MOONLIGHT ON DIAMONDS (18 page)

John shook his head.
It didn’t seem right, though logically it would explain why they had never been
able to find this almost mythical jewel thief. “I don’t know,” said John
skeptically.

Quinn shrugged. “It’s
just a theory. Anyway, what about the White Russian? Any chance he could have
pulled this off?”

“Well,” said John,
“no calling card and he has an alibi that, at least superficially, checks out.
Still, I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”

Quinn nodded his head
in agreement. “What about Maggie the Cat? We know she hit the senator’s
tonight. It’s not like her to rob more than one place in an evening, but then
again, how often are you going to have this many prize jewels all in the same
town at the same time. We gotta to thank this fucking Diamond Ball.”

“Not her style.” John
remembered the flamboyant red-haired acrobat who had gracefully somersaulted
her way through some of the most exclusive private vaults and safe-deposit
boxes in Europe. “I’ll tell you what I think. I think it’s Zagen.”

“Dornal Zagen? You
think he’s dumb enough to show his face here in DC when there’s so much heat on
him?” asked Quinn skeptically.

“I’m almost sure of
it.”

“What makes you so
sure?”

“Well, for one thing,
all the Ghostly activity stopped when we sent him to jail three years ago. Now
he’s broken out and suddenly Veronica’s stuff gets stolen in just the same way
as past Ghost thefts.”

“It’s possible,”
nodded Quinn, his brow darkening.

“And…there’s another
reason I think it was him,” said John quietly.

“What’s that?”

“Well, let’s just
say, I saw him today.”

Quinn turned slightly
purple. “What? Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I should have. I
just thought you had enough on your plate,” John explained.

“Where the hell did
you see him? Was it here at the hotel?”

“No, it was out in
the street. He was driving a white BMW, but I’m afraid I didn’t get the license
plate number.”

Quinn exhaled a long
stream of smoke. “Jesus H. Christ, this is all just a mother-fucking mess.”

“What are you going
to do?” asked John.

His old partner
mopped the sweat off his forehead with his shirtsleeve. “Well, I guess I’m
gonna look for the Granny for Katherine Park, Maggie the Cat for Senator Hayes’
wife, and then try and find Zagen
and
figure out, once and for all, if he is, in fact, the Ghost.”

John patted his
shoulder. “Don’t worry, partner. After tomorrow night, I have a feeling a lot’s
going to come clear.”

“It better.” Quinn
sighed and looked over at Veronica sulking in the corner with a glass of white
wine in her hands. “Anything more she can tell me that you didn’t over the
phone?”

“I don’t think so,”
said John, an unconscious frown of worry creasing his brow as he, too, turned
his attention to Veronica.

“She sure is a
knockout,” said Quinn.

“She’s exhausted and
very upset. You think we could clear everyone out of here for now? There’s
nothing to find, I swear.”

Quinn thought about
it for a moment and nodded his head. “Okay…the fucking Ghost, huh?”

John shrugged.

“All right, I’ll have
a little chat with the hotel manager downstairs. Then I’ve got to catch a
flight to Islip where the freakin’ Ballet de l’Aire are performing aboard some
jerk’s private yacht and I can listen to those French fucks BS me about how
Maggie’s been with them all night long. Then I have to get on another plane and
be back here by tomorrow afternoon in time to get ready for the goddamn Diamond
Ball,” griped Quinn.

“I hope you have a
trip to the Caribbean lined up after this one’s over,” said John
sympathetically.

Quinn grinned. “Hey,
at least I got you to help me out over here—unofficially, of course.”

“You know I’ll help
you in any way I can.”

Quinn slapped John on
the back. “That’s my partner.” Then raising his voice, he called out to everyone
in the room, “Okay, folks, let’s take this party downstairs. The lady needs
some sleep.”

When they had all
gone, Veronica still sat pensively swirling her wine. John squatted beside her
and she raised her head. “They’re not going to be able to find my jewels, are
they?” She looked like a kid asking him for the truth about Santa.

