I found these things among my stored belongings. I had forgotten about them. The pictures were ones from your father’s Global office, and the big brown envelope was delivered when I was packing up the house. I was such a mess then that I stowed them without looking. I hope what you need is here. I understand you must hurry.
There is one more thing to tell you about your father. Don’t blame Cort Jones or his father. Your father didn’t want you girls to know, but his heart condition was very serious. The doctors prescribed pills but he wouldn’t take them unless he felt bad because they affected the one area we always agreed on. If he had taken his pills, he might still be alive.
Mara couldn’t finish. She set the letter on her desk. Tears clawed her eyes and clogged her throat. Why did her dad have to be so macho? So the drugs made him impotent. He’d still be alive, wouldn’t he? Maybe he could’ve cleared his name. Maybe her mother would have found the courage to tell him she loved him. Maybe—
She pressed her fist to her mouth to stop a sob. Maybes and whys were futile. All she could do now was try to prove him innocent to Global Insurance.
She’d look at the photos later. The bulky padded envelope came out next. An official return address, a law firm in the District. Bickham, Dixon, and Kress. Not one she recognized. Her knees watery, she sank onto her chair.
* * *
Another piece of the puzzle but what the hell did it mean? The FBI didn’t seem to know any more than Cort did.
He closed his cell phone and hit the remote for ESPN. A classic Super Bowl match-up. Peyton Manning, the quarterback Patriots fans love to hate, stomping all over the Bears. Perfect after his day playing phone tag with the former museum director. Nobody wanted to talk to him. There was a shocker.
He’d just stretched out on the sofa when Mara opened the apartment door.
He set down his just-opened bottle of ale and vaulted up. “Hey, what’s this?” He relieved her of the cardboard box with the Fed-Ex shipping label and placed it on the cocktail table.
“Stuff from my mom.” She kicked off her heels and set down her big bag—the one from Chinatown, covered with a red Asian dragon.
He was about to ask but decided to wait when he took a closer look. Her sunny yellow dress was at odds with the wild and puffy aspect of her eyes. Crying?
“I hope you had a better day than I did,” she said, waving her arms like she was signaling with semaphore flags. “We thought finally we’d tracked down the authentic Han horse. You know, the one stolen from the Tate Museum? But it was another copy. Centaur again, damn them. Fingers in every art-crime pie. Is there any wine?”
He trailed in her wake as she whisked to the refrigerator. “A bottle of pinot. Don’t know if you’re supposed to chill it, but it’s in the fridge. The wine merchant said it was excellent.” Cort figured that meant at least decent.
“Whatever.” She bent over to search inside. “What’s this? Shrimp? Chopped veggies?”
He dragged his gaze from the view of her shapely backside. “Um, on my run, I found these shrimp on sale. Thought I’d make shrimp creole.”
The manic look in her eyes softer, she dragged out the wine bottle. She brushed a kiss across his lips. “Cort, that’s so sweet. If I have some of this wine now, will it spoil the dinner?” She slammed open the drawer where she kept the corkscrew.
“No problem.” When she fumbled with the tool, he took the bottle and corkscrew from her. In her state of mind, whatever its source, she’d probably stab herself. What the hell was in the package? He poured a healthy amount into a glass and handed it over. “You gonna tell me what this is all about? Not just the Han horse.”
“Give me a minute.” When he nodded, she took a long pull on the wine, then sighed. “Thanks. I saw a salad in the fridge too.”
He felt his face heat. “Baby greens and grape tomatoes. Bottled balsamic vinaigrette though. A guy can create only so much in a day.” He’d begun taking his turn at kitchen duty. Tonight he’d wanted to impress her with more than his usual basic chicken or spaghetti with bottled sauce but that goal dropped in priority. Now he was worried about her.
Bottle and glass in hand, she marched back to the living room and paced as she downed the wine. She straightened CDs on a shelf. Arranged the throw pillows on the sofa.
“Did you talk to your sister?” Maybe that was what put her in such turmoil.
