Family Jewels (3 page)

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 soft-skinned. 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.

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 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.

“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. 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 self-induced 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
.

“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.”