Hidden Gems (7 page)

Technically she didn’t have to return until Monday, but he didn’t bother to point that out. The law firm was her surrogate family, workaholic style. “Want to have lunch?”

“We already had breakfast.”

“A late lunch.”

The whirring picked up its pace. “No, I’ll just get a smoothie at the juice bar.”

Jamie swallowed. “Dinner?”

“I think—” she panted “—I’m going out with Shandi.”

“Oh. She’s still at your place?”

“For one more night.”

“Sure, sure.”

Marissa laughed. “She caught me at a moment of weakness.”

“You have those?”

“You of all people know that I do.”

“Yeah, but you bounce back so fast, I wonder if you purposely choose men you don’t truly care about so the split won’t slow you down.”

“My moments of weakness don’t all involve men.” Whirr. Whirr. Whirr. She was thinking faster than she was pedaling. “Well, maybe they do.” More pedaling. “So you think I’m calculating?”

“Of course not.”

“But I am without mercy.”

“That depends.”

“Fierce? You’ve got to give me fierce.”

“Hell, yeah.”

“Cold-blooded?”

“Not necessarily. You run hot and cold.”

She stopped pedaling. He heard only the more distant whirring of the other bicyclists, underlaid with the clank of weights and peppy aerobic music. He waited, drumming his fingers on the desktop.

Finally she let out a big breath. “Hot and cold, huh? Then how come you make me feel warm?”

He leaned forward in his chair, took a quick glance around the newsroom, then dropped his head so low it almost hit the desk. His voice came out like gravel. “When do I make you feel warm?”

“When your voice gets like that.”

He couldn’t reply.

She was whispering. “When I know you’re keeping your feelings inside so you don’t spook me.”

“Fierce women spook?”

“Sometimes.”

“I don’t want you spooked.”

“But you do want me.”

“Yes.”

There was another long silence.

“You don’t feel the same way,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t know. I mean, I do, but I don’t. Shandi says that the only way for me to get over Paul is to get under someone else. You know how she is. So that’s why we’re going out—manhunting. I didn’t tell her…”

“That I’m the man.” He was surprised by the confidence that poured into the statement. Given one small opening, his suppressed desire would erupt like a volcano.

Marissa had better be sure.

So had he, after hesitating for three long years.

“Shandi’s always suspected it, way before I did. I thought she was loco, at first, going on about how you had it bad for me.”

He felt his face redden. “No kidding? You never said. How long has this been common knowledge?”

“Oh, you know. Girl talk. But it wasn’t knowledge. Only supposition.”

He’d thought she told him everything, including the girl talk. It was good to hear he’d been wrong.

“So how about an early dinner?” he suggested. “You know Shandi won’t be ready to go out for hours.”

Marissa answered quickly. “No. We can’t go out romantically when we’ve decided to stay friends.”

Stabbed in the gut. “I didn’t mention romance.”

“It’s in your voice.”

And she wasn’t having any.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just can’t.”

“Then I’ll see you around.”

“Don’t go away mad.”

“Just go away?”

“For now, yes.” Her voice was gentle.

He hung up, feeling almost as crummy as he had when Carly Bibb, tenth-grade siren, had turned down his invitation to see Wayne’s World. He’d hung up the phone four times before he’d worked up the courage to say hello.

An unsettling similarity.

Was it only the adrenaline that had rushed him into kissing Marissa?

At the third floor, he moved nearer the window, where a shadow was thrown against the blocks of stone. He waited there, uneasy.

It was too early—lights were on in many of the windows of the surrounding buildings. He ran a great risk of being spotted.

Allard’s employer had not been pleased with the delay in the delivery of the White Star, but he had understood what was necessary. Now that the officials were stepping up their search for the thief, he must move even more carefully. Haste would be disastrous.

As would seeing the White Star slip away between his fingers, Allard thought as he leaned away from the wall. He had to be positive that the girl hadn’t discovered the amulet in her luggage.

Beyond the lace curtain, a small lamp glowed within Marissa Suarez’s bedroom. She was home. The roommate, also. He’d already known that, having watched their front door from the street most of the day.

The roommate had been an unpleasant surprise. In his preliminary survey, he’d checked the label on the mailbox for Apt 3C, even picked its lock to go through the contents. All of the mail had been under one name: Marissa Suarez. And yet the girl with the curly hair had been home when he’d expected the apartment to be empty.

Another small complication, but no matter. He knew where to focus.

Allard’s eyes narrowed. Marissa was in bed, already sleeping.

He admired her bare legs, the curve of her hip. She wore a pair of bikini panties and a small T-shirt that rose above her ribs. Jet hair spilled across the pillow.

He almost smiled at the sight, before remembering that he wasn’t here to admire the girl’s beauty.

Was the amulet safe? Allard’s eyes searched.