He gently brushed her
hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “They’re just a bunch of
rocks, Veronica. You have insurance, don’t you?”

The hurt in her eyes
hit him in his heart. “It’s just…” She trailed off and looked down at her
drink.

“Well,” he patted her
shoulder, “I promise I’ll do everything in my power to help you.”

He rose and was about
to leave, when she spoke his name so quietly he almost thought he’d imagined
it. He turned around and she stood up, placed her drink on the side table and
twisted her fingers together. “I just want to say that I’m sorry we’ve had so
many arguments and that I’ve been difficult.” She bit her lip. “I know you’re a
good person, John.”

He shook his head.
“No, listen, I’m not the easiest guy to get along with. Lord knows I have my
faults and…” There were so many things he wanted to explain, but all he said
was, “I’m sorry, too.”

She nodded her head
in acceptance.

He was about to leave
again, but on impulse he walked back and kissed her tenderly on the forehead.
She smiled up at him and their eyes met. The gentle pattering of rain against
the window and the subtle scent of anise and orange blossoms rising up from her
perfume were the background notes of a moment that stretched on and on.

The heat was still
there between them, and standing alone with her in the room where she had
writhed under him screaming his name only twenty-four hours ago wasn’t easy. He
thought of slipping his hands under her sweater to the soft skin around her
hips and then pulling her against him so he could feel her breasts beneath the
thin cashmere press against his chest. Then he would kiss her with all the
hunger and violence he had kissed her with the night before. It would be so
easy…

But as she cast her
eyes down, he came back to earth. He knew it was the wrong time. So he just
said, “Try to get some sleep.”

“You too.” She walked
him to the door, stepping aside as he made his way out.

He heard the lock click
behind him a moment later. She could lock the door all she liked, he thought,
it wouldn’t keep the Ghost out. Of course, she didn’t have anything the thief
wanted anymore. The only person who wanted what Veronica Rossmore had locked
away in her bedroom was him.

****

At a quarter to six
the next morning the parking garage under the Monticello was deserted. The
first blue light of dawn had just begun to erase the dark corners of Nicholas
Buzuhov’s suite when he’d tiptoed out, leaving Jessica fast asleep in the bed
they’d torn apart the night before. The practiced thief hadn’t forgotten to
slip her car keys in his pocket before slinking out. Now in the parking garage,
he wandered through the levels looking for her Cadillac. He spotted it in
between a black Range Rover and an acid green Volkswagen Bug.

Glancing around to
make sure no one was watching, he hit a button on the key chain, and with a
cheerful blip, the Cadillac’s locks sprung open. Nicholas slid into the
backseat, closing the door behind him. Even though he knew the place was empty,
he looked around again for security cameras, or any sign of life, before
opening the black valise he’d brought with him.

Certain he was
unobserved, he slid the little key into the case’s lock and popped it open.
Nicholas smiled at the blaze of shimmering stones that glittered up at him in
the dim light of the garage.

“Quite a collection,
Veronica,” he whispered, as he let his fingers roam through the piles of
star-bright diamonds and the deeper tones of the rare colored jewels. It was a
shame he would have to sell it all. The connoisseur in him appreciated what a
spectacular array of gems he had in his possession, but the grim reality of
money could not be overlooked. No matter how exquisite the design of an art deco
bracelet or how magnificently a ruby necklace pulsated with red fire under his
gaze, business was business. That was something he had to keep in mind if he
wanted to continue with the lifestyle he’d become accustomed to ever since
picking up his lucrative little sideline. Nicholas snapped the case shut and
locked it again.

“Now, Jessie, if
you’ll just be good enough to hold this for me for a little while,” whispered
Nicholas as he slipped the valise under the passenger seat in front of him. It
was not the safest place in the world. He usually preferred a nice Swiss bank
vault, but it would only need to stay there for the next twenty-four hours. He
felt quite confident that by this time tomorrow morning, the most daring jewel
theft in history would be complete and the Hope Diamond would leave its home in
the Smithsonian forever.

