The Wedding Necklace

by Adrianne Lee

  Lyssa nodded. “If you have an extra black dress.”

  Saturday

  The dress wasn’t black, but it was appropriate. Wearing makeup and her hair swept up in a French roll, Lyssa felt close to her old self, except for her toes, pinched in the borrowed pumps.

  She slid onto the pew next to Teri, who was seated beside her employer, C.J. Temple. By all accounts, C.J. was in her late forties, but passed for thirty-five at most. She wore her auburn hair chin length in a straight, flattering cut that focused attention on her teal eyes. Her soft pink mouth had a fullness indicative of collagen treatments, and her nails reminded Lyssa of claws, but her clothes were always understated, always the best quality. The odd thing about C.J. was that in all the years Lyssa had known her, she’d never seen the woman wear a single piece of jewelry.

  The service, held in a quaint chapel off Aurora Avenue in Seattle, was well-attended. As the minister began to speak, Lyssa felt a shiver track her spine, a sensation of danger close at hand, and it struck her how easily someone could hide in a crowd. Trying not to draw attention to herself, she stole sideways glances at the people in the pews nearest her own, noting that she recognized or did business with many of them. But would she recognize her pursuer if he were present? A germ of fear twisted in her belly. Not even if he looked her squarely in the eye.

  She fought against the sudden chill washing through her, and tried to concentrate on what the minister was saying, but as he rambled on, she was hit with another awful thought, the thought of a funeral that might come sooner than anticipated, a thought precipitated by her early morning call to Saguaro County General. Grandy clung to life by a thread. A thread of hope? God, she dreaded showing up without her Purity.

  The graveside service was thankfully brief and as the sun finally broke apart the cloud cover, the large gathering began to disperse. It was then that Lyssa finally caught more than a glimpse of Craig. He was flanked on one side by the man who'd driven them to Belmont yesterday, David something or other, and on the other by a slight woman with black hair and blood red lips, who held his arm as if it were all that kept her standing.

  Lyssa’s heels sank into the rain-dampened earth as C.J., Teri and she inched forward, joining those moving toward the trio to offer condolences. Water crept up the sides of the ill-fitting pumps, wetting her pinched feet. She whispered to Teri, “Who's that woman next to Craig Rival?”

  Teri craned her neck, then said, “Stacey. Wayne’s daughter.”

  “His daugh…?” Lyssa had a hard time digesting this. In all their hours together Wayne hadn’t once mentioned a daughter. Or anyone named Stacey. Odd that discovering she was Craig’s cousin should cause a speck of relief when pity would have been more appropriate. Judging the way she was clinging to Craig, Lyssa supposed she must have loved her father as much as Lyssa loved hers. She’d need support too, if she lost her dad--an unthinkable notion.

  Car engines started, disturbing the solemn morning as the first few mourners began to leave.

  Unexpectedly, Lyssa felt the skin at her neck prickle, again that sensation someone was watching her. On an indrawn breath, she glanced sharply around. Right, then left. No one seemed to be paying particular attention to her. She let out a taut sigh, and shoved both hands into the pockets of her raincoat. She was probably being paranoid, understandable after what she'd been through, but it would likely be a good long time before she was again comfortable in crowds or alone.

  It didn’t help matters that she was worried how Craig Rival would react to her being here. Feigning interest in Teri's conversation with C.J., Lyssa strove to look everywhere but at Craig. It was an impossible task; she’d never been more aware of anyone. Repeatedly, no matter how hard she tried to resist, her gaze stole to him. Had he allowed that wayward lock of his blue-black hair to fall forward over the bruise in order to deter inquiries about it? Or had the gentle wind mussed it? She’d bet it was the former. He didn’t strike her as a man who tolerated whimsy.

  Maybe he was a stuffed-shirt.

  Craig lifted his head and as if by some inner radar, found her in the gathering. His expression skipped from surprise, to curiosity, then to something unreadable, yet urgent. A tingle sped through her, sensuous, insidious, and undeniable. For half a second, she fancied distant times and distant shores, maidens conquered by conquistadors. Her greeting smile slipped at the sudden lurch in her stomach.

  No question about it. She was definitely physically attracted to this man. Of all the impossible situations.