At first he believed that the suitcase had been moved. A blade of apprehension sliced through his calm. Beads of perspiration popped up along his hairline, above his lip. But he didn’t flinch, except for the near-frantic flicker of his eyes.

Ah, yes! There was the bag—still under the bed, but pushed farther back, almost hidden by the ruffled bedskirt.

Allard was not comforted. Since the suitcase had been moved, there was a good chance she’d unpacked.

Had she found the amulet?

He told himself that was unlikely. He had followed her, first to breakfast, then later while she went on a few errands and to the gym. There had been no sign of the sort of fuss the discovery of the White Star would create.

And yet…he couldn’t know for certain. He might have to risk a recovery attempt sooner than was safe.

On the bed, Marissa murmured in her sleep. She became restless, a tremor moving through her lithe body like a wave on the shore. She flipped from her side to her back, frozen for an instant before she relaxed with a sigh.

Dreaming. Allard watched, momentarily forgetting his concern for the amulet. Her hand slipped across her thighs, the fingers moving, caressing. She writhed. She moaned, opening her lips with the tip of her tongue.

His detached interest stirred into arousal. Perhaps he’d been too quick to dismiss the option of introducing himself to Marissa and gaining access to her bedroom through her delectable body.

He leaned closer, intent on seeing more.

The cat sprang into the window with a loud miaow, its eyes reflecting an eerie sheen split by narrow black pupils.

Allard jerked back from the glass. The creature bared its small, sharp teeth and hissed.

Marissa had awakened. “Harry?” Allard heard her say, but then he was gone, gliding down the rusty steps, swinging over the railing and landing in a crouch before he scurried off through the narrow, dank span between buildings.

IT WAS half past two in the morning when Marissa returned alone to the apartment after the girls’ night out. She was tired even though she’d napped earlier to combat jet lag. Shandi had taken off with a guy, ostensibly to try a hip new club. Marissa wasn’t expecting her to return, which was just as well. After having the nap interrupted by a sexy dream that had expanded on her Bedouin fantasy—starring Jamie!—and then Harry’s restlessness, she could use a good night’s sleep.

She needed a clear head to deal with the Jamie decision.

Oh, Jamie. She’d been so blind about him and their physical attraction. But the thought of losing her best friend over a brief fling filled her with dread.

Her key didn’t work. She put her shoulder to the door and jiggled the key in the lock until it turned, noticing the scratches as the door swung open.

The apartment was black. Too black.

Her hackles rose. She imagined she heard breathing, then realized it was her own.

The sconce near the front door should have been on. Perhaps the bulb had burned out.

At first she couldn’t put her finger on what else was wrong. Then she knew. She should have been able to see the red digital clock on the DVD player even when all the other lights were off.

Maybe the electricity was out?

The light switch was near the door, but Marissa was frozen. The scratches on the lock…

She’d been burgled.

“Harry?” she quailed. That broke her paralysis. The standard for break-ins was to leave the apartment immediately in case the burglar was still inside, but she wasn’t fleeing without her cat.

She hit the switch and the lights came on. The apartment was beyond its usual state of upheaval. Every item on the shelves on the opposite wall, including the TV and DVD player, had been overturned. Drawers were open, couch cushions thrown around. The coatrack was tipped over, with the bags that usually hung from it scattered all around, every one of them yawning open. Their contents littered the floor—forgotten jewelry, coins, receipts, tubes of lipstick.

“Harry?” Marissa called, pushing the door open wider. It seemed to be blocked by something bulky. She took one cautious step inside. “C’mere, kitty, kitty.” He was probably hiding under the bed.

Two things happened at once. The cat streaked out of the bedroom, his tail the size of a bottle brush. And the door that Marissa had pushed against came back at her—hard. She staggered.

A man leaped out. He was dressed in black, with his face covered by a ski mask. She saw eyes rimmed in white, a mouth pulled into a snarl.

And then his hand was locked around her wrist and he yanked her into the apartment. The door slammed behind her.

Marissa screamed.

The intruder jerked her arm behind her back, bending it to the breaking point. A gloved hand slapped over her mouth. “Make another sound and I’ll snap your arm in half,” he rasped into her ear.

He’d pulled her against his thick, muscled body. She caught the scent of liquor and rotting teeth and jerked her head aside.

Hard fingertips dug into her cheek, holding her still. “Where is it?”

Her heart knotted in her throat. She shook her head.

He breathed heavily against her neck, making the small dangling stones of her earring sway. “Tell me where it is and I’ll let you go.”

His hand was still clamped over her mouth. He didn’t get that she couldn’t talk until she made a choking sound in her throat.

He dropped his hand to her neck. “Don’t scream, bitch,” he warned as his grip on her wrist tightened. He sharpened the angle of her arm. A stinging pain shot through it, lodging a burning coal in her shoulder.

