Authors: Rita Sable
His laughter sounded so evil, it raked her spine with lethal intent. “You have an alarm,” he mimicked with ghoulish delight. “Piece of cake. Now where’s the fuckin’ safe?”
Cynthia’s gaze automatically sought out the monitoring panel on the wall by the door. That’s why no alarms had gone off, why the panic button didn’t work. He’d bypassed it! Horror rushed into her brain with dizzying speed. She was on her own.
“Have it your way, then.” He flicked off his tiny penlight. “Guess I’ll just have to work it out of you.”
A shiny metal object slid out from his sleeve, catching the city lights from her window. He flipped a switchblade open and waved it in the air, letting her have a good look. Cynthia’s heart stopped and then thundered back to life like a galloping wildebeest inside her chest. Even in the dim light of her bedroom, the polished steel gleamed. Sharp, so sharp. Like a surgical blade. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening to her. This sort of thing happened to other people, anonymous faces on TV and in the newspaper.
Cold reality sank in. He was going to kill her. “I don’t have anything! I swear!”
“Lying bitch.” His teeth glowed white against the black ski mask. He sliced through the air with that deadly knife and laughed.
This was it, the moment of truth. She sucked in another deep breath, keeping her eyes on the hand with the knife. If he got close enough, she’d swing the golf club at him with all her might and hopefully break his arm.
A white streak shot out from under the bed.
Moses
! The cat attacked the man’s ankles like a shadow of flying fur, moving too fast for her to tell which side of him was head or tail. Caught off guard, the intruder jumped backward, desperately trying to fight off the growling cat with his free hand and the knife. The grisly image of her pet being gored by that switchblade spurred her into action.
“No!” she screamed. “Don’t you dare hurt him!”
Cynthia swung her golf club on top of his spine. A loud grunt exploded from him. Moses continued to grab and bite into the man’s calves, digging in with his long, sharp incisors and curved claws.
The man howled in pain and swore every combination of nasty words she’d ever heard, at the same time slicing his knife down in a deadly sweep. He was going to kill Moses!
She lifted her club and crashed the heavy end on his head, catching him across the temple. It sounded like she’d hit a rock. Moses flew up in the air with an ear-splitting screech, landed on her bed in a tumble of white fur and flailing legs and then scrambled down the hall. The intruder stood motionless for a moment. Had she stunned him? She didn’t dare take her eyes off him to spare another split-second for Moses. In slow motion, the man dropped his knife, fell to one knee and grabbed his head with both hands.
Cynthia watched, body trembling, breathing hard and fast. If he so much as moved a muscle…
Groaning pitifully, he tried to stand again. She lifted her weapon for another swing. He stumbled back, away from her, still clutching his head. At the door he turned and ran, awkwardly bumping against the wall. Glossy dark streaks of blood remained after his rapid retreat.
Her breath rasped in and out of her lungs. Glass crunched loudly beneath hurried footfalls. Did he climb through the window, going out the same way he came in?
Unable to move, she stood frozen for several long minutes, just listening. She shook so hard that she thought she’d crack every bone in her body from the tremors. Slowly, sensibility returned. His discarded knife lay on the floor near the bed. The switchblade was evidence and she knew better than to touch it. She kept her grip on the golf club.
Still she didn’t trust the man was entirely gone. She tiptoed to the bedroom door, holding her weapon like a sword and peered down the hall.
Empty.
Could he be unconscious or lying in wait somewhere else in her apartment? Cautiously she searched, flipping on lights as she went. He was gone. She hurried to find the cordless phone and dialed 911.
Chapter Four
The insistent trill of his cell phone woke Trevor from a dreamless sleep. Jet lag always hit him hard the first day whenever he flew across the Atlantic pond. He reached under his pillow, felt his gun, moved his hand to the nightstand and found the annoying phone.
“St. James,” he answered groggily.
“Wakey, wakey,” a jolly male voice said in a thick Scottish brogue. “Got something for ye. Are ye up?”
“Am now.” Trevor recognized the sound of his support agent’s overly cheerful greeting. “Talk.”
“Be down at the Sixth Police Precinct on Sheridan Street at nine o’clock. A woman whose apartment was burglarized last night will be there talking to detectives.”