“Ah, yes, about dear André. Cassie’s floating on clouds. He offered to take her to France next trip. As if. She bragged about him flying by private jet. But I can find no record of that. I’ll search the databases next for other flights. No record of Rozmer, Senior in hospital either.” She drained her goblet. “Any luck with new suspects?”
He returned to his former spot on the sofa, eyeing her as she poured more wine.
“The former director hasn’t returned my calls,” he said. “The guard hung up on me.”
“We’re quite the pair. Drink up,” she said, nodding toward his beer. She hoisted her glass again and took a modest sip before setting it down. “Okay, I’d better get to this before I’m too sloshed to know up from sideways. Jet lag is probably working on me too.”
“The box?” he prompted.
She lowered her head in an almost prayerful pose. “From Mom. She found some things of Dad’s in storage. Pictures from his office.” She unfolded the top flaps and lifted out a lumpy brown envelope. “And this from a law firm in the city. I don’t know them. Addressed to Dad.”
“There’s no postage,” he pointed out. “So no date stamp.”
“Delivered by messenger, I suppose. The letter inside is dated a week before the Smithsonian robbery.” She drew in a shaky breath, closed her eyes a moment then reached inside the envelope. “And this.” She deposited a bubble-wrapped object in his open palm.
Anticipation revved his pulse, but his heart stalled out when he realized the implication for Mara. No wonder she’d been crying. Everything she’d always believed about her father crumbled to dust. He peeled apart the wrap. Inside was a gold ring.
Fat tears puddled in Mara’s beautiful eyes. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.
Seeing her grief as her world fell apart wedged pain between his ribs like a pounded spike. He started to take her in his arms. “Mara.”
She held up her hands and shook her head, swallowed hard, backed away. “No, I’m all right. I’m dealing. Dad did conspire with the Jeweler. And not just after the robbery. He knew before. He got Global to give him the case so he could manage the evidence. He lied to everyone.”
Cort racked his brain for some explanation for Leon sending Quincy Marton a ring piece that didn’t involve larceny. He had to try to comfort her. “Maybe your dad let Leon think he wanted in. Maybe he was going to use the ring piece to talk Leon into—”
“No.” The look in her eyes almost burned a hole through his chest. Picking up her wine, she trailed to the breakfast bar where she straightened the sections of the Post he’d left there. “Don’t try to make up excuses for him. Or me. I’m the child of a crook.”
Just like me. He’d tell her that didn’t make her one, but coming from him, the advice would be damned hollow.
As she continued her manic pacing and fussing, he examined the new ring piece. Like the others, it contained words on the inside and a raised shape on the outside, this one a small acute angle. What could the symbols mean? He needed Sherlock Holmes. The new one locked between the other two with a slight twist that aligned the text. He added the new words to the old in the chart he’d drawn on his legal tablet.
“What does the new ring piece add?” she asked, stopping to peer at the paper.
“... THE WOODEN HOLD
... AND ROYAL GOLD
... FOUNTAIN OF MY YOUTH.
... OUR HONOR, TRUTH.”
When Mara finished reading the four lines aloud, she blinked. “Not much help, is it?”
“Not yet,” he said, working on the new wording. “Something. Not sure what, but maybe it’ll c
ome to me.” He lifted the wrap packing the ring. “Was this opened?”
“No. The envelope was still sealed. Why?”
“Your dad didn’t open anything. Maybe Leon was offering him a bribe but he didn’t even know what was inside so he couldn’t have taken it.”
A pained groan tore from her throat. “He knew what it was. He didn’t have to open it. You’re grasping at straws.”
“And you’re jumping to conclusions. But now we have three rings. We have to see this thing through. Get the whole story.” He hovered, ready for when her coiled spring ran down.
“I have the whole story. Right here.” She withdrew a sheet of business size stationery from the envelope. “I’m guessing this is the Jeweler’s handwriting.”
He accepted the paper. “I recognize it. Yeah.”
In his typical meticulous script, Leon had written, “I’m sending this to you, Q, because I know you’ll do what I expect with it.” He signed it with his initials.
