Hit Hard. Amy J. Fetzer
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into a velvet-covered platter. The uncut stones looked like misshapen ice cubes. Worth more than a million. The fee to enter the bidding. He picked up one, and with a jeweler’s loupe, inspected it, then he lifted his gaze to the cameras and nodded once.
Zidane took a position behind the buyer, removed the hood, then retreated into the shadows. He mulled over the thousands of secrets entrusted to him, the names and faces, the value of the stones. Should he betray the trust, he would die.
He almost wished Noor would do it.
Outside the museum, Dr. Wan Gai fingered the small gold cuff in his pocket, his gaze on the black car moving down Na Phrathat Road—and the woman inside it.
His personal assistant moved to his right, close but not crowding.
“See that she vanishes.”
Behind him, the man stiffened, the only sign he’d heard correctly.
“She will sleep for several hours.” He had seen to it, and the waking would not be pleasant. “Delegate, Choan. Let someone else take care of her.” Wan Gai spun and walked back into the museum, his heels clicking.
With the bracelet in his possession, his king would never know his crown was threatened.
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