by Unknown
And she wasn’t the only woman who would get what was coming to her.
Dornal knew there’d be competition among the thieves for the fabled Hope Diamond, but Marguerite Gateaux was the only one who posed any real threat to him. Tonight he would execute his plan to get that red-haired bitch permanently out of his way. He smiled his wintery smile. He’d find out if cats really do always land on their feet.
A train roared into the station and Dornal hustled through the rush-hour crowd to get aboard. With the Diamond Ball starting in less than two hours, he had no time to waste. The doors slid shut behind him and the train lurched forward.
Dornal clutched the metal pole and watched the dark tunnel flash by as he mentally reviewed his plans for the evening. His employer wanted a new Ghost story. He’d teach everyone at the Diamond Ball that restless spirits don’t always play nice.
****
When John came downstairs, the platinum convertible sat humming in front of the Monticello with Veronica in the passenger seat. She wore a simple, floor-length gown in a shade of deep blue that matched her eyes. Her dark hair hung loose and fell over one eye in glamour girl waves. A white fur wrap was draped carelessly off her shoulders and she sat drumming glossy pale pink nails against the dashboard, evidently impatient for him to slide in and take the wheel.
John smiled politely as he opened the car door and adjusted the seat to fit his 6’2” frame before getting in. He could feel the Glock 27 pistol concealed in its holster beneath his tuxedo jacket. Quinn had told him not to bring a gun, but with Dornal Zagen on the loose, John wasn’t taking any chances.
“So I get to drive tonight,” he observed pleasantly.
She flashed a nervous smile. “I think it would be better.”
He had never seen her nervous before and it only confirmed his suspicions. As he pulled away from the hotel, John reminded himself of his resolve to be professional and courteous. No jealous scenes, no wild accusations or questions about where she had been today. It was none of his business, but when he felt her soft hand rest on his shoulder, he realized it might not be quite that easy.
“John?” she asked, her voice fluttery as a hummingbird.
“Yes?”
“They told you about tonight, about how I’m going to wear the Hope Diamond?”
“Yes, they told me,” he said, squeezing the steering wheel a little bit tighter to hold his tongue in check.
She took her hand away and began fiddling with the corner of her fur wrap. “You think it’s a bad idea. I know that. But if we can just catch the Ghost and everything gets resolved,” she said, now sounding almost exasperated, “it will have been worth it. I just want you to know, the reason I feel safe enough to do this is because you’ll be with me.”
Surprised, he turned away from the rush-hour traffic clogging up Maryland Avenue and looked at her. But she was leaning her elbow on the door and gazed out in the opposite direction.
“I didn’t do such a great job watching over your stuff last night. What makes you think I’ll do any better at the ball?” he asked, not quite able to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
“But that was different. You were only supposed to watch my jewelry. Tonight you’re watching over me and I don’t think you’d let anything happen to me.”
“I don’t know, Veronica. You’ve put yourself in a very bad position.”
“Why?” she asked. “What could happen? We’ll be in a room with hundreds of people including a security staff and I’ll have you by my side.”
John pulled over to the curb and stopped the car. He cut the motor and turned to face her head on. “Listen, I don’t know what kind of fucked-up little game you’re playing, but I want no part of it.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he didn’t give her the chance. “You want to be the self-sufficient woman who doesn’t need any help—fine, but don’t turn around and suddenly transform into some whimpering little kitten who needs my protection. I don’t buy it and I think you’re full of shit.”
Amazed, she stared at him with big eyes and then throwing up her hands she turned stone-faced and looked straight ahead.
John felt the anger flowing out of him now that he’d had his say, but he suddenly had a bad feeling that he’d been way off. In profile, Veronica looked like a beautiful marble statue, her skin was so white and she sat so deadly still. Then she said quietly, “Please get out of my car.”
He just sat there frozen for a moment, feeling like the biggest jerk in the world. Finally, he swung open the door and stepped out.
Not looking at him, Veronica slid into the driver’s seat. She turned the key in the ignition and the convertible came to life.