Cort saw crowding Mara’s eyes the emotions that had blasted through him after the crime. Impotence. Grief. Anger, building to rage. Rage alleviated the pain but left a bitter taste that never abated. His arms ached to hold her but the timing was wrong. Soon. She’d need it and so would he. “I’m sorry.”
“I know. Keep reading.”
Chapter 24
Below the message was a list.
D. FALCO
G. HAUPTMAN
D. INGLISH
L. JONES
Q. MARTON
“I think it means there are five puzzle ring pieces,” she said, her voice ragged.
“So along with Danita Inglish, Dante Falco and the guard George Hauptman did receive rings. But probably not this letter. Leon wouldn’t have let them know the other conspirators.” His gut clenched at the suspicion the Centaur agent had Falco’s ring piece.
“So why did my dad get this list?”
“And why didn’t the FBI jump on it? Maybe it came after your dad died and they’d already collected his files.”
“Why would Leon have it sent then? No, the FBI just missed it. Somehow.” Her frown said she questioned that supposition. “Dad was in on the crime. Either before or after.”
“Still doesn’t make sense to me. No more than a dozen other mysteries in this mess.”
“The widow Hauptman lied to us.” She jabbed her index finger at the list.
“Maybe not the first time but definitely when you phoned her. My friendly FBI agent called just before you came home. The cops have no record of her so-called break-in.”
“You think she found George’s ring?”
“Bet on it. And she didn’t want us to know. She meant her threat to sic the cops on us to keep us away. If she thinks she can find the crown jewels with one ring piece, good luck.” Even with three, he wondered if they had enough of the clue.
Mara did a good imitation of his Murder One stare. She folded her arms. “We should pay the widow another visit.”
“Definitely. Unannounced. One more thing from Kaplan. The cops do have a file on her brother. Seems Hugo Evans has been in trouble since he was a teenager. A couple of assault charges, one conviction. Not the sharpest chisel in the kit. Poor impulse control. He worked part time for a landscaping contractor until he whacked the boss across the back with a shovel over a salary dispute. Did a few months in jail for assault.”
She huffed her exasperation. “What does it mean?”
“Hard to say. Now. We need to make a list of what facts we have and go from there.”
“I should’ve done a background check on him. I’ve been too naïve. Say it. I know you’re thinking it.” She wove her fingers together as if to still their agitated fluttering.
Her bleak gaze and pale face punched him in the chest. He captured her hands. Cold, clammy. “Thinking what?”
“That it’s better not to trust because it doesn’t hurt as much when people fail you.”
“I’ve thought that, yeah. But I’m beginning to wonder what that philosophy has made me miss out on.” He tugged until her arms wrapped around his waist and her scent lowered his tension a notch. For the first time since she’d come through the door, he felt warmth spread through him. And the odd feeling of coming home.
She sighed against his chest, tears dampening his shirt. “You already know. Pain.”
“But what else? You could’ve kept that envelope with its damning letter and ring piece secret. You didn’t have to share it. You found your answer, even though it’s not what you wanted. But you trusted me enough to share it with me. Thank you.”
When she’d cried herself out, she excused herself and went to soak in a hot tub. Bubble bath, he guessed, with a scented candle burning nearby. Aromatherapy she’d called it the last time. Pampering, he’d countered. Which she needed at the moment.
Later he made sure she ate some shrimp creole, which turned out not bad. Mara laughed for the first time when he told her he’d copied the recipe from TV. Thank you, Rachael Ray.
Later she fell asleep on the sofa and he carried her to bed. As frustrating as it was for him to hold her without making love with her, sleep was what she needed. So he tucked her against him and watched her exotic features as she relaxed into sleep.
He’d never been this involved this long with any woman. She was smart and brave and she made him smile more than in years. Sex with her made him feel like he was coming with his whole body. She made him feel alive again. And he wanted to make her happy.
