Nancy Warren - Too Hot to Handle

“Your instincts were right on.”

Something was tickling her memory. She closed her eyes for a moment. And then it came to her. She’d actually read about the Isabella Emeralds back when she’d been studying antique gems. “I thought the Isabella Emeralds had been lost.”

“Nope.”

“Weren’t they rumored to have gone down with the Titanic or something?”

“I suspect the owner set about the rumor. Rich collectors can do some pretty strange things. They’ve been in a private collection, which pretty much means the same thing as lost to the world. Grayson is so terrified of losing those emeralds that he never lets Florence wear them. I didn’t know he even owned the set until I was called in to recover them.”

“Then how did the mistress hear about them?”

He threw an amused glance over his shoulder. “I’m guessing Mr. G got a nice charge out of decking his mistress in his precious gems—and nothing else, for his private pleasure.”

“Historical gems as sex toys? Oh, please.”

He chuckled. “You asked. I was giving my opinion.”

“Is that what you’d do if you had them?”

He folded the omelet expertly in two. “If I had the right model.” Something about his tone reminded her that the Isabella Emeralds were currently in his possession.

As was she.

“If I remember correctly, the Isabella Emeralds were a gift to Queen Isabella of Spain from Christopher Columbus, right?”

He nodded. Cut the omelet in half and slid the pieces onto two thick blue ceramic plates. “As part of a thank-you gift for funding his trip to America.”

“In 1492.”

“Exactly. Not only are the gems themselves amazing quality—”

“I noticed that. The diamonds are flawless, and the emeralds as close to perfect as you can get in that size. The gems alone would be worth a fortune, but their provenance makes them—”

“Priceless.”

He slid a plate to the counter in front of her, handed her a knife and fork and a blue linen napkin.

“Thanks.”

He brought his own meal and sat beside her at the breakfast bar. It was undoubtedly cozy and she might have felt uncomfortable if she weren’t obsessed with the notion that she’d very nearly unwittingly destroyed a piece of history. “How could that woman have been so stupid? By getting me to reset the gems she’d be decimating their value and annihilating a piece of history.”

“They’d be a lot easier to sell, though. You can’t exactly put the Isabella Emeralds on auction at Christie’s or post them on eBay and not have somebody notice.”

“Wow. So where do you come in?” She dug into the omelet, found it thick and fluffy and full of flavor, which didn’t even surprise her. She was beginning to think that Charles Pendegraff did everything well.

“Edward Grayson hired me to retrieve the gems after he discovered they were missing. Oh, he doesn’t know he hired me. My chauffeur fronts for me at all client meetings. I prefer to keep my identity to myself. I go along electronically.”

“Sneaky.”

“I prefer the term discreet. Anyhow, Grayson asked me to get the set back, with no publicity, no police, no embarrassment. In return I pocketed a nice fee. Everybody’s happy.”

“Except this one went sideways. Publicity, police and a very embarrassingly dead body. Somebody screwed up. Great omelet by the way.”

“Thank you. Somebody was set up.”

“But why? It makes no sense. And who is the dead woman in my studio?”

He frowned. “I don’t know for certain, but I could hazard a guess.”

THE EGGS SUDDENLY FELT like cement as she swallowed and made the obvious connection. “You think the dead woman is Tiffany Starr?” She had met the woman, talked to her even. She hadn’t reached her thirtieth birthday, and now she was dead? It was foolish and vindictive to steal priceless jewelry from a former lover, but did she have to die for her crime?

“Who else could it be? You and I were there when the goons started to break in. There was no one else in the studio or your apartment.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“So they threw in an already dead woman, torched the place. Days will go by before anyone realizes it’s not you in there.”

“Why? If what you say is true, why didn’t Grayson stick to the plan? He’d have got his emeralds back and no one would ever have known she took them.”

“That, Lexy, is something I’m planning to figure out.”

He was looking at her with an intensity she didn’t like. As though there were more bad news on the way.

“What?”

“My guess is that Tiffany Starr wasn’t the only one who was supposed to die last night.”

An unpleasant queasiness rolled through her. “You mean … ?”

“You’d seen and handled the gems and I’d been hired to retrieve them. As I said, no one has set eyes on them since the early part of this century. I pegged Grayson as one of those fanatics who want to keep all their toys to themselves.”

“Like a spoiled kid?”

“A spoiled kid with his own private staff of thugs and killers.”

She sank her head into her hands. “I should have listened to my mom. I should have gone into nursing. Or teaching. Something uncomplicated, with a pension.”

“Somehow I can’t see you in an ordinary profession.”

She groaned. “I know. It’s my curse.”

“Finish your eggs. It’s always been my belief that you can’t commit a crime on an empty stomach, and I’m almost positive you can’t solve one, either.”

She toyed with an orange slice but in truth she’d lost her appetite. As she played his words back, she dropped the orange. “Wait a minute. You said your chauffeur went into the meeting with Grayson instead of you. They think he is you. He’s the one who’s going to get killed.”

“Don’t worry about Healey. He can take care of himself.”

She didn’t know why she should be concerned about a man who’d aided and abetted her kidnapping, but then she was the sort of person who bought non-kill rodent traps and had, on occasion, transported a very angry rat to a new home.

Amanda had been horrified and flat-out refused even to open the door so she and the rat could get outside. Her breath caught in her chest. “Oh, my God. Amanda. She saw the women. I even showed her the emeralds.” She jumped to her feet, her heart hammering painfully. “I have to warn Amanda.” She ran past Pendegraff, headed for the door of the house. If the Jeep was still sitting there, she could get to a town, somehow she’d find a way back to New York.

She was out of the front door. Good, the Jeep was still there. Keys inside would be nice, but if not she knew how to hot-wire a car. Her dad had taught her a lot of useful skills over the years.

The gravel bit into her socks and the sun blasted her eyeballs but she barely noticed. Amanda was her employee, a friend, her responsibility. She had to warn her.

The Jeep was parked, a gray shape against the snow. She sprinted blindly toward it, was almost there when a strong hand grabbed her arm, almost pulling it out of its socket.

“Ow. Let me go.”

“Lexy. Stop.”

She turned to him, and in turning found herself bashing hard abs, a chest that felt like granite, looking up into a face that was surprisingly understanding. “I have to go. You’ve got to let me. Amanda trusts me. She’s my employee, my responsibility.” She panted, trying to get the words out and pull away from his grip at the same time.

“I know. It’s okay. Healey’s watching things.”

“Healey? The guy who helped you drug and kidnap me? Pardon me if I don’t feel superconfident in his abilities to guard my friend.”