“How is this important to my case?”
“She’s a jewelry designer. Mr. Andrews paid her a visit as a client.”
Trevor sat up, fully alert now and reached for a notepad and pen. “Good job, O’Rourke. Sixth Precinct on Sheridan, nine a.m. Got it. What’s her name?”
“Miss Cynthia Lyons. For a jewelry designer, she doesn’t have any reputation to speak of, not as far as recognition with Interpol goes. Strictly small-time. They’re sending a squad car to pick her up from an undisclosed hotel.”
“A hotel? Why?”
“She decked the burglar with a golf club. He left a blood trail and didn’t get anything he came for. Her apartment has been cordoned off for investigation. I’ve already checked all the hospitals within fifty miles. No males with cracked skulls have visited an emergency room since last night.”
“Wounded him? Well, good for her.” Trevor grinned at this resourceful woman’s choice of weapon. “Have the New York cops found a reason to impound any evidence from her apartment?”
“Not legally. She was the victim, St. James.”
Trevor winced, still fearing he’d hit a dead end. “And the diamonds?”
O’Rourke sighed irritably. “Miss Lyons won’t confirm nor deny that her client gave her a diamond.”
“A diamond? Just one, you say? Not a dozen?”
“Finding that out be yer job, St. James. The only criminal charges are on an unidentified perp for breaking and entering and assault with a deadly weapon. Nothing was taken, so she has the right to keep her goods confidential without police interference.”
A familiar itch crawled up Trevor’s spine, like it did whenever he knew he was right. She had the stone and was protecting her client and his property. Noble of her, certainly. But not a good thing to do in this case!
“What’s the last word on Andrews’ whereabouts?”
“No sign of him. Miss Lyons gave the police a physical description, phone number and an address for him. The address was a dupe but the phone is his cellular. He’s not answering. She’s the last witness.”
“Sounds like she’s cooperative. I’m assuming you’ve already been in contact with Interpol Command?”
O’Rourke snorted into the phone. “Of course, or I wouldna’ be calling ye! Command has an agreement with the mayor of New York City and he understands the gravity of the situation. The captain of police at that precinct is Darren Hill and he’s expected to hand over control of this case to ye without reserve. That’s all I’ve got so far, St. James.”
“Thank you, O’Rourke. I’ll call as soon as I’ve spoken with Miss Lyons.” Trevor flipped his phone closed and sank back into the pillow for a moment.
His hotel room was still dark, the heavy drapery drawn tight against the encroaching daylight and noise of New York City. Now that he was awake, a restless stream of energy hummed through his blood. His mind churned with ideas on how to accomplish his main objective, to convince a jewelry designer that she should give him a client’s diamond—without revealing the stone’s importance.
Trevor glanced over at the digital clock on the nightstand. Two hours before he had to be down at police headquarters. More than enough time for some exercise to use up his excess energy and help him think.
* * * * *
Two powerful jets pumped hot water against the tight knot in Cynthia’s spine. She had the hotel’s enclosed rooftop pool and spa area to herself. Apparently seven in the morning was too early for other guests to sample this luxury. Sighing with pleasure, she leaned her head against the aquamarine tiles and closed her eyes.
But it didn’t work. The events that led to her being at a hotel flashed behind her eyelids with frightening clarity. Helpless to resist, she recounted the last harrowing hours in her mind’s eye for the thousandth time.
The police had taken their time responding to her emergency call. Would they have been more prompt if she’d been injured? Once they arrived and understood the gravity of her situation, she answered questions as best she could. Then they roped off her front door with yellow and black tape and insisted she couldn’t stay there during the investigation.
Being barred from her home and the work she needed to do was bad enough. Not being able to find Moses anywhere was unbearable! Her brave cat had vanished from her apartment after the attack. To make matters worse, the police made it pretty clear that her lost pet was not their concern.
Staying at a public shelter didn’t appeal to her at all. She chose this hotel because it was closer to home and to the possibility of finding Moses. Of course, it also provided more privacy. Nobody, not even the police, knew what she’d taken from her safe hidden in the bathroom wall.
And it was none of their business.
