d missed hitting serious flesh. Cynthia’s screams sounded louder than the gunshot and that struck fear in his heart. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he scrambled upright, slipped in the snow and came face-to-face with Andrevsky’s gun. “No!” Trevor heard the fierce determination inside her voice at the same time she pulled the trigger. Andrevsky’s legs shot out from under him, his gun flew up in the air as if in slow motion. The weapon landed at Trevor’s feet in a poof of snow. His own pain forgotten, he scooped Andrevsky’s gun up and moved in to pin the Russian down where he lay. Andrevsky had lost his eyeglasses. He blinked owlishly and tears clouded his wide, unfocused eyes. Shock pulled all the color from his skin when he clutched his right thigh with both hands. A bright red hole pierced his pants leg. She’d shot him in the leg, rather than aim to kill. The distant howl of sirens grew to an ear-splitting scream as police cruisers sped around the frozen lake on their way to the cabin. Cynthia still pointed her pistol at the man she’d downed but her hands shook so much that Trevor doubted if she’d be able to hit anything smaller than an elephant. She glanced up. Her eyes glowed with triumph and she maintained a fierce, determined control. “You’re hurt.” She frowned. “I’ll be fine. He missed hitting anything important.” Trevor moved closer and gently pried his Beretta from her tight fingers. She let go, took a deep breath and then dragged both hands through her loose, stilldamp hair. “Are we done with all this now?” 174

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“Yes. It’s over, darling.” “For real this time?” His arm stung like the devil but he managed a smile. “For real this time.” With his eyes on the two downed men, Trevor reached his arm out to Cynthia. She rushed in to embrace him and buried her nose in his chest. “Thank God,” she mumbled into his sweater. “Take me home, Trevor.”

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Epilogue Cynthia lay facedown on their honeymoon bed. Trevor reached for the soft ropes anchored to the headboard and slid them over her wrists, gently drawing her arms out of his way. He allowed some slack before he tightened the ropes. She liked some room to struggle when he tied her up. The large white diamond that crowned her wedding band flashed with wild brilliance. He took a moment to admire the stone. After learning of the harrowing ordeal Cynthia had endured to protect the gem, the Steinbrunn heirs had insisted she keep it. She’d been speechless at first, right before she’d shrieked with joy, astounded and enthralled. Of course, he’d offered to buy her a new diamond, or any other gem she desired for her engagement ring. But she’d insisted this one was meant to be. It was the stone that had brought them together, after all. Watching Cynthia set the Russian white diamond into the ring she designed for herself had taught him a new respect for the delicate precision her work required. He was most proud to wear the simple platinum band she’d created for him as well. He moved off the bed, stepping over the sheets that had already been kicked off and pillowed on the teakwood floor like clouds of pale silk. From the open window a warm, tropical breeze blew in and fluttered through the gauzy, floor-length curtains. The balmy morning wind brought with its teasing warmth the lush perfume of hibiscus and bougainvillea and a hint of tang from the ocean not far beyond that. After testing her wrist restraints he moved down to her legs, spreading them wide open, tying her ankles to keep them apart. The pink slit of her sex glistened with moisture beneath the lightly tanned globes of her ass. His cock burned with the need to sink into her sweet, wet channel again. He couldn’t get enough of her. She turned her head to watch him. He caught the glimmer of Cynthia’s eye from between the strands of her hair. Her cheek rounded with her soft, lazy smile. “Are you going to torture me with that feather again?” she asked. Trevor reached over to the dresser and picked up the long peacock feather in question. Twirling the stem between his fingertips, he let the early Jamaican sun strike jewel tones of emerald, sapphire and gold on the wispy plume. When he danced the feather’s fringy tips over her butt, she uttered a muffled gasp. “Not yet.” He twirled the delicate feather down the soft skin inside her thighs. She moaned appreciatively. “What are you waiting for?” “Breakfast.” “I’m not hungry. For food, that is.” 176

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“I need my strength,” he chuckled. “I’ve ordered breakfast to be served in bed today.” “What?” Cynthia squirmed against her restraints and struggled to lift herself up on her elbows. “Oh, honey. You better untie me.” He grinned and allowed the peacock feather to dip and slide into the wet crease of her pussy. His beautiful wife bucked under the subtle torture. “Trevor!” “Shh,” he whispered. “I hear footsteps in the hall.” “Oh, no. At least cover me up. I don’t want the servants to see my naked butt like this.” A soft knock at the door made her eye him desperately. Trevor dropped the feather across her legs and then did the gentlemanly thing, he scooped up the discarded bed sheets and tossed them over her. Only the tips of her toes peeked out from the bottom. He grabbed a navy blue silk robe from a chair and tied it at his waist. The thin, tropical-weight fabric did nothing to hide the straining curve of his erection. He shrugged off a concern for propriety. The servants would just have to get used to his constant arousal and frequent indulgence in making love to Cynthia. When he opened the door, Walter Oglethorpe stood proudly in the hall, carrying a bamboo tray with the breakfast Trevor had ordered. The man had served his family for nearly thirty years. Trevor wasn’t surprised that his parents had insisted Wally accompany him and Cynthia on their worldwide honeymoon. This was the man who’d taught him how to tie his shoelaces and doctored his knees when he’d scuffed them. In many ways Trevor considered Wally his surrogate father, having spent more time in the butler’s company during his turbulent teen years when he couldn’t speak to his own parent about his hopes, fears and dreams. That familiar trust, along with his careful attention to travel details was exactly what a newly married couple needed, his parents insisted. The sixty-year-old butler also owned the supreme poker face. “Good morning.” Wally stepped lightly into the bedroom. “Morning, Wally. Please set the tray on the dresser.” Trevor led the way and had to smile at the man’s crisply ironed, short-sleeved, white shirt and knee-length shorts. The linen clothes were no doubt donned in deference to the heat and extremely casual lifestyle of Jamaica. At home in England Wally wore a house uniform of gray suit, white shirt and silver tie. Now he also sported a freshly sunburned forehead beneath his short crop of dove-gray hair. Trevor would have to remind him to wear a hat to save his pink scalp. “I trust you and the lady slept well?” Wally asked conversationally. Not once did the butler’s eyes stray to the bed where Cynthia lay silently, hidden and no doubt— mortified—beneath the sheets. “Yes, we did.”