John just stood there with his hands still on the car door. She reached out to grab the handle and slam it shut, but he gripped the door harder and wouldn’t let it budge.
“Veronica, wait.”
She looked up at him with fury in her eyes and said through clenched teeth, “Let go of my door.”
His fingers loosened and she slammed the door shut between them, but he wasn’t going to have it. She was always slamming doors between them, retreating and disappearing into her ivory tower world and he was sick of it.
“Listen, I was wrong,” he said. “I was wrong to yell at you and spy on you and all of it! I have a short fuse and I’m suspicious and I get jealous. I admit all of it. But I’m not Derrick Chapin and I would never do anything to hurt you. I want to help. I can’t be just your hired gun anymore, the guy you can dictate everything to and open up to when you feel like it, and then disappear when you feel like it because your father’s signing my paycheck. If I’m just some guy your father hired and you fucked me just for fun, I’ll go back to New York and we’ll forget the money. We’ll call it even. But if there’s more than that, please admit it and tell me what’s going on here. I want to know the truth.”
She had been staring pointedly down at the steering wheel throughout his speech and she still sat there in the same position now. He opened the car door and knelt down next to her. Taking her chin in his hands, he turned her face to his. Her dark lashes were wet with brimming tears and she bit her bottom lip hard, but her eyes were open and filled with the same hunger he had seen in them when he had held her in his arms and kissed her for the first time.
“Trust me,” he said.
They held each other’s gaze for a long moment. He could see a struggle going on in her by the way she clenched and unclenched her jaw and the way she searched his eyes like she was looking for the answer to something. Then she took his hand and he could feel the gentle pressure of her palm against his. “I’ll trust you, if you’ll trust me.”
He thought about it and realized he hadn’t really trusted Veronica since he’d met her. Or maybe it wasn’t that he couldn’t trust her exactly, but that he couldn’t completely get her. He couldn’t help thinking there was something else going on there beneath her cool surface. But with her eyes so open and raw now looking up at him, he felt in his gut she was being sincere.
John slowly nodded his head in agreement, and she smiled, her sad face warming up like the sun.
It was a pact.
Veronica wiped a tear away before it had the chance to trickle down her cheek. “We’re going to be late.” She slid back into the passenger seat, and flipping down the small, light-up mirror, checked her face for damage.
“Okay.” He got back into the car. He pushed the gear into drive but then turned to her again. “You sure you even want to go to this thing?”
She paused for a moment, and nodded. He hit the gas. The convertible pulled into the river of traffic making its way upstream along the twilight boulevard as the streetlamps came on and cast a gentle glow to light their way to the Diamond Ball.
Chapter Thirteen
As the convertible turned onto Constitution Avenue, it almost came to a complete halt. The security lines were three deep in black-suited men waving around clipboards and walkie-talkies. The paparazzi were
also out in full force, their flashbulbs exploding like fireworks as the party guests in their limousines slowly rolled past the police barricades.
John had expected this mess, but what took him by surprise were the protesters. They stood yelling above the rush hour traffic’s noise, waving their big signs, which read: “SAVE OUR SCHOOLS, NOT THE WEALTHY’S TAX $!” “NO MORE WAR!” And John’s favorite: “IMPEACH DICK SPENCER NOW!!!”
The DC cops were already hassling them and trying to force the angry protesters down the block. The whole situation was a powder keg itching for a match.
The limos cruised by like big, black sharks, their tinted windows hiding well-heeled inhabitants from the angry mob. There were no cameras turned in the mob’s direction. All lenses were focused on the money shot. Pictures of a bigwig’s wife stepping out of the car in front of the entrance to the Smithsonian were what the tabloids paid the bucks for. Protesters in DC weren’t worth the film it cost to shoot them.
John wondered if the same member of the paparazzi who had captured the infamous picture of Veronica lying on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum was here tonight. He wondered if Veronica wondered the same thing. It was hard to tell by looking at her. She had gone quiet, gazing straight ahead. She ignored the parasites who screamed her name trying to get her to look so they could snap a picture and take it all the way to the bank.