Her eyes darted over the mess, wishing for a weapon or a clue. What had he been looking for? Other than a few pricey designer items from her wardrobe and the gold crucifix her parents had given her for confirmation, she had nothing of great value.

“But I don’t know what you want,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

“You brought it home.”

“What? When?”

His fetid breath made her face contort. “From the airport,” he said. “We know what you did.”

Her voice rose to a soprano pitch. “I brought noth—”

The hand covered her mouth again, smothering the denial.

She whimpered. A pitiful sound, but she wasn’t as tough as she’d thought.

Jamie, she called silently. Please help. Maybe if she could get free, tip over a chair or slam a door. But he was two floors above. He’d never hear.

“My luggage,” she blurted. “The bag, there.” She nodded toward the big straw purse, but obviously he’d already been through it. Her passport had been tossed aside, the fashion magazine lay splayed with torn pages. The camera was in pieces, apparently smashed against the floor.

“Where’s the rest of it?”

“In the b-bedroom.” Marissa’s lungs seized. ¡Dios mio! she didn’t want to go in there with him!

He dragged her toward the dark end of the apartment. Marissa pretended to stumble over the coatrack and he loosened his hold, reaching past her to push the tall column aside.

With a stab of pain, she wrenched free. Her captor let out a roar as she leaped like a gazelle across the coatrack. He grabbed at her, but she was too quick. He got only a fistful of long black hair.

She ran into the bedroom, slammed and locked the door, knowing it wouldn’t hold even before his body crashed against the barrier. She leaned her weight against it. Bang. He hit it again. The door bulged inward. She wished she’d eaten more pancakes and Twinkies.

Bang. The entire wall reverberated. Surely someone would hear and call 9-1-1.

She scanned the top of the nearby chest of drawers for a weapon, then realized she still had her bag. The lightweight evening purse was strung across her chest on a narrow strap, but it had become twisted so the beaded bag was at her back. She didn’t dare let up her stance to wrestle out the cell phone.

Bang. The intruder cursed. “Let me in and you won’t get hurt.”

Really. Did anyone ever believe that cliché?

“Stand back,” she called, giving the doorknob a jiggle. He’d have to be an idiot to believe she’d let him in, but she needed only a few seconds. Risking that he was that dumb, she stepped away from the door and with all her might shoved the bureau a few feet over. That wouldn’t hold him, either. But she might have time to crawl out the window.

The knob rattled. “Bitch!” Bang.

She crossed the room in a flash. She grabbed at her purse, but the window was stuck and she had to use both hands to wrench it open. Praying that Harry had hidden himself well, she scrambled out onto the fire escape. One of her shoes fell off, bounced off the open metal stairs and dropped thirty feet to the cracked pavement.

She glanced down. Her stomach lurched. Incredibly, a second man in black stood at the foot of the fire escape, looking up at her. His glare was lethal. She had the strange sense that she’d seen him before.

They stared at each other, paralyzed. Only for a moment before Marissa’s senses returned. She became aware of the aches in her body, the cool air against her hot skin, the rough bite of the metal platform on her bare sole.

There was a great crash from inside the bedroom as the bureau tipped over. She jerked out of her trance to let out a gut-busting scream.

She began climbing. “Jamie! Help!” The staircase structure shook alarmingly as the burglar followed her onto it.

Gasping desperately, she climbed faster. “Oh, please, someone help.” Her foot skidded. Damn high heels. She kicked away the other shoe, hoping it would knock her pursuer in the head.

She was so exposed. If either of the men had a gun…

Don’t think. Climb!

Above her, a light blinked on behind the curtains. It grew brighter, a precious salvation pouring out of the building as the curtains were drawn aside. The window opened with a screech of the sash. Silhouetted head and shoulders appeared.

“Oh, God, Jamie. Call 9-1-1!”

He didn’t. He was out of the window in a shot, dangling himself by one arm through the stairwell to grab hold of her hand and pull her up. She seemed to fly the last few feet.

With a sob, she threw herself into Jamie’s arms. He was rock-steady, warm with sleep. “Go, go, go,” she urged. “They’re coming!”

He looked down. “Who?”

“The burglars.” She peered past the railing. The fire escape was empty. “I swear, they were—”

“Get inside,” Jamie said, boosting her through his open window.

“You don’t believe me.”

“Of course I believe you.” He climbed in after her and shut the window, then swung an iron safety gate back in place with a heavy clink—the type of device he’d asked to install at her place. She’d put him off.

Her teeth chattered as she opened the purse. “He was in my apartment when I got home. I climbed out the window.” She gave the cell phone to Jamie. “You call.”

Jamie kept his arm around her while he made the emergency call. Then he walked her to the bed—a pullout sofa—and sat her down on it. He wrapped her in a blanket, telling her that the police would arrive soon. Not always the case, but they were top priority as a crime in progress. “What happened to your shoes?”