When Nicholas
returned to his room, he came bearing a tray of fresh raspberries and whipped
cream scented with the faintest whiff of vanilla. He laid the tray on the bed
next to Jessica as she opened her eyes.

“Good morning,
slatkaya
,” he said, murmuring the
endearment in his Russian accent.

Jessica smiled
sleepily. “Good morning.”

Nicholas dipped a
ripe red raspberry in the cream and held it dangling just above her mouth. “I
brought you breakfast.”

“Mmm, so I see,” she
raised her head a touch to catch the berry between her lips, but Nicholas
pulled it away and used it to spread a line of cream down between her naked
breasts and across her ticklish belly. She moaned softly as he rubbed the ripe
berry against the tender folds between her legs, and it burst apart, its sweet
juice spilling down the inside of her thighs. He lapped up the juice with his
warm tongue for a few exquisite moments. Her fingers curled in his black hair
as his mouth moved to the swell of her nipple and his gentle bite arched her
back. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her against him, spilling
fresh berries and cream across the white bed linen. All in all, the morning was
starting out very well, thought Nicholas, before he crushed the society girl’s
mouth under his own.

At a quarter to
eight, John was roused by the insistent sound of the phone ringing next to his
ear. His first instinct was to pull a pillow over his head and ignore it until
it stopped, but it could be Veronica. Reluctantly, he answered the phone.

“It’s Quinn.”

John glanced at the
clock. “What’s up?”

“Listen, John, we’ve
had some developments.” Quinn sounded nervous.

“What? Did you find
Maggie the Cat?”

“Yeah, yeah, we found
her here aboard ship with her troop. She has all kinds of alibis, but I don’t
believe any of them. I’m convinced half the fucking Ballet de l’Aire is in on
it and they’re all covering for her.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll
find a hole in their story somewhere,” reassured John.

“I damn well hope so,
but in the meantime, I’m more concerned about the Ghost.” Quinn sure did sound
worried. “Or maybe I should rephrase that. The First Lady is very concerned
about the Ghost and she’s come up with a truly cockamamie plan. Her and
Veronica Rossmore. I spent the last hour trying to talk them out of it, but in
the end, she pulled rank.”

“What do you mean?”

“Veronica Rossmore
has lost her mind over the theft of her jewels and the First Lady is freaked
out that the Ghost is going to make an appearance at the ball tonight. So they
got this idea.” Quinn paused for a moment. “It’s so insane, I don’t even want
to tell you.”

“Just tell me,” said
John, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Well, they’ve
decided the best way to catch the Ghost is to lay out some bait and set a
trap.”

“Oh no,” moaned John,
shaking his head.

“Yeah, you know how a
lot of the women attending the ball are going to be wearing the Smithsonian
jewels? Well, they’ve decided to let Veronica prance around in the fucking Hope
Diamond all night.”

“No!” John sat
straight up in bed, fully awake now.

“Yes,” said Quinn,
“and they’re going to lie in wait for the Ghost and try to catch him in the
act.”

John was speechless
for a moment. “Did you tell them it won’t work and they are putting Veronica in
serious danger? Dornal Zagen is on the loose, for God’s sake.”

“You know, I even put
the boss on the line. I don’t know what he said to them, but you know how women
are. Veronica’s crying and Lillian Spencer is in there giving orders.” Quinn
had the tone of a beaten-down man who has been henpecked his entire life.

John shook his head.
“There’s something not right about this.”

“EVERYTHING is not
right about this!” exclaimed Quinn.

“This isn’t safe for
Veronica. The Ghost may not be the only thief likely to show up tonight. What
if Dornal Zagen gets there first with his automatic rifle going off? She
wouldn’t stand a chance.”