  Teri caught her arm. “Do you want to speak to Craig again, after yesterday?”

  Lyssa knew she ought to run as far and as fast as she could. Perversely, she stood her ground. “Why not? I haven’t done anything wrong. Besides, he’s seen me now.”

  C.J. had already spoken to Craig and his cousin and was just moving away, hurrying after a prestigious Amsterdam diamond merchant, when a woman with flame red hair cut in front of Teri and Lyssa. There was something horribly familiar about the way she stood as if one hip were higher than the other, something about her voice.

  “Oh, God, Lyssa. I should have told you,” Teri whispered, her eyes pinched with dread.

  “Told me what?” Lyssa frowned at Teri.

  The redhead glanced back at them. Her soft brown eyes rounded and her bottom lip dropped open as she spun to face Lyssa.

  Lyssa's mouth went dry. What the hell was her cousin--the cousin she’d found in bed with her ex-husband--doing at Wayne Rival’s funeral? “Ginger?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Well. Lyssa.” Ginger Van Allen appeared to quickly recover her initial shock. Only an unnatural pink on her neck hinted that she might be feeling any chagrin. “Whatever are you doing here?”

  Lyssa held herself as stiff as one of the nearby headstones, too aware that Craig Rival was listening to this exchange, and she regretted she hadn’t given into her earlier instinct to run from this place and all its dangers. But she hadn’t. And as uncomfortable as this encounter was, she was adult enough to get through it. “I might ask you the same thing.”

  “Why…I work for Rival Gems International. Didn’t Uncle Denny mention it?” Uncle Denny was Dennis Van Allen, Lyssa’s father, and respecting her feelings, he rarely mentioned Ginger, except for the occasional lecture on what a shame it was that out of all the millions of occasions they’d shared as children and teenagers and women, all the good and not so good moments remembered, that the only thing Lyssa associated with her cousin these days was betrayal. He thought she ought to forgive Ginger. After all, they were family, and he knew first hand the harm family discord could cause.

  But Ginger didn't seem to need absolution from Lyssa and it was just as well, since Lyssa wasn’t sure she could ever forgive the betrayal.

  “Why didn't you tell her?” Ginger asked Teri.

  Lyssa glanced at her friend and decided the oversight hadn't been intentional. She willed herself to relax. “I guess Dad and Teri knew I wouldn't be interested.”

  Ginger sighed. “Whatever.” She brushed past Lyssa, and moved toward the flower-draped casket, nibbling at her pinkie fingernail, something she only did when she was upset. Also, Lyssa realized belatedly, her eyes were underscored by those dark blue splotches she always got whenever she’d spent any length of time crying. Maybe she could have been kinder.

  Teri was grimacing, conveying an apology with the pressure of her grasp on Lyssa’s arm. Thankfully, she too seemed aware that they were being scrutinized by Craig and Stacey.

  “Ms. Dean and Ms. Carlyle, an unexpected twosome,” Craig said, gazing at Lyssa as if he couldn’t believe the sophisticated woman she’d been transformed into had any connection with the grungy terrorized ragamuffin he’d spent hours with the day before. She read approval in his dark eyes and something inherently more dangerous: interest. “Thank you for coming. Lyssa, have you met Stacey, Wayne’s daughter?”

  From a distance, she hadn’t thought Stacey resembled her late father, but now Lyssa could se
e that she did, especially her hazel eyes. Her attire, however, was unique. She wore black like a coat of fur, and whenever she moved the excess of bracelets on both wrists jangled; Lyssa couldn’t help thinking of a belled cat.

  “Nice to meet you.” Lyssa reached to shake Stacey’s hand, but Stacey only glared at her. Feeling foolish, and somewhat puzzled, Lyssa drew back her hand and stuffed it into her coat pocket. Apparently Craig had told this woman about the faux and she, also, was of the opinion that Lyssa was a liar out to defame the good name of Wayne Rival. She shouldn’t have expected anything more. Not from any of the Rivals. She shouldn't have come to this service. “I’m sorry about your father,” she said, then beat a quick retreat in the general direction of Teri’s car.