The leather backpack with the diamond inside it rested on the ground beside the hot tub, well within her reach if need be. There was no way she’d be able to leave it in the hotel room unattended.
After getting settled in her room, Cynthia called Mr. Andrews again. As with her two previous calls, his phone switched to voicemail immediately. She waited impatiently for the beep and left him another message.
He’d be very concerned about his diamond and the certificate, wouldn’t he? Meeting him in public would allow her to explain about the foiled burglary incident and let him know she’d kept his precious gem safe. Her reputation in the business depended on him believing that.
One whisper of unprofessional conduct would snuff out her career faster than a candle flame in a hurricane.
With nothing to do and no chance of getting any sleep, waiting around in her hotel room proved agonizing. The temptation of the hotel’s all-glass enclosed rooftop pool and spa captured her interest. Cynthia called the front desk and bought a swimsuit from the lobby store which was already open. She gave the smiling Latino maid a nice tip for bringing it to her room. When she left her apartment a few hours ago, all she’d taken was her purse, a single change of clothing stuffed into her small backpack and her jeweler’s case from her bathroom safe.
The pale green swimsuit stretched uncomfortably tight across her breasts and dipped much lower in front than she liked. It also rode up her hips, crept in between her butt cheeks and squeezed the sensitive lips of her pussy together when she walked. She squirmed in the bubbling water now, pulling and tugging at the taut fabric, trying desperately to relax.
Every nerve inside her body was still keyed up for action. She needed release that didn’t involve either alcohol or drugs. There was only one way she knew how to soothe herself.
Unfortunately she hadn’t thought to pack her favorite toy—a pink jelly Rabbit vibrator. Thinking about how snugly the thick shaft filled her pussy and how nicely those bunny ears felt while they worked magic on her clit had her juices flowing. The simple ecstasy of self-pleasure always did the trick to relax her body and mind. Why not now? She had all the privacy she needed.
The door to the pool area squeaked open and then slammed shut. Her eyes flew wide open. So much for privacy and fantasies. She twisted sideways in the water for a better view of the entrance.
A tall dark-haired man walked in. His mouth and angular jaw were set in tight lines. Dark brows arched over piercing blue eyes, ruthless and hard-looking. His hair needed a trim. It tumbled over his forehead and curled at the base of his neck. The look was roguish, rebellious. A white hotel bathrobe draped his broad shoulders and hung open down the center of his body, giving her an eyeful of a sculpted chest and stomach. She glimpsed a navy blue swimsuit covering his groin. After a quick glance in her direction and a single nod to acknowledge her presence, he headed for the pool.
Raw desire stabbed into Cynthia like the tines of a fork into a sizzling, rare steak. She closed her eyes in an effort to diffuse the urgency inside her. After just a few seconds she was unable to resist and peeked at him from behind her lashes. When he dropped his robe on a lounge chair her eyes widened in disbelief.
Ho-lee
,
mo-lee
! The man was built like every red-blooded heterosexual girl’s wet dream. Was he a professional athlete staying at the hotel while in town for a competition? She bit the inside of her cheek when he stretched his arms overhead. Muscles surged across his shoulders and back, tapering down to a lean waist and tight butt. Long powerful legs propelled him off the edge and into the water.
So that
’
s what working out eight hours a day does to your body
.
Such masculine beauty didn’t exist for ordinary women who dated ordinary men. Her ex-boyfriend had been cute in his own way. But he didn’t look anything like the dreamy man swimming in the pool only ten steps away. This guy was fiction incarnate.
Cynthia stifled a moan. She had a new reason to squirm in the hot tub now. Her pussy lips swelled and ached with renewed need. She’d never felt a man like that one in her arms or in bed. Nick had had a slim build, not very well defined. He liked to skip the enticing preliminaries of lovemaking unless she reminded him she needed it—
wanted
a little playful licking and touching first. And being the same height as he was Cynthia often suspected she weighed almost as much as he did too. That was embarrassing.
But a man who looked like the one in the pool, tall and hard, he’d be stronger and weigh a lot more. Oh yes, he’d fulfill a fantasy or two.
She crossed her arms over her breasts and rubbed her semi-hard nipples with her thumbs, then pinched them until they firmed into pebbles. The pulsing desire between her legs grew more urgent.