Silken Threats

by Addison Fox

  “But that’s where the real jewels come in.” Josephine explained the purported history of the three rubies that were gifted to the King and Queen on a trip abroad. The difficulty they had in their travels home and the Queen’s desire to have them removed without drawing undue attention to the matter.”

  “So Josephine’s father secreted them with the fakes.” Max Senior took over the story. “His history as a diamond cutter made it easy to blend the real jewels with fakes and he immigrated with them in his tool set. No one was the wiser.”

  * * *

  Tucker struggled to take it all in, the story more unbelievable than he ever could have imagined.

  Crown Jewels? The British Crown Jewels. Seriously?

  Whatever he thought he knew or suspected about this situation had been blown to bits, the story of Mrs. Beauregard’s father like something out of a movie.

  A thriller that had no basis in reality. Especially not his reality.

  “Is it possible your father told you this, maybe as a story or a way to connect with his homeland?”

  Mrs. B.’s face was kind—understanding, even—but she held firm. “It’s one-hundred-percent true. All of it.”

  “All of it,” Max Senior added. “I helped Jo bury the jewels.”

  “And you never thought anyone would find them?” Tucker asked.

  “We figured by the time anyone possibly discovered them, the provenance wouldn’t matter any longer. We were deliberate in keeping all paperwork separate,” Jo said, her gaze on Max Senior.

  “And the appraiser we worked with helped us alter the fakes a bit to make them a little less identical to the originals.”

  Max moved forward from his position against the wall, his earlier concern for his grandfather back in spades at the man’s mention of another witness. “You told someone about this? Someone besides the two of you.”

  “We’ve kept it a secret, but yes, I found someone I trusted to get the three rubies appraised.”

  “Is it possible they kept records, Pops?” Max moved even closer to his grandfather. “Do you still have the guy’s name?”

  “Gunner Davidson was a friend. He never would have done anything with the information. We were careful. And we were careful in choosing him.”

  While Tucker didn’t doubt the man was a friend, stones of the kind Josephine’s father had secreted out of England would be worth making a fuss over. And an experienced jeweler in Texas, in what he estimated was the mid-1950s, would have been hard-pressed not to discuss such a major professional evaluation.

  Even though Max’s line of questioning would need to be pursued further, Tucker figured it might be easier to turn the conversation to calmer matters. “Why did you bury them?”

  “My father kept them locked up in the house throughout his life. But, well—” Mrs. B. broke off. “Max and I thought we should remove the evidence. My father left me his properties when he passed away and it seemed like the right place for them.”

  “You never wanted to wear them?” Lilah probed, her voice gentle.

  “They weren’t meant for me. It seemed wrong, somehow. And—”

  When Mrs. B. didn’t say anything else, Cassidy pressed, her voice gentle. “And what?”

  “And I couldn’t shake the superstitious part. My father never bought into it. He was an eminently practical man and had spent his life around jewels. He didn’t ascribe properties to them beyond what he could measure through his loupe. But I never had an interest in them. In keeping them. They were a secret to me, nothing more.”

  “Some things aren’t meant to be ours,” Violet said.

  Tucker didn’t miss the way Josephine and Max Senior looked at each other after Violet’s statement.

  Nor did he miss the subtle shift in the room at the woman’s reference to a curse.

  Even though it sounded crazy to talk curses in this day and age, they had a dead body that suggested otherwise.

  * * *

  Robert dialed Cassidy’s number once more and swore when it dropped over to voice mail. She was probably in one of her designing fugues again. He never could understand her when she went to that weird place in her head, focused on yet another wedding dress.

  He’d gone along, of course. And to be honest, her focus on other things gave him time off from playing the perfect boyfriend. That crap got tiring after a while.

  Cassidy seemed taken in by his “perfect boyfriend” persona, but he knew damn right well that her friends had their doubts. Lilah was a freaking ray of sunshine who kept those rays on bright all the time, but she noticed things and got in a good potshot every now and again.

  Violet, on the other hand, hadn’t made a big secret of not liking him. She kept up a polite veneer when they were all out together but it didn’t take a genius to know that she wasn’t his biggest fan.

  Maybe he could use that...

  The thought drifted in and as he considered it, exploring it from various angles, he realized it was his best bet. He could use that perpetual dislike to his advantage.

  Cassidy had no reason to call him back. But if he called Violet, he could persuade her to help him with some party planning. She might not like him, but she was a businesswoman through and through. He’d appeal to that business sense and work it from there.

  A quick internet search turned up a number for her and he dialed her up, listening as her phone rang before going to voice mail. He nearly hung up, but then thought better of it. He waited for the beep, then dived in.

  “Violet. It’s Robert Barrington. I know it’s been a long time but I was hoping to get your help with a party I’m planning for my parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary. Please give me a call when you can.” He rattled off his number and settled in to wait.