His search for the ring pieces had dragged her through hell. She never complained about the threats they faced, never folded even when she was scared to death, and she was as determined as he was. She’d shown him the ring and the letter when every instinct must’ve screamed to hide them. She was amazing.
He didn’t know what to do with his warring feelings. A dangerous need to connect with her in every way, a heady joy when he was with her, and hungry impatience when he couldn’t see her, hear her voice, touch her.
They were racing against ruthless enemies, one greedy for power, another for wealth. And a third unknown adversary, probably the Gramornia spy. Sooner than she knew their quest would end and they would end. That notion gnawed at him.
In his half-asleep state, key words from the verse popped out at him in 3-D. He jolted with the realization and forced himself to settle again, afraid he would wake Mara. The memory he’d been struggling with clicked into place.
Not efficient, but effective and elegant. Damn you, Leon, you son of a bitch. Why there?
The prince’s crowning was three days from today. Thousands of miles away. Cort would climb out of bed and into his truck right now except he needed to throw their competitors off the trail. And keep Mara safe.
Then recover the jewels to send them to Gramornia in time. A long shot.
***
“I’m sorry about your father,” Thomas Devlin said. “But I agree with Cort there must be some other explanation. A man who stood for honesty his entire life wouldn’t jump off the rails like that.”
“Thank you, sir.” Mara had searched her brain for a plausible reason for the Jeweler to have sent her dad the letter and ring piece, a reason that didn’t involve larceny. She found no answer but the obvious one. “The truth is tough to accept but I’m handling it.”
Maybe if she said that often enough, she’d believe it. But dammit, he was Dad. How could he be a crook? She said a silent prayer Cort and Devlin were right and proof would present itself. Somehow.
“In case you’re wondering, this information makes no difference to me. You’re one of my best employees, Mara. I trust you completely. That hasn’t changed and won’t.”
She swallowed against the tight knot in her throat. If Devlin didn’t see her as tainted by her dad’s transgression, maybe there was hope for her.
“Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”
“And I won’t ask you where Cort thinks the jewels are hidden. You can have a few days to do what you need to, but I’
m concerned about your safety. I don’t need to remind you people have died.”
She suppressed a shudder. “I need to see this through. At least returning the jewels will give me and my family some peace of mind.” Cort didn’t want her to accompany him, but she’d insisted she’d be safer with him than alone where the bad guys could snatch her and try to use her as leverage. “We hope we can get away tonight without a tail. The Centaur agent or whoever is always either one step ahead of us or right behind.”
“You’re checking for bugs in the apartment?”
She nodded. She’d swept the place daily. “The scrambler chips and GPS blockers in our cell phones are still working.”
“We need to set you up with one more security device on your cell. And there’s another possibility I should’ve thought of sooner,” Devlin said, picking up his interoffice phone. “Go to the parking garage. A surveillance tech will meet you there.”
***
Cort hooked the three ring pieces together again. Studied the raised symbols on each. An arc like a backward C. An X. And an acute angle or an L. He’d tried to get some shuteye before their overnight drive, but his brain wouldn’t shut down, jetlag or no. So he’d spent time on Mara’s computer searching for codes, symbol meanings, hieroglyphs, anything that might yield a damn clue to their significance. And the rest of the day at the table with his printouts trying to figure things out. Found zip.
What he knew for sure was the symbols did have significance. They hadn’t been fused on later but had been molded as part of the ring pieces. No accident the symbols were designed to line up in a row. Everything Leon did was deliberate.
He lowered his head and rubbed his aching eyes. Leon was a dark cloud swirling over him, a malevolent presence casting a shadow on his life until he could find the crown jewels and turn them over to the FBI.
“What the hell, Leon?”
Enough. Rolling the kinks from his shoulders, he left the table and changed into sweats. A long run would clear his head. As soon as he hit the pavement, he felt the heavy humidity that presaged a thunderstorm. The midday traffic spewed exhaust in his face. Fucking perfect. He couldn’t get to the clean air of Maine soon enough.
Ring of Truth (Devlin Security Force Book 2) Page 22
