Blood Ties in Chef Voleur. Mallory Kane
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Jack grabbed a bottle of water for himself. He twisted the top off and took a long swallow, then gazed at her as if he was thinking about what he was going to say. “What do you think that tiara is worth?”
Cara Lynn shrugged and winced. “Damn it, my shoulder is sore, too. The tiara? I don’t know. My grandmother said it was priceless, but she let me play Princess with it.”
Jack paused with the bottle halfway to his lips. “You’re kidding.”
“No. I played dress-up with some of her old clothes and the tiara. I remember it was heavy. She got mad if I dropped it.”
“I’ll bet she did.”
“I heard my parents and Uncle Michael talking about it once. They were saying half a million.”
Jack’s jaw tightened and the expression on his face was unreadable, but it bothered her. “That guy was small-time. I don’t get why he chanced stealing the tiara.”
“What do you mean? If he’d gotten out of there, he’d be rich for the rest of his life.”
He gave a half shrug. “How can anyone possibly sell something that famous?”
“He could remove the stones and sell them, right?”
“Those gigantic rubies and emeralds and diamonds have been photographed, measured, weighed. I’ll guarantee you, the insurance company has an exact description of each stone. Whoever steals that baby better enjoy playing dress-up, because they’re not going to get any money for it.”
Cara Lynn stared at him. “You know an awful lot about famous jewels,” she said. “Please tell me you’re not an international jewel thief.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I’m not an international jewel thief. Every bit of that information can be found on the internet or in movies. The Thomas Crown Affair, for instance.”
She nodded, but a trace of unease began to stir under her breastbone. It was the same feeling that had been a part of her ever since she and Jack had gotten married. She loved him and she was sure he loved her, but occasionally, he’d send her a look or make a comment that worried her.
There was something wrong between them and she couldn’t figure out what it was. And every time she tried to talk to Jack about it, she ended up in his arms, making love.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go to bed. You need to get as much sleep as possible. I’ll guarantee you’re going to be sore tomorrow, and you’ll probably have at least one bruise.” He headed toward the bedroom.
“Okay. I’m just going to get the coffee ready to turn on in the morning.”
Alone for the first time since the party had started, Cara Lynn stood in the middle of the kitchen floor while tears slid down her cheeks. She’d done her best not to cry in front of her brothers or Jack, but everything that had happened had built up in her until she could no longer hold back.
From the instant she’d managed to clear her head after hitting it against the marble table, she’d called for Jack. When the lights came back on, she’d spotted him standing on a chair, looking over the crowd toward the French doors, in the direction the thief had run.
As soon as he’d heard her call, he’d turned around. He’d looked horrified at the blood on her face, but before he’d rushed to her side, he’d glanced back toward the French doors one more time.
She’d sensed the struggle in him, and she’d found it odd. He wasn’t like her brothers. Two cops, a former special forces officer and an attorney. She’d expected them to jump into action and they had. It was their training.
But Jack was an architect—and her husband. Why had his first thought been to pursue the thief rather than rush to her side to be sure she was okay?
Glancing cautiously toward her bedroom, she listened. She didn’t hear anything. However, if Jack was true to form, he’d be back in the kitchen in a few minutes to get some more water before turning in.
She opened her clutch and looked inside. Then she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d been afraid she’d imagined slipping the old envelope out from between the pages of the journal and sliding it into her clutch when the lights had gone out.
Touching the slightly yellowing paper, she wondered if anyone else had noticed its corner sticking out between two pages of the journal. She didn’t think so. When she’ d lifted the journal out of the box she’d instinctively covered the corner with her fingers.
She wasn’t sure why her first instinct had been to keep its existence secret. She just knew she felt compelled to do so.
Then the lights had gone out and someone jerked the journal out of her hand. She’d held onto the envelope and her clutch with all her strength as a pair of rough hands pushed her down. She’d stumbled, hit her head and almost passed out, but she hadn’t let go of the envelope. Just as she was slipping it into her clutch, the emergency generator had growled and the lights had come back on. She was pretty sure no one had seen her.
She should have given it to the police. She should have told her brothers. But for some reason, with the journal gone, she felt as though this letter was hers. Hers and nobody else’s. Not that she knew why she felt that way, or had any inkling of what was inside it.
She was looking at the back, with its sealed but crumbling flap. She turned it over and her heart gave a little leap. There was her name, written in the distinctive and utterly beautiful, yet almost impossible to decipher, lovely handwriting of her grandmother, Lilibelle Guillame. For Cara Lynn.
Most likely it was a sweet and rambling message about the sentimental meaning of the tiara and her journal. No matter what it was, she wanted to keep it secret at least until she had time to read it thoroughly. Right now, there was no time to look at it without the chance of Jack coming in.
So she went into the pantry and pulled on a loose baseboard underneath the bottom shelf. She tucked the envelope into the hollow space behind it, where she kept two thousand dollars in small bills, her passport and the beautiful emerald necklace her mother had given her when she graduated from college. The necklace had belonged to Betty’s mother, who had been a diplomat’s wife and traveled all over Europe with her husband. Just as she was replacing the baseboard, she heard Jack’s bare feet coming down the hall.
Quickly, she got the baseboard into place, grabbed three bottles of water, then stepped out of the pantry into the kitchen.
Jack was opening the refrigerator, his bare toes sticking out from his dress pants. He’d removed his jacket and tie and unbuttoned his shirt. It hung open, revealing a hint of his excellent abs.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Putting some more water in the fridge,” she said, wishing she’d grabbed something else. She’d restocked the water just that morning.
“Sparkling water? What for?” he asked, gesturing toward the top shelf of the fridge. “There are—” he stopped. “There were three regular and three sparkling waters in here this morning. Now there’s only two sparkling, counting this one.” He held up the one he’d just picked up. “I thought you were gone all day.”
“I was,” she said, putting the three bottles on the shelf. “I was in a hurry so I didn’t stop to get one. You must have drunk another one.”
“Nope.” He closed the door. “That’s odd.”
Cara Lynn thought about that morning. She’d rushed out so quickly she hadn’t grabbed her usual bottle of water. “Well, if you didn’t drink it and I didn’t drink it—”
“What? You think someone came in here and drank our water?” he asked, his mouth quirked slightly. “Who’s got keys?”
“Nobody, except the woman who cleans, and she had foot surgery three weeks ago.”
Jack twisted