  * * *

  “Have you lost your ever-loving mind?”

  The words exploded from Max’s mouth like gunshots, and Cassidy had to admit her thoughts weren’t all that far from his.

  They’d migrated to her house after their visit to the hospital and had settled in her living room with several plastic containers of sushi, a few bottles of wine and Bailey guarding the door, a boiled soup bone from Lilah between his paws. Although the guys had looked dubious at first, she was glad she’d ordered extra by the way each of them kept digging into the carryout trays for more rolls.

  “I’m not stupid, Maxwell. I think it’s the perfect opportunity to draw the bastard out.” Violet kept her tone level—too level—and Cassidy knew that was trouble.

  “Robert’s at the center of this. There’s no way you’re taking a meeting with my wimpy ex.” Cassidy thought through the remembered message and fought the shiver that gripped her shoulders.

  First he’d left her a message. Then a second. And then he’d moved on to Violet, his voice as smooth and easy as the lies that had tripped from his tongue.

  “Oh, come on, he’s too stupid to be at the center of this.” Lilah piped up. “Look at how badly he’s bungled even an innocent get-together.”

  “Lilah’s right.” Tucker snatched another California roll, his coordination with chopsticks impressive. “He’s not the lead on this. He’s someone else’s puppet.”

  “So we draw him out to the find the puppet master.” Violet pressed her point. Cassidy knew the look of determination that had settled itself in Violet’s green eyes. She’d seen that look often enough and knew it meant trouble.

  Violet Richardson knew how to get her way. And if she didn’t get it on her first try, she pushed and pulled and maneuvered until she did.

  “Vi, you’re talking about taking something into our own hands we have no business going anywhere near.” Lilah’s normally upbeat nature was nowhere in evidence. “We couldn’t even manage to get a clean read off the video cameras of who dropped Charlie off behind the shop. How are we going to m
anage drawing out a criminal with an agenda and the skills to back it up?”

  Cassidy knew the video feed had been a disappointment. The guys had taken a look at it and she, Lilah and Violet had reviewed the digital copies they could access 24/7 from their new security provider.

  All they’d seen was a man, cloaked in a sweatshirt and jeans and with a ski mask covering his head.

  She’d run the image repeatedly, hoping for some clue she’d recognize about the figure. Or that she could see a glimpse of Robert in a frame or two and know they’d caught their man.

  But no matter how she’d scrutinized the feed, she got absolutely nothing off the image that was captured.

  “Lilah’s right. We need to turn this over to the police and wash our hands of it.”

  “It’s too late. We’re in danger now.” Violet wouldn’t be dissuaded and, if anything, her arguments had grown more fierce. “No one knew the full contents of that box. So no one’s going to believe we didn’t hold something back that came from what Max lifted.”

  “The police will know. And when nothing shows up fenced in the coming months, whoever’s behind this will lose interest.”

  “Those stones have been hidden for more than half a century and that hasn’t deterred anyone’s interest.” Violet poured another glass of wine, her frustration palpable. “And I, for one, am sick of playing the sitting duck.”

  “It’s hard when things don’t fall right in line, just like you planned.” Max’s pointed words hung over the group like a hangman’s noose.

  No one said a word, even as fury leaped, hot and strong, into Violet’s vivid green eyes. For a moment, Cassidy got the distinct impression the argument was going to come to blows.

  Or blows from Violet, at least.

  Instead, something seemed to register at the last minute, because those flames of anger died, doused by a wave of reality. “Yes, it’s damn hard. It’s my job to make things happen and instead I’m sitting around like a damsel in distress. I’ve managed to acquire two bodyguards, I’ve put off about eighty percent of everything I had to get done this week, I haven’t slept in my own bed and it’s looking like I won’t tonight, either—” She broke off and turned toward Lilah. “Sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. I know how much the princess loves her six-hundred-thread-count sheets.”

  The same look as before—the one that made Cassidy think her delicate friend was going to go all wrestler on someone—flickered again then quickly vanished as a husky laugh escaped Violet’s throat. “Nothing but the best for me.”

  “’Course not.” Lilah lifted her glass in a toast. “You’re Violet freaking Richardson.”

  Just like earlier in the car, Cassidy took some comfort—even if it was minimal—from the fact that they could still laugh in the midst of such chaos.

  But when she caught sight of the longing that stamped itself over Max’s face, his gaze racing over Violet’s laughing face, Cassidy reconsidered her assessment of the situation.

  Max was worried about Violet.

  Terrified, if she read his body language correctly. And her friend’s tendency to throw herself into the middle of something was tying him up in knots.