  She was sorry about Wayne. On the one hand. On the other hand, if he hadn't stolen her faux wedding necklace, she wouldn’t have almost been murdered. Lyssa stifled an urge to shudder as an unpleasant thought popped into her head. What if the attack on her was somehow connected to neither necklace being at Windance? Was that as farfetched as it sounded? Or not? Suddenly she wanted to leave. She glanced around for Teri, but Teri had been waylaid by one of the few people in attendance today that Lyssa didn't recognize. She hesitated.

  A familiar jangle sounded behind her and a second later David and Stacey brushed by her, headed for the waiting limousine. Over his shoulder, David called, “Are you coming, Craig.”

  “In a moment.”

  He was right behind her. Lyssa tensed. He said, “I thought you’d be in Arizona by now.”

  She drew a slow breath, trying to still the dizzying tingle sweeping through her at the sound of his voice. Somehow, she managed to face him without her knees giving way. “Couldn’t get a flight until early tonight.”

  There was an odd glint of longing in his eyes that spoke to the desire swirling inside her, but he sounded all business when he asked, “Have you known Teri Dean long?”

  “We've been friends since junior high school. If you’re wondering whether or not she’ll give me a character reference, I’m sure she would--an exemplary one.” They both knew he wasn’t asking for references. No, it was more likely that he was interested in how long and what kind of business she might have with his biggest competitor, C.J. Temple. Or perhaps he just wanted to know where the alleged faux Purity fit into the mix.

  Well, she’d told him the truth, and she was getting weary of not being believed. Granted, she had no proof, but that was his problem. She knew she was honest. Lyssa quirked her head at him. “How long have you known my cousin, Ginger?”

  That got his eyebrows lifting. “Ginger Van Allen is related to the DeHavilands?”

  She ought to let him squirm, but she supposed she'd done more than enough damage to him already. “Not really. She’s related on my father’s side of the family.”

  He glanced over at the limo, obviously anxious to leave. “You know, I’d really like to believe your story, but the Purity was at my office in Seattle when I got there last night…in the vault…where Ginger and Stacey claim it’s been for the past three months.”

  Now Lyssa’s eyebrows lifted, then squashed in a frown. Craig could believe the Purity had been in Seattle the past three months if he wanted, but she knew otherwise. And obviously he hadn’t found the faux with it or he’d have said as much. The shudder she’d stifled before now raced through her. Had her wild thought any actual substance? Had someone tried to kill her because of the two necklaces?

  It seemed crazy. And yet, whoever had closed Windance after Wayne’s death must have removed both necklaces. But who? She stole a glance at the limo. Stacey? If Wayne had told his daughter about the copy, she might have taken the necklaces to keep Craig from finding out what her father had been up to…and she had access to the Rival vault in Seattle so that returning the Purity would have been no problem for her. She felt an anxious twinge. What had become of the faux? Had it been destroyed? The thought made her heartsick.

  But what was worse was imagining Craig’s cousin trying to kill her. What possible reason could she have? Could anyone have? Craig would never believe such a thing, and Lyssa didn't even bother suggesting it. “I guess you’re going to believe whatever you want or need to believe, but I think you’re trusting someone you shouldn’t.”

  Craig’s expression went thoughtful, stony, and yet, reading indecision in his hesitation, she sensed he wanted to believe her. As if to confirm it, he said, “If you had one shred of evidence that the faux even exists…”

  The frustration she’d reined like a frisky colt popped a restraint, threatening to break free and trample anything and everything in its path. It jarred loose something she should have remembered before now, and she smiled at Craig. “I haven’t any proof the necklace exists, but I do have proof of intent; Wayne insisted on a legal agreement between us. I can fax you a copy of it.”

  Craig looked skeptical, as if he, too, thought she should have mentioned this sooner. “What kind of an agreement?”

  He’d stepped impossibly closer, and she seemed unable to draw a full breath. Somehow, she managed to say, “Skipping all the legal terminology, it allows me to make the copy for my personal enjoyment, but restricts me from ever selling it for personal gain.”

  “Who drew up the agreement?”

  She tried to recall, then suddenly it came--and with it the last name of his lawyer friend David: Lundeen, Lundeen, and Lundeen, the law firm on the papers tucked in her vault. Was Craig’s lawyer friend in on the theft with Stacey? She nodded toward the limousine. “Why don’t you ask David?”

