Family Jewels (21 page)

“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.

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.

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 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?

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.”

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.