Barbara Dunlop - Thunderbolt over Texas

He propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his laced knuckles. “It’s pretty valuable to me at the moment.”

“For sentimental reasons?”

He let out a cold laugh. “Sentimental? Me? About them?”

“Then, why…?”

He leaned forward. “Ever heard of Thunder Women’s Wear?”

Sydney shook her head.

“Don’t worry. You will. We caused quite a stir in Miami last season, and we’re scheduled for Milan in ten days.”

She paused. “I don’t understand.”

“That little brooch? That stupid little brooch that my mother practically worshiped, is the centerpiece of my new line-the bold, crisp colors, the angular lines, the drama and majesty of it. We reproduced the jewel using embroidery thread and my final model wears the brooch itself in every show.”

“A fashion line?”

He nodded. “Years, I’ve been slaving away in this fashion backwater. Then, one night, I’m hunting through the drawer for a pair of cuff links and out drops the brooch…”

Looking for a pair of cuff links? The man kept the Thunderbolt in his dresser drawer?

Sydney was going to have a heart attack right here and now.

He picked some lint from his sleeve. “So, you see. It may not have sentimental value, but it has business value to me.”

Sydney took a sip of her coffee, searching her brain for a new tactic. She could blurt out a lucrative price-Grandma had arranged a line of credit. But instinct told her it was too soon to talk numbers.

“Did your mother ever tell you how she got the brooch?”

He cracked a knowing smile. “A gift from dear, old Dad. I figured it was hush money.”

“Is that why you never contacted the Ericksons?”

Rupert tipped back his head and laughed. “That would presuppose I gave a damn about his reputation. I just figured those cowpokes would have no more interest in me than I have in them.”

Sydney nodded. That was good. If Rupert didn’t want anything to do with the family, all the better.

She took another drink of her coffee, choosing her words carefully. “You’ve probably guessed it has sentimental value to them.”

Rupert sipped his frothy brew. “That would be why they sent you.”

She nodded, toying with the handle of her mug. “I’m prepared to offer you a hundred thousand dollars.”

Rupert didn’t react. Not even a flicker.

Sydney swore silently. Maybe he’d had it appraised.

Unexpectedly, the chair beside her squeaked against the floor and a shadow loomed large.

“Whatever she just offered you,” said Bradley, plunking himself down and crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. “I’ll double it.”

Sydney felt like she’d been sucker punched. “How did you…”

He cocked his head. “Please. Double-o-seven, you’re not.”

Sydney could have decked him.

Bradley picked up Sydney’s coffee cup and took a deliberate swig. “I assume we’re getting down to brass tacks?”

“Who are you?” asked Rupert.

Bradley stuck out his hand. “Bradley Slander. I deal in antiques.”

“And I’ve got a bidding war?” asked Rupert with an impressive air of unconcern.

“If she makes another offer, I’ll top that, too.” Bradley took another defiant swig of her coffee and slanted her a cold look.

It was official. The man had no soul.

Grandma’s line of credit went as high as three hundred thousand. Bradley could easily match that. Even if Sydney added her own savings, there was no way she’d beat him.

“Exciting as this is-” said Rupert, pushing his chair back from the table “-and much as I’d love to add six figures to my bank account today, the Thunderbolt is not for sale.”

Sydney reached toward him. “But-”

He stared down his aquiline nose. “Sorry, Sydney.”

“Four hundred thousand,” said Bradley.

Rupert hesitated.

Sydney swallowed. Should she match it? It would take all of her savings…

“Sorry,” said Rupert, taking another step.

Sydney jumped up, nearly knocking over the heavy chair.

She absolutely, positively could not let Rupert out the door without making a deal. Bradley wouldn’t give up. He’d be on the phone to Oslo within the hour, upping the ante. He’d eventually win Rupert over, and Grandma would never see the brooch again.

“Really, Rupert-” Sydney began, trying not to gasp for air. “It’s a family heirloom.”

Rupert shook his head. “And I give a damn, because?”

Should she tell him the truth? That his mother was an extortionist? Put her cards on the table and betray Grandma?

Betraying Grandma would be better than losing the Thunderbolt forever. Wouldn’t it?

Her heart was pounding and her palms were sweating. She needed time to think. Somewhere out of the heat, away from that infernal coffee grinder.

Rupert started for the door.

“Wait!” she called in a dry, hoarse voice.

He turned and gave her a salute. “I need it for Milan, Sydney. Milan and beyond.”

The fake! The idea slammed into her brain with the force of an anvil.

“I can replace it,” she blurted.

He paused with his hand on the knob.

She moved toward him. “I have a replica.”

His brow furrowed.

“It’s good,” she assured him. “It’s very good. Flawless diamonds, five-carat rubies. You could have the cash and the Thunderbolt.”

“Half a million,” drawled Bradley.

“I’d have to see it,” Rupert said to Sydney.

“I’ll have it here this afternoon.”

Bradley stood up, clattering his chair against the floor. “For half a million you can make two fakes, and then some.”

Rupert arched a brow. “Within the week?”

A muscle ticked in Bradley’s jaw, and his eyes beaded down to brown dots.

Rupert shook a warning finger at Sydney. “I’ll look at it, but it would have to be perfect.”

“It’s perfect,” said Sydney, counting on the fact that the faceted diamonds were only a historical flaw.

He hesitated for a long minute. Then he nodded his head. “Here. Two o’clock. Right now, I have a conference call.”

As soon as he disappeared, Sydney groped for her cell phone. Bradley pulled his out of his pocket and left the café. Calling Oslo no doubt. He’d be back with a higher offer this afternoon.

Never mind Norway, thought Sydney as she punched in Grandma’s number.

By two o’clock, Cole was forced to face the fact that he’d been duped.

Sydney wasn’t coming back. Whatever it was that had brought her flying to Miami must have been a damn good lead. She’d obviously decided she didn’t need him anymore, and she’d had no compunction about ditching him.

Maybe she was going to sell the Thunderbolt on the black market. Maybe she’d decided that one big score was worth giving up her career. Maybe she’d never been from the Laurent Museum in the first place.

Lies upon lies upon lies.

Whatever it was she’d decided, it definitely included screwing him.

He stood up from the sofa and crossed the room to retrieve the address from the wastepaper basket. Twenty-seven thirteen Harper View Road. There wasn’t an explanation in the world that would get her out of this one.

One of Joseph Neely’s clerks personally delivered the fake Thunderbolt to the Miami airport. Sydney met him there and made it back to the café with less than five minutes to spare. Where, to her surprise, Rupert pulled out a jeweler’s loupe and began inspecting the brooch.

Bradley sat next to her, drumming his fingers against the plastic tablecloth, all traces of his flirtatious persona gone.

“Five hundred and fifty thousand,” he ventured, and she knew his profit margin was diminishing. He was going for pride now, pure and simple.