Hidden Legacy (22 page)

He took her hand and jogged across the road. When they’d crossed safely, he didn’t let go, but twined his fingers around hers. She shot him a glance, but his focus was on his path.

“He probably gave them a false name,” she said, willing her heart to slow its damning rush.

“More than likely.”

“Then what?”

He smiled. The glow of it went all the way to her heart.

“Then I’ll let my fingers do some walking in cyberspace while you get started on the replica.”

* * *

Bijou wasn’t ready to travel, but he’d put off their departure as long as he dared. He needed some time and distance—fast. Not to mention that his next acquisition waited for him in Connecticut. A black opal with a predominantly red fire. Its sunburst setting of platinum and diamonds made it appear like a midnight sun. Absolutely delicious. A thrill zinged through him, making his fingers tremble. The window of opportunity to acquire it was short, but feasible. A bit soon after the other, but when opportunity knocked, who was he to turn it down?

He wrapped the velvet collar around Bijou’s neck, allowing a finger of space before he sewed the two ends together. She licked his fingers in a pathetic attempt at her usual friendliness. Her tongue felt hot and dry.

“Soon, old girl,” he said, straightening the brooch on Bijou’s chest. “You’ll be feeling like a puppy again. Let’s give the Sapphire a day or two to transfer its power. What do you say?”

She licked his finger again, then rested her head on the pillow and gulped once. A day or two, that was all she needed, he assured himself. Then she’d be fine. He tucked a blanket around her thin body and gently lifted the basket.

“Cindy!”

“Right here!”

She appeared in the kitchen, lugging two hefty suitcases. Did she think she was going on a Caribbean cruise?

“What do you have in there?” he asked tersely.

“Clothes. You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

“The less you know, the better off you are. Open the door for me, will you? I need to get Bijou settled.”

She yanked the back door open, then crossed her arms and scowled at him as she held the door open with her skinny body. “I don’t like this, Will. I don’t have that much vacation left to take. How long are we going to be?”

“As long as it takes.”

A most unbecoming pout drooped the lower half of her face. “I’m going to lose my job over this.”

“It’s a little late to start worrying about that.” He shifted the basket in his arms. “The car door.”

She humphed and stomped to do as he’d bid. “I can’t just leave forever! What about my mother? My sister? What do I tell them?”

Now she sounded like a shrew. Why had he ever thought he could care for her? “Do you really think you can just slip back into your old life?”

“Why not?
I
haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You’re more naive than I thought.” He settled the basket in the rear seat and secured it with a seat belt. “If you’re caught, you’ll spend time in jail. And you won’t be able to avoid serving time like I will.”

“You? What’s so special about you?”

He turned to look at her and smiled widely. “Now, Cindy, that should be obvious.”

Though he was as sane as the next person, he’d kept in regular touch with the psychiatrist his father had forced him to see as a teenager. Dr. Rawls would come in handy should “the Phantom” ever come to see the inside of a courtroom.

Cindy snorted and muttered under her breath as she lugged her suitcases to the car. Throwing one, then the other in the trunk, she said, “What’s obvious is that I made a terrible mistake when I let myself think you were different.”

“I am different.” From the inside of the kitchen, he took a small case and a duffel bag, and stowed both in the trunk next to his computer. “Will you fetch the two letters on the small table in the library while I check the oil?”

“Sure, Will,” she said, but there was no warmth in her voice. “Anything else?”

“No, that’s all.” And more than he’d bargained for at this point. Losing her would be a relief—after Stamford, of course. He still had a use or two for her. He checked on Bijou again and scratched underneath her jaw.

“Break the pattern,” he said, smiling. Fire for fire. “Keep them guessing.”

Chapter 12

“I have to go to Boston,” Lucas said, sending out the last response to the e-mail messages he’d had waiting for him this morning. One bulletin in particular, forwarded by Harris, looked promising—the missing Blackstone Opal from a museum charity benefit in Stamford, Connecticut. He wanted more information on the suspect.

In the past two and a half weeks, he and Juliana had been like two out-of-synch chronometers finding their rhythm. At first they’d stumbled, bumping into each other, mumbled apologies, and tilted off into different directions. Then gradually, they’d started working in harmony.

He’d pick her up in the morning. She’d have coffee ready for him. They both talked to Briana. Then they headed for her workshop where she ran her business and worked on the replica, and where he plugged into his computer, following threads of a complicated web, adding strands of his own. Although they didn’t see Albert and Ella, the couple had returned, and Ella usually had dinner waiting for them. After dinner, they spoke with Briana again to read her bedtime stories and tuck her in long distance.

They’d also done what they hadn’t done all those years ago—they’d talked, really talked. In the evening. Over a backgammon board. Each move seemingly giving them license to express thoughts, impressions, memories—but not feelings. They veered away from that subject as if even touching upon it would give them the plague. But avoiding discussing their feelings didn’t completely hide them. Their mutual attraction hung between them, electric, waiting to spark.

The evenings got longer, the goodnights more hesitant, the fire in his blood harder to tamp down before he could attempt sleep. And he looked forward to morning with more anticipation than he’d had in a long time.

