Finders Keepers Losers Die (35 page)

Fat Frankie stepped away but continued to
watch her. "Go open it. Slowly."

She crossed the carpet, stepping on an opal
on the way. She stood so that Frankie couldn't see the knife from
his position near the safe. She picked it up with one hand as she
opened the top drawer with the other. She lifted out the petty cash
tin. It wasn't even locked. But it would do. It would have to.

She turned around and nearly smacked into
Frankie's well-cushioned chest. He reeked of sweat and garlic. She
gagged on a sob.
Please God, let this work
.

She thrust the tin into his stomach. He
humphed and caught it with both hands, lowering the gun. Ruby
lunged, pressing the blade into his fleshy side then using the
moment of distraction to snatch the gun off him.

He squealed in pain, clutching at the knife
sticking out of his side. "You bitch!"

He shouted obscenities at her as she grabbed
her handbag off the desk and raced out of the workshop. She ran
down the stairs, through the shop and onto Collins Street without
looking back. There were no sounds of Fat Frankie following her but
she couldn't be sure and didn't wait to find out. The sooner she
called the cops the better, but she wanted to be safe when she did
it.

Collins Street was deserted on a Wednesday
night. The office workers had long gone, the shops were closed.
There wasn't even a café open where she could make a call. She
pushed on to her car, parked a block away. By the time she reached
it, she was sweating from both the fear and Melbourne's heat wave.
Even at night the warm air clung to her like a second skin.

She drove to the nearest police station but
changed her mind and didn't stop. If she reported Fat Frankie's
confrontation she would have to explain about the Florentine and
that would lead to questions as to why she hadn't reported Guy
Beauvoir's latest acquisition to the authorities earlier.
Technically she hadn't done anything illegal as the Florentine
wasn't stolen property—it had simply disappeared nearly a hundred
years ago—but it would certainly lead to doubts about her own clean
reputation. If it became known that she was dealing with someone of
Guy Beauvoir's reputation, her clients would stay away. Celebrities
and socialites couldn't afford to be connected to a jeweler with a
dubious reputation, and she couldn't afford to lose their
custom.

Instead she broke the speeding laws to get
to her St Kilda apartment as quickly as possible. Fat Frankie may
be injured but if he was smart—and the jury was still out on that
one—he would head straight there. She didn't have much time. Get
in, grab some essentials then get out. The most essential of her
essentials wasn't the toothpaste, spare underwear or the ring her
father had made for her, although she shoved all of those things
into an overnight bag. The most important thing was a phone number
scribbled on the back of a napkin in her brother's handwriting.

She thrust it into her handbag and left,
locking the door behind her. She passed Evie from number six on the
stairs.

"Hey, Ruby," she said cheerily. Evie was
always cheery even at six a.m. on their morning run. "There's a man
checking out your car. Big, fat ugly mother. Want me to call the
cops?"

Fuck
! "No thanks, not necessary. Hey,
will you need your car for the next couple of days? Mine broke down
and I know you catch the train to work. I promise I'll take good
care of it."

"No need, it's a piece of trash. It's
insured so do whatever you want with it." She tossed Ruby her keys.
"You okay, Sweetie?" For once, Evie sounded worried. Her pretty
brow furrowed. "You're not in any trouble are you?"

"Nothing a few margaritas won't help me
forget when it's all over."

Evie's smile returned. "Deal." She moved on
up the stairs. "Take care, Hon."

Ruby gave her what she hoped was a
nonchalant wave as she raced down the stairwell. She'd parked her
car out the front of the apartment complex so she snuck out the
back door to the residents' parking lot behind the building. Evie's
blue Ford really was a piece of scrap metal but it was better than
her own Honda right now. No doubt Fat Frankie would take it apart
looking for the Florentine once he realized she'd left the
building.

She drove south along Nepean Highway, not
really for any reason except that it was away from her apartment
and her shop. She had no ties in Melbourne, no family except her
brother and he was fighting in Afghanistan. There was no way
Frankie could trace her in Evie's car.

But there was nowhere for her to run to
either. No one to shelter her.

She drove down the Nepean for about fifteen
minutes, constantly checking her mirrors. When she was sure no one
had followed her, she pulled into a side street and fished out her
mobile phone from her bag. She punched in the number scrawled on
the napkin.

It was picked up on the second ring. "'Lo,"
came the gravely voice down the line.

"Is this Jake Forrester?" She tried to sound
calm and in control, not an easy task when fear skimmed along her
skin like tiny flames.

Silence on the other end for a few
heartbeats, then: "Who wants to know?"

His gruffness didn't soothe her fractured
nerves. "Ruby Jones. Matthew Jones' sister. He told me—"

"—To contact me if you ever got into
trouble." The man swore.

She blew out a breath and leaned her
forehead against the steering wheel. Thank God Jake Forrester still
had the same phone number. "Something like that," she said.
Actually her brother's words had gone along the lines of, 'Only
call Forrester if you're absolutely desperate. He's not the sort of
man to bother if you get a parking ticket.' Well, she was
desperate. And Jake Forrester had all the credentials she needed.
He'd once worked alongside her brother in the army's elite SAS unit
before quitting to run his own security business. If he were
anything like Matt, he would be resourceful, tough and clever. Even
better, he apparently owed her brother a favor.

"I'm not interested," he said. So much for
favors.

"Wait! Don't hang up. You don't even know
what I want."

"I know enough. Someone is after you. An ex,
the tax man, whoever. It doesn't matter. They're all the same."

She got the feeling he meant
you're
all the same but she didn't say so. She didn't dare. Jake Forrester
sounded like a man who didn't like being corrected.

"Please," she said, hating the desperate
whine in her voice. "You're the only one I can turn to."

"I can't help you," he said again, but this
time she heard the note of indecision. She seized it. It was time
to pull out the big guns. Appeal to his masculine pride. It worked
on Matt all the time and she hoped it would work on the man on the
other end of the phone.

"But Matt said you owe him," she said. "He
told me if I needed to, I could call in the favor."

Forrester swore again, louder this time. "I
can't afford this right now."

It wasn't an outright ‘no'. "I can pay," she
said.

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh. But I can pay anyway. Whatever your fee
is, I'll meet it plus expenses. Please. I'm desperate."

"Yeah, I get that." He made a sound, half
grunt, half sigh. "Do you know O'Brian's Bar in Ascot Vale?"

"Yes."

"Meet me there in half an hour."

O'Brian's was a popular bar, even mid-week,
and she didn't want to be seen right now. "Can we meet at your
place?"

"No."

She blinked at his abruptness. "But it'll be
less open." And she'd feel less vulnerable.

"You'll be safe in a public space," he
said.

How did he know she was worried about her
safety? He didn't even know what kind of trouble she was in. For
all he knew it was trouble with the police. His assumption annoyed
her a little.

"How will I recognize you?" she asked. "What
will you be wearing?"

"Black."

She waited for more but Jake said nothing.
"Don't you want to know what I'll be wearing?"

"No."

What was he going to do, ask every female
who walked in if they were Ruby Jones?

"Half an hour," he said then hung up. He
hadn't even asked her if half an hour was enough time for her to
get to Ascot Vale.

She sighed and turned the car around. Jake
Forrester better be worth the attitude. If he couldn't help her, or
wouldn't, then she was going to make her brother's life so
miserable he'd want to stay in Afghanistan.

That's if she lived long enough to tell
him.

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