They had finally made it through the mess outside the museum and pulled into the main driveway. John handed over the car keys to a fresh-faced valet, probably a Georgetown student trying to work his way through a poli-sci major. He opened the door for Veronica who stepped out of the convertible as gracefully as a princess alighting from her pumpkin. She was cool and calm now, maybe because she was in her element as she entered the large, front hall of the Smithsonian on John’s arm.
“We have to go over here,” she said, pointing to an area behind the information booth. They passed more black suits who nodded their heads as she sailed past. Evidently, they were all up to speed on who got access to the back rooms of the museum. John and Veronica went through a door behind the information area and Georgette, Kay Hopkins’ assistant, stood waiting with a clipboard gripped in her hands. She was wearing a pale fluttery chiffon dress and her hair looked stiff and over-coiffed. She plastered a stressed-out smile on her face as Veronica and John reached her. “Good evening.”
“Good evening,” replied Veronica. “I’m so sorry we’re a bit late.”
“No worries, no worries,” said Georgette, sounding worried. “Let me take you back to the Adam’s Parlor where the jewels are.”
She took off at a fast clip down a maze of hallways lit with fluorescent lights and lined with glass-framed posters of all the museum’s exhibitions. At last they arrived in a little salon beautifully decorated in matching green damask rococo furniture.
Mirrors in ornately carved, gold-leaf frames reflected back the warm candlelight of antique crystal chandeliers. Fresh peony tulips, apple blossoms, and jade perfumed the room with a pleasant scent. Over the settee, a lush bouquet of flowers bloomed in the Van Gogh that hung there. John felt his blood pressure drop the minute he set foot on the thick Persian carpet. The place was so gracious and comfortable it made you want to settle in for a nice game of cards or a long, intimate chat.
Georgette remained as wired as a wind-up toy. She pointed to Kay Hopkins, the museum’s social director, who had overseen the rehearsal the previous day. Kay was dressed in a black evening gown with her white-streaked hair piled up on top of her head.
“Kay will get you all set up,” chirped Georgette as she was already turning to trot off to some other business back at the ball.
“Thank you,” said Veronica to the swirl of peach chiffon that was halfway out the door.
Kay Hopkins smiled brightly as Veronica stepped forward. The DC matron was standing over a table with burgundy velvet flung across it. Resting on the velvet was an eye-opening spread of some of the most fabulous jewels on the planet sparkling genteelly in the dim light.
John realized there were other people in the room besides Kay. The security team was doing a good job of blending into the wallpaper while First Lady Lillian Spencer and her daughter, Cynthia, sat on a loveseat in the corner. They both turned as John and Veronica entered the room.
Lillian rose and greeted Veronica warmly, kissing her cheek. “Veronica, you’re going to be the star of our little ball tonight. Thank you so much for doing this. It’s thanks to you that the children in Anacostia will have their library.”
Veronica nodded her head and said rather coldly. “I hope they enjoy it.”
Lillian’s expression turned hard as she looked at her daughter, who still slouched on the couch in the corner. “Cynthia, don’t you want to say hello to Veronica?”
Cynthia stood up like a trained lap dog and vaguely attempted a smile. “Hi, Veronica.”
“Hello, Cynthia.”
“And this handsome young man is?” asked the First Lady looking at John with a Stepford smile plastered across her face.
“This is John Monroe.”
John stuck out his hand and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Spencer.”
“Very nice to meet you,” she responded while looking him up and down the way one might a dog you’re not quite sure about. She turned to Veronica. “Your bodyguard?”
“My escort,” said Veronica smoothly.
“Yes, of course.” The First Lady smiled, taking this information in. She turned to Kay Hopkins. “Well, we better get going here. People are already arriving.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” agreed Kay. “Cynthia, honey, shall we do you first?”
A reluctant Cynthia inched her way slowly toward the treasure table, as if she were afraid she would get nuked if she got too close to the high-voltage rocks. Kay picked up a massive diamond necklace that seemed to put a strain on her thin arms. As she raised it up to catch the light, rainbows of color flamed through the crystals. Everyone in the room, except for Kay who was used to the Smithsonian jewel collection, forgot their breeding and gaped.
