Christmas Male. Cara Summers
Читать онлайн книгу.
blue diamond in the pendant glowed. Without thinking, she cupped her hands and held them out. “It’s the Rubinov, isn’t it?”
“That would be my guess.”
As he placed it in her hands, his fingers brushed against her palm. It was a momentary contact—accidental, casual. But Fiona felt the impact—a stirring mix of heat, pleasure and promise—right down to her toes. Closing her fingers over the necklace, twin impulses grabbed her. One to step forward, the other to turn and run.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw two medics hurrying toward them with a stretcher. But before she turned to deal with them, she met D. C. Campbell’s eyes again. There was a heat in them that nearly matched the fiery glow in the center of the diamond. There was no physical contact between them anymore, but her skin still burned where his fingers had brushed against it. Neither of them moved.
“Interesting,” he said, letting his gaze drop briefly to the stone, which she still held in her outstretched palm. “You’re aware of the legend.”
“I am.” She had to push the words through a very dry throat, and the effort had her lifting her chin. “I believe in legends about as much as I believe in Santa Claus.”
“It will be interesting to see where this leads.”
Nowhere, Fiona thought as she fought a pump of panic. But she didn’t say the word aloud. Instead she turned her attention to the medics. She’d handle D. C. Campbell later.
OH, IT WOULD DEFINITELY lead somewhere, D.C. thought. Two people didn’t experience the kind of connection they’d just felt and walk away from it.
D.C. stepped away from Amanda Hemmings, giving the medics room to check her over. The older of the two, a plump woman in glasses, glanced at him. “You find her?”
“I saw it happen,” D.C. said. “She was struck on the head from behind with a gun and fell down hard. Looks like she hit her head on the edge of the sculpture. She’s been out ever since.”
“Good to know.” The woman went back to her job.
D.C. glanced over at the ice rink. From his position, he could see that some of the skaters had lined up along the edge, their curiosity aroused by the sirens and the flashing lights. One of the uniforms was taping off the scene while two others were keeping those still strolling along the Mall from entering at the other side of the garden. He couldn’t see either his mother or his sister, although he would soon, he suspected. Once they spotted him in the middle of this, they’d be right over.
Taking out his cell, he punched in the number of his general, Myra Eddinger. While he filled her in on what he knew so far, he kept his gaze on the mystery woman who’d taken charge of the crime scene. She radiated competence the way she radiated sensuality. Even at a distance of twenty or so feet, the intensity of the pull he’d felt when he’d first seen her still hummed and sizzled like an electric current in his blood.
“You’re sure the necklace is the Rubinov?” General Eddinger asked.
“Either that or an excellent copy.”
“Best guess,” Eddinger demanded.
“It’s the real McCoy.” His gaze never wavered from his mystery woman because it was what he was feeling for her that was fueling his certainty. He wasn’t totally sure he bought into the legend, either. But something was definitely happening between them. If the necklace hadn’t been involved, he might have chalked what he was experiencing—what they were experiencing—up to some really excellent chemistry.
But he could have sworn that the blue stone had brightened when he’d placed it in her hand—just as it had brightened in the display case when he’d first seen her.
And when his fingers had brushed briefly against her palm, what he’d experienced had gone beyond desire to something that bordered on recognition.
She shot a look his way, and the moment their eyes met, everything else faded. General Eddinger’s voice became a hum in his ear. The faces of those standing on the edges of the scene blurred. And the light dimmed as if he were on a stage set. In that instant, there was only her.
He was only released from the spell when she turned away and put her cell phone to her ear.
“Are you still there, Captain Campbell?”
“Yes. Our connection faded just for a moment,” he lied.
“If you’re right on this, then Private Hemmings has played some role in the attempted theft of the century. Everything I know about her tells me she wouldn’t have done anything purposely to steal that diamond. I want to know just how it ended up in her pocket. So I’m going to make a few phone calls and arrange for you to work along with the Washington police on this case. I’ll expect you to get to the bottom of it.”
“Yes, sir.” And that’s what he should be focusing on. But for a moment his thoughts were directed on the woman he would now be working with. Knowledge was always power.
She wasn’t as tall as he’d first thought. Maybe five foot four without the killer heels. And then there were those legs. Looking at them for more than a few seconds was enough to stimulate some very interesting fantasies. The current one was generating enough heat to keep him toasty warm.
D.C. gave himself a mental shake. She was still distracting him from more important things—such as following General Eddinger’s orders. If what he suspected was true, the Rubinov diamond must have been stolen from its display case shortly after the exhibition had closed at 5:00 p.m. He and his family had been in the last group to view the necklace.
It must have been almost five as they’d followed crowds toward the exit doors. He searched his mind for the details of what he’d seen as they made their way out. The one thing he did recall was a tall woman with straight blond hair having a heated conversation with an older woman and a group of youngsters. As they’d passed by, his mother had frowned. When he’d asked her about her reaction, she’d said that the blonde was acting like a bully. Some of the kids had needed to use the bathrooms, but the woman had been adamant that the restrooms were closed.
D.C. smiled as he recalled the incident. Nancy Campbell had strong ideas about how children should be treated.
Afterward, they’d come directly to the sculpture garden and his mother and Darcy had gone in to get skates. No alarm had sounded.
D.C. shifted his gaze to Amanda Hemmings as she was being carried away to a waiting ambulance. How in the world had she ended up with the Rubinov diamond in her pocket?
“Lieutenant?” It was a seasoned-looking man in a uniform who called out, and D.C.’s mystery woman strode toward him. The man had to have at least fifteen years on his lieutenant, and though D.C. couldn’t catch what they were saying, there was an ease in the way they communicated that suggested respect on each side.
So she was a lieutenant. And he didn’t even know her name. Amusement moved through him. He was definitely slipping. Putting all his years of investigative training to use, D.C. managed to extract not only her name, but a little background information, as well, from one of the uniformed men taping off the area.
Her name was Fiona Gallagher. She’d been working in Washington for five years, she was well respected, and she had a reputation for doing everything by the book. Before that, she’d worked in Atlanta. She’d been transferred to Washington specifically to work in the high-profile crime unit. D.C. stored the information away, then shifted his position so that he could lean against one of the sculptures. His leg deserved a little TLC after his abortive run after the armed man. But the initial pain he’d felt was already easing.
Finally, he refocused his mind back on the diamond. Of course, the necklace that he’d taken from Amanda Hemmings’s pocket could be a fake. His gut instinct aside, its authenticity would have to be checked out—the sooner the better.
He knew someone who might be able to help with that—an insurance investigator who just happened to make his home in Georgetown. It had been