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Wally set the bamboo tray down and laid out plates, silverware, a coffee service and cloth napkins. Trevor plucked the neatly folded newspaper from the pile of correspondence beside the napkins and quickly scanned it for information from New York City. He was pleased when he found nothing new. The city’s inhabitants had been shocked by the scandal of Police Captain Darren Hill’s conviction for hiring the thugs who’d attacked her. Together with Andrevsky, the two men had agreed to use Cynthia to obtain the numbers to the Swiss bank account because she worked alone. They had figured she would be eager for the little job of reading those numbers and not raise a ruckus when the diamond was never retrieved. Andrevsky had thought he would be doing her a favor by letting her have such a valuable rare gem for free. When those numbers turned out to be wrong Hill had gone behind his childhood friend’s back to obtain the stone for himself. He’d hired the burglar known as Nut Cracker. When he failed Hill hired more men to hunt her down. Andrevsky had cooperated with investigators and helped convict Hill, who’d been sentenced to fifteen years in prison. In exchange for his confession Andrevsky avoided jail but earned two years of probation and community service. After Wally finished setting up their breakfast, he tucked the empty tray beneath his arm and turned to face Trevor. “The letter your lady was expecting has also arrived,” he said, smiling. “I hope the news will be good.” There was the slightest movement beneath the pile of sheets on the bed. A flicker of humor danced in Wally’s eyes. He’d taken an immediate liking to Cynthia, the new Lady St. James, and coddled her as much as Trevor allowed. “Thank you, Wally. I’m sure she’ll be happy.” “Do you need anything else?” “Not now.” Wally nodded. “Enjoy your breakfast.” When the door closed again, Cynthia’s head popped up from beneath the sheets. “My letter! Open it. What does it say?” Trevor dropped the newspaper on a chair and speared a juicy slice of papaya with a fork. “Don’t you want to eat first?” “No, no.” She wiggled and tugged at her restraints. “Gimme the letter first. Please, I’ve only been waiting for this for two excruciating months.” “Well, since you’re at my mercy,” he said and took a bite out of the sweet fruit. He chewed thoughtfully, drawing out the suspense for her. “I’ll indulge you with this one request before I ravish you with my teeth.” “Anything, anything. Just open the letter. Please, Trevor? I’m dying to know!” He picked up the FedEx Priority envelope addressed to her. Ripping the envelope open, he withdrew the letter and scanned it silently. Cynthia quivered with nervous anticipation.

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“Hmm,” he murmured. “What? Oh no, please tell me I placed? Please tell me I at least got a fourth place ribbon?” He shook his head. “I’m so sorry, darling. You didn’t get fourth place.” “Oh.” She swallowed loudly. “Honorable Mention again?” “No, not Honorable Mention.” Her eyes clouded. She turned her face away to look out the window. A sharp pang of guilt knocked on Trevor’s heart for teasing her with something that meant so much to her. “Would you like me to read the letter to you?” “Sure,” she said, still looking out the window. He stepped around the bed so that he could see her face. “Dear Miss Lyons.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “You need to let them know you’re married now.” She smiled softly, bravely putting aside her disappointment. “I will. Read it.” He cleared his throat. “The judging panel of the American Jewelry Designer’s Annual Contest is pleased to inform you that your ring design, titled ‘Freedom’, has won the category and received the first place ribbon—” She gasped. “And,” Trevor said firmly, “has also won the Best in Show award by unanimous vote of this panel.” “Oh my God! Are you serious?” He pointed at the letter. “That’s exactly what this says.” Cynthia let out a joyous screech that was sure to wake up everyone on the island. “I won! You rat. You had me thinking I’d lost.” She started laughing. “And I got the Best in Show award too. I can’t believe it. Oh my God, oh God!” “Congratulations, darling.” He sat beside her and put the letter down so she could read the rest for herself. “Now the whole world will know what a talented woman you are. You’ll have them knocking down the door to get to you.” Cynthia turned her face up. Happy tears streaked her cheeks. “I’m the luckiest woman in the world, Trevor. Winning this contest means a lot to me because it will help launch my career. But that’s not the real reason.” He wiped the wetness from her cheeks. “It’s not?” “No, it’s not. You make me the luckiest, happiest woman alive. I love you so much.” “Ah, my darling Cyn.” He pulled the sheets off her body, letting them slowly slide back down to the floor. The peacock feather still rested between her thighs. He picked it up and stroked the delicate plume down her spine. Despite the warm air, she closed her eyes and shivered. “You make me the luckiest, happiest man. My feelings for you run deep. Deeper than you’ll ever know.”

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“Oh, really? Well, I can think of one way to find out.” Cynthia wiggled her butt against the feather he played on her skin. “So can I.” He tossed the feather aside and kissed her, savoring the hot, sweet taste of her lips. Her clever little tongue tangled with his and she strained upward, reaching for more. He tucked one hand under the elbow she braced upon and cuddled the soft weight of her breast in his palm. Gently he tugged and tweaked the pink tip until it swelled into a stiff nub. Her throaty groans made heat rush to his cock, so fast it hurt. This was the sort of pain a man could live for. “I love you,” he said across her lips. Then he angled his head down for another long, slow kiss. The End

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