  The muscle in his jaw worked as he stared at her with a slow fire burning in his dark eyes. Either he wanted to tell her to go to hell, or he wanted to kiss her. Lyssa glanced away, an unsteadiness wobbling through her.

  Craig’s voice was husky. “David’s already told me that Wayne never mentioned you. He wouldn’t lie to me.”

  His hot breath fanned her cheeks, her eyelashes. Lyssa’s gaze locked with his, her heart thrumming like a finely strummed violin, and she said in a breathy whisper, “I didn't ask Wayne who drew up the agreement. Maybe it wasn’t David. There’s more than one Lundeen on the firm’s letterhead and, as I recall, the signature is a messy scrawl. I suppose you can figure that out when I send you the fax.”

  Instead of answering, Craig grabbed hold of both her upper arms and pulled her against him, kissing her hard and full on the mouth like a man long deprived of loving. Surprise and desire collided inside Lyssa, hot emotion hitting cold resistance and steaming all agitation from her.

  Craig seemed suddenly to realize where they were. He pulled back, jerkily releasing her. Confusion and desire struggled for control of his features, and he sounded breathless, "I-I…”

  Lyssa caught sight of Teri nearing at the same moment that a horn blast erupted from the limousine.

  Craig’s eyebrows twitched, and he looked as if he wanted to explain. But all he said was, “Don’t forget the fax.”

  Lyssa’s face burned, but she couldn't ascertain whether she was embarrassed or disappointed. I’ll send it right after I see Grandy.”

  “Good. Well–-” He paused, then smirked, touching his bruised forehead gingerly. “‘It’s been nice to know you’ doesn’t seem appropriate…but I don’t suppose I’ll ever forget you.”

  Unwittingly, Lyssa brushed her fingertips across her mouth. “Nor I, you.”

  A moment later, he was gone.

  Lyssa stared after the departing limousine, feeling dismissed, and strangely empty, wondering why he'd kissed her.

  Craig couldn't stop wondering why he'd kissed Lyssa. He was not an impulsive guy. He did nothing impulsively. It went against his nature. And yet, he just had. Why? He wanted to end the relationship with her. Didn't he? Then why couldn't he quit thinking about her? Her problems were not his concern, just as today was not the day to question David, or the other Lundeens, about Wayne and her.

  Still, he couldn’t shake the questions from his mind. Maybe it was the earne
st glint in those sea green eyes of hers. Maybe it was his worry about the attack on her not being random. Or maybe the truth lived in his unexpected and disconcerting attraction to her. The passion underlying their kiss.

  Craig tried mingling, but it wasn’t long before he realized his woolgathering was perturbing some of the post funeral guests at Stacey’s. And the cobwebs crisscrossing his mind kept thickening. He wanted answers, and the thought of waiting another twenty-four hours at best before the fax arrived had him on edge. A scotch on the rocks only brought the beginnings of another headache. Deciding he had one course of action open to him, he left Stacey’s as soon as propriety allowed.

  It was mid-afternoon when he reached the office. He attacked Wayne’s records expectantly, but an hour of digging through every paper and file he could lay his hands on, produced not a damned thing that pertained to Lyssa Carlyle…or the DeHavilands. Enough was enough. He was dead on his feet.

  The promise of a sunny afternoon was dying on a ridge of high clouds by the time he got into his Lexus. He drove to his condo, immune to the traffic and the familiar sights he'd longed to see only the night before, arguing with himself to bury all thought of Lyssa and the faux Purity as finally as he’d buried Uncle Wayne.

  But she wouldn’t be banished.

  He dropped into his bed and shut his eyes and there she was. The taste of her lips, the feel of her body against his haunted him. The woman had to be a witch. He could find no other explanation for the spell she’d cast over him. For it had to be a spell. Why else would he want her so? Why else would he have kissed her? Totally inappropriate…at his uncle’s funeral.

  Craig groaned and rolled onto his side, shoving deeper into the pillow. She was the most dangerous kind of woman, as innocent as a waif one moment, as seductive as a temptress the next. Thinking himself fortunate to have escaped with just a bump on the noggin, and one not-too-innocent kiss, he drifted into sleep and dreamed of angels with golden hair and sea green eyes and diamond necklaces and omnipresent menace.