The depth of feelings Juliana could draw from him was strange. The way she could crowd logic out of him with just a tilt of her head, a flash from those blue-gray eyes; the way she could arouse him with a movement of her hand, and calm him with a smile. What she did to him was both a weight and an escape. And he didn’t want to let her down. Not this time.

Which was why Regs’s phone call mid-morning concerned him. He hadn’t liked the tone of Regs’ voice as he’d barked his command to show his face at the office ASAP. Something was wrong.

“Oh?” Juliana glanced at him from her workbench, then immediately bent back to her work—not fast enough though for him to miss the concern in her eyes.

He stepped behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders and massaged the stiff triangle between her intriguing blades of bone. She gave a small moan of appreciation, biting it back halfway, as if by her instinctual response she’d revealed to him something he didn’t already know. “I’ll be back.”

“Of course.”

He shifted the bound silk of her ponytail, exposing her neck. Then because he couldn’t help it, he kissed her there, felt the bump of her pulse rise up to meet his lips, and nearly lost the train of his intention.

“Something wrong?” she asked, her voice a little bit on the husky side, her eyes whirling pinwheels of blue and gray.

“I’m not sure. I should be back by dinner.”

“The Phantom?” she asked. Her hand shook, and she propped it against the side of her workbench.

“I don’t know. I have other cases, too.”

She nodded. He could swear he felt her fear ripple ice in the muscles beneath his fingers. “I’ll be back.”

She nodded again. “I’ll save some dinner for you.”

“That’ll be great.”

He was strangely reluctant to leave. Stopping at the door, he looked at her so serious over her work. In that moment, he realized she wasn’t as tough as she pretended, which made it that much harder to leave. “Do you need anything from Boston?”

“I have everything I need.”

That stung. She was shutting him out, crawling inside her shell where no one could hurt her. He worried the different angles of her words all the way to the One Center Plaza building.

Regan didn’t bother with preliminaries and shoved a letter encased in a tagged evidence bag at Lucas before he’d even closed his boss’s office door. “I want an explanation.”

Typed on generic computer paper with a laser printer, the words brought a sharp reminder that Lucas wasn’t dealing with a stupid thief.

Dear Sir:

This is to advise you that there have been some improprieties in your Phantom case. Mr. Lucas Vassilovich and Ms. Juliana Shales have had a previous relationship where they created a child, one Briana Shales. The child was used as a pawn in order to manipulate Mr. Vassilovich. These facts might taint your evidence should you bring the Phantom to face court charges.

Sincerely,

A Concerned Citizen

Short, sweet, to the point. Purposeful in its intent.

“Vassilovich?”

“He wrote this. The Phantom. The lab won’t be able to lift any prints.” And the postmark on the envelope was conveniently smudged, Lucas noted.

“I know who wrote the letter. It doesn’t change the facts.” Regs’s eyes were so dark, Lucas couldn’t read him, but his face was a study in controlled anger. “The kid, she’s yours?”

“Yes, sir.” No point denying it.

“And you didn’t think that was reason enough to excuse yourself from this case once she got involved?” he asked, bull nostrils flaring in and out.

“I didn’t find out she was my daughter until the night before we retrieved her.”

That seemed to throw old Regs for a loop, but he recovered quickly. “I’ll need to speak with the woman again.”

“No.”

“This throws a whole new curve to the situation. Maybe a few days in jail will refresh her memory.”

Lucas leaned his fists on Regs’s desk and stared at him eye to eye. “She was coerced into the crime to save her daughter.”

“She lied, Vassilovich. She still possibly has information that might prove valuable in catching the Phantom.”

“She doesn’t know anymore than what she’s told us. The Nadyenka Sapphire is mine. I won’t press charges. You can’t hold her, and you know it.”

“Was yours. It’s missing, along with the Phantom. Both are part of an ongoing investigation.”

Lucas straightened, dragged a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well, Fowler should have the case solved by the end of the century.”

“Watch your mouth, Vassilovich!” Regs rose, scattering his chair backward.

“She’s gone through enough. She doesn’t need for you to use her just to get back at me.”

Regs jabbed a finger at the top of his desk. “You lied to me.”

Lucas slid his credentials out of his shirt pocket and plunked it on Regs’s desk. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” Regs admitted through clenched teeth, then flicked the wallet towards Lucas with the back of his hand. “But rules and regulations have to be followed. There’s going to be an investigation of your actions. You’re on unpaid leave until the case is resolved.”

“Is there anything else?”

Regs sat down, rammed his glasses on his face, and flipped open a file. “Plan on receiving a letter of censure.”

Of course, he’d expected no less from Regan. This letter could close his file permanently. His stomach rolled in a caustic wave. He was seeing red, wanted to fight back, but in this case any reaction would only harm what he was trying to protect—his job and Juliana. He turned to leave.

“And Vassilovich, stay out of this case. One more foul-up on procedures on your part before this is resolved, and I will bring her in. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, sir.”

Silently, Lucas swore. The son of a bitch wasn’t above hurting an innocent bystander just to get back at him. It took all Lucas had not to slam the office door, to walk through the office floor as if nothing were wrong. He was a prince after all, he knew all about regal bearing. His mother had drilled that habit into him and Nadya from a young age.