Too Hot to Handle. Nancy Warren
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quit while I was ahead. Never caught.”
“I caught you.”
A flicker of annoyance crossed his face. So, that bothered him, did it? Good.
“Had you at gunpoint, too.”
“I was unbelievably careless last night.” He flicked a glance at her … a quicker, softer version of the sexual scorcher he’d lobbed her way earlier. “On too many levels.”
He chopped whatever the herb that was with a vengeance. “And so were you.”
“Me?”
“What are you doing with no proper security? Candy-ass locks and no video surveillance? Anybody can get in.”
She shrugged. His words echoed her father’s uncomfortably. How many times had her dad nagged her about security? “I figured I could take care of things. I live on the premises.” She glared at him. “And the safe is supposed to be unbreakable.”
“No such thing. Not to a guy like me.”
“So what was a guy like you doing there? Spinning me some tale about wanting a wedding ring, then robbing me.”
The knife stilled. “Can we clear one thing up? I wasn’t robbing you. Had no intention of doing so. The only thing I took was the emeralds.”
She snorted. “Oh, is that all? Do you have any idea what they’re worth? My insurance would never cover that amount. I’d be ruined.”
He shook his head. “You can’t put a price on that set. What story did the woman give you? The one who brought in the emeralds?”
“How do you know it was a woman?”
“Please. I’m a professional. I didn’t pick your place to knock it over. I followed the gems to your studio.”
She drank coffee, stalling for time. She didn’t want to give out any information, but if he’d followed the woman to her place he must know something about her. “She said she wanted them reset, modernized to give them to her daughter to wear. I got the feeling she was hoping to attract a rich husband by hanging a fortune around that girl’s neck.”
He glanced at her sharply. “The older woman did the talking?”
“Yes.”
“Who did she say she was?”
“Florence Grayson.”
He laughed aloud. “Oh, you’ve got to give the woman credit. She’s got some guts.”
“Are you saying that woman isn’t Florence Grayson?”
“Nope. Technically I suppose they stole the gems from Florence Grayson. The young one? Pretending to be the daughter? She’s Edward Grayson’s mistress. Or was. I’m guessing Edward gave her the heave-ho and Tiffany treated herself to a little goodbye gift. The Isabella Emeralds.” He poured eggs into the pan and breakfast began to sizzle.
“Wait, I’m getting confused. The mother isn’t the mother, the daughter’s the mistress—and what are the Isabella Emeralds?”
“I’ve met Florence Grayson. That wasn’t her. I’ve also met the mistress, Tiffany Starr if you can believe that’s the name she picked for herself. And as for the Isabella Emeralds, they’re part of a legend. Should really be in a museum.”
Lexy had an affinity for jewels the way some people have for water, or music. They all but spoke to her. She recalled the sadness she’d felt at the idea of resetting stones that were so perfectly at home in the delicate antique setting. “I thought they were some of the nicest and best set gems I’d ever seen. That deep color was so unusual. I’d only ever seen it in jewels that came from Mayan mines in Columbia centuries ago. I actually suggested they might want to rethink the idea of having the set redesigned.”
“Your instincts were right on.”
Something was tickling her memory. She closed her eyes for a moment. And then it came to her. She’d actually read about the Isabella Emeralds back when she’d been studying antique gems. “I thought the Isabella Emeralds had been lost.”
“Nope.”
“Weren’t they rumored to have gone down with the Titanic or something?”
“I suspect the owner set about the rumor. Rich collectors can do some pretty strange things. They’ve been in a private collection, which pretty much means the same thing as lost to the world. Grayson is so terrified of losing those emeralds that he never lets Florence wear them. I didn’t know he even owned the set until I was called in to recover them.”
“Then how did the mistress hear about them?”
He threw an amused glance over his shoulder. “I’m guessing Mr. G got a nice charge out of decking his mistress in his precious gems—and nothing else, for his private pleasure.”
“Historical gems as sex toys? Oh, please.”
He chuckled. “You asked. I was giving my opinion.”
“Is that what you’d do if you had them?”
He folded the omelet expertly in two. “If I had the right model.” Something about his tone reminded her that the Isabella Emeralds were currently in his possession.
As was she.
“If I remember correctly, the Isabella Emeralds were a gift to Queen Isabella of Spain from Christopher Columbus, right?”
He nodded. Cut the omelet in half and slid the pieces onto two thick blue ceramic plates. “As part of a thank-you gift for funding his trip to America.”
“In 1492.”
“Exactly. Not only are the gems themselves amazing quality—”
“I noticed that. The diamonds are flawless, and the emeralds as close to perfect as you can get in that size. The gems alone would be worth a fortune, but their provenance makes them—”
“Priceless.”
He slid a plate to the counter in front of her, handed her a knife and fork and a blue linen napkin.
“Thanks.”
He brought his own meal and sat beside her at the breakfast bar. It was undoubtedly cozy and she might have felt uncomfortable if she weren’t obsessed with the notion that she’d very nearly unwittingly destroyed a piece of history. “How could that woman have been so stupid? By getting me to reset the gems she’d be decimating their value and annihilating a piece of history.”
“They’d be a lot easier to sell, though. You can’t exactly put the Isabella Emeralds on auction at Christie’s or post them on eBay and not have somebody notice.”
“Wow. So where do you come in?” She dug into the omelet, found it thick and fluffy and full of flavor, which didn’t even surprise her. She was beginning to think that Charles Pendegraff did everything well.
“Edward Grayson hired me to retrieve the gems after he discovered they were missing. Oh, he doesn’t know he hired me. My chauffeur fronts for me at all client meetings. I prefer to keep my identity to myself. I go along electronically.”
“Sneaky.”
“I prefer the term discreet. Anyhow, Grayson asked me to get the set back, with no publicity, no police, no embarrassment. In return I pocketed a nice fee. Everybody’s happy.”
“Except this one went sideways. Publicity, police and a very embarrassingly dead body. Somebody screwed up. Great omelet by the way.”
“Thank you. Somebody was set up.”
“But why? It makes no sense. And who is the dead woman in my studio?”
He frowned. “I don’t know for certain, but I could hazard a guess.”