“That’s huge!” whined Cynthia, as Kay stepped behind her and fastened the clasp behind her neck. The president’s daughter stuck her chin down as far as it would go trying to see the rocks gleaming on her chubby chest.
“There are 275 carats of diamonds in that necklace. It was given by Napoleon to his empress to celebrate the birth of their son,” said Kay beaming. “And this,” she added, lifting a glittering crown of diamonds and emeralds from the red velvet, “this is one of the museum’s most prized possessions, the crown Napoleon placed on Josephine’s head at their coronation ceremony.”
Kay turned and smiled at the First Lady before placing it over Cynthia’s limp blond hair. “And now our own little princess will wear it tonight!” she piped.
“You might want to tell the good people of Boston about that,” remarked John, “They threw a little tea party a while back…”
The icy smile and fiendishly arched brows of the First Lady and Kay Hopkins shut him down midsentence. He was relieved, however, to catch the corners of Veronica’s mouth tighten as she suppressed her laughter.
“This thing is too fucking heavy,” complained Cynthia as she adjusted the crown on her head. It was too big for her and it refused to sit straight.
“Cynthia, we need you to behave tonight,” said Lillian sternly. “You’ve already caused enough trouble…” She sounded like she was going to say more, but she ended it there. “Go look at yourself in the mirror. You should be grateful. Do you know how many girls would give their eyeteeth for the opportunity to dress up in these lovely jewels to go attend a ball and have their picture taken?”
Cynthia just stood there sulking, but at least she didn’t talk back. Evidently, the First Lady took that as a good sign.
“Oh, who’s wearing that beautiful emerald brooch?” exclaimed Veronica approaching the table, her eyes on a flash of green rock set in rows of sparkling diamonds.
“The Hooker Emerald?” asked Kay pleasantly. “Congressman Duly’s wife, Gisela, will be wearing it. I wish she’d get here. I should have told the ladies to come earlier.”
Cynthia snickered in the corner. With a frustrated sigh, the First Lady turned to her daughter. “What do you find so amusing, Cynthia?”
The president’s daughter snorted. “It’s perfect that Gisela Duly is wearing a brooch called the ‘Hooker,’ because she’s slept with like…everyone in Washington!”
This time Veronica did not have as much luck suppressing an amused smile and John looked at his shoes trying to keep control. Ignoring the remark, Lillian and Kay turned back to Veronica as she reached out her hand to pick up the Hope Diamond. She held it there, fascinated, staring into the jewel’s depths as the blue fire came alive against the palm of her hand.
Lillian and Kay came to her side and they, too, stood staring at the fabled gem. At last, Kay put a hand on Veronica’s shoulder. “You’re sure you don’t mind wearing it? The curse doesn’t bother you?”
Veronica shook her head. “I’ve already had my bad luck.”
“Oh, yes,” cooed Kay, “I heard about the theft. Have the police turned up any leads yet?”
“Not yet.” Veronica still had not managed to drag her eyes from the magnificent gem that kindled before her.
“Well, let’s put this on you, Veronica,” said the First Lady, suddenly businesslike. “Since everyone is waiting, we need to get out there.” She reached down and picked up the necklace, placing it around Veronica’s neck.
The difference was amazing. Veronica was a beautiful woman at any time, but now with the blue diamond shimmering at her throat, matching the color of her eyes, she was extraordinary.
At that moment, Georgette trotted in with two more blue bloods. First was the aforementioned Gisela in a formfitting gown, which made good use of the push-up bra she had squeezed her ample breasts into. Following behind was none other than the dishy blonde Jessica in a sweeping Oscar De La Renta number. They gave Veronica a cool stare like a clique of the most popular boarding school brats might give a new girl on the first day of class. John knew they were sizing Veronica up, wondering if they could take her or not. Even with all of the expensive gowns and jewels, none of the women there could hold a candle to Veronica tonight.