  Tucker stood to go get more wine from the kitchen, and Cassidy didn’t miss the glint in his eyes that suggested she join him. She followed him into the kitchen, a comment about Violet and Max hovering on her lips when Tucker grabbed her and pulled her into his arms.

  His mouth coursed over hers, his kisses full of a raw, base hunger.

  She kissed him back, whatever she was about to say fading in the glory of being in his arms.

  Until that moment she hadn’t understood just how much she’d missed seeing him. Touching him. Being with him.

  The corded muscles of his forearms lay under her fingertips, and she explored that sinewy surface as he pulled her even tighter against his body. With his teeth he tugged her lower lip into his mouth, and she felt an insistent pull deep in her core.

  How did we find each other? she wondered as the moments spun out between them, the sensual kisses driving both of them slowly mad with desire.

  And how was it possible she hadn’t even known him a week ago?

  The need for him was so strong—so necessary—she struggled to make sense of it all.

  Was this what people meant when they blithely rattled off pithy little statements like “you know when you know” and “someday your prince will come”?

  She’d thought she knew before. Twice before she’d started down the path of binding her life with another, only to run out on the first and now find out the second was likely a psychopath.

  The part of her that hid from others wanted to hide from this, too.

  And the bigger part of her—the woman who was tired of being alone and wondering if there would ever be anyone out there for her—knew she needed to hang on to what she’d found.

  “Tucker.” She whispered his name against his lips, torn between continuing to kiss him and getting back to the four other people having a meal in her living room. “We need to get back to dinner.”

  “A minute.” He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her head against his chest. “Please give me a minute.”

  She took the comfort he offered and, sensing he needed it as much as she did, returned it back to him. Her hands stayed low on his hips and she took solace in the warm, unyielding strength of his body.

  Just one more moment.

  For them.

  Hard muscle flexed under her fingers as his body slowly swayed against hers, and she allowed her mind to drift with the gentle movement.

  She’d thought it before, but after observing him for the past few days, she had a new appreciation for the term “warrior.” She also understood how his agile mind played as important a role as his strong, solid body in this.

  He’d worked, alone or as a team with Max, quickly assessing threats and dangers and strategizing against them. From initially handling things at Elegance and Lace, to planning how to get back in and get the gems, to how they were going to deal with Robert, he was in charge. In control.

  Which was why his next comment was so jarring. “I let you talk me into drawing them out once and I can’t do it again.”

  “Tucker.” She laid a hand on his chest and tried to get a bit of space. “I know Violet. She’s not talking about doing this alone.”

  “We shouldn’t be doing it at all.”

  “We can involve the police. No, we should involve the police. Set it up like a sting. You know once he hears we have a lead Detective Graystone will be as anxious as we are to take Robert down.”

  Bailey trotted in, obviously sensing the tension, and he plopped into a seated position between the two of them on the floor. Tucker patted his head before taking a few steps back. “You heard Lilah. Robert’s not the source. He’s just a cog in the wheel.”

  “Then we take him down and remove one of the cogs.”

  “Why? So whoever’s running the show can pull in a few more? These guys mean business.”

  “So do I.”

  “Why? So you can hang on to a gemstone that has a dark cloud over it?”

  Cassidy puzzled through his comment, surprised at the depth of conviction she heard. “You believe there’s something wrong with the stones?”

  “I... No...” He shifted off the counter to pace her kitchen, his body caged by the small space. “Who the hell knows? All I do know is that almost seventy years ago someone in a position to keep an expensive set of gems discarded them like they were garbage.”

  “It’s not like the royal family hurts for money.”

  “That’s beside the point and you know it. So you stuff them in a drawer in a room of the palace. They disowned them.”

  Although she’d thought Mrs. Beauregard’s story fanc
iful, Tucker made a sound point. Who discarded something so precious? Even with endless amounts of money, who would just give up something like that?

  Donate it, maybe? Regift it if it wouldn’t cause offense to the original gifter. Heck, make a fuss and put it in a museum.

  And in that moment, the reality of what they were dealing with hit her. “They wanted it off British soil.”

  “Exactly.”

  Cassidy inhaled on a sharp breath. “And now it sits in my friend’s safe.”

  Chapter 18

  Tucker stood on the porch waiting for Bailey to return from his last romp of the evening and couldn’t shake Cassidy’s haunting words. Long after their friends had left, with Max promising to stay at Lilah’s with Violet under full security, he was still thinking about Cassidy’s conclusions.

  They wanted the stones off British soil.

  He wasn’t a fanciful man. His earlier life and insistence on trying to live up to his father’s impossible dreams had driven any sense of the whimsical straight out of him.

  But he was a strong believer in his gut. And his was ringing bells something fierce.

  He also couldn’t shake the mystery of who the source of the information leak was. Josephine and Max had sworn up one side and down the other they hadn’t shared the information and he believed them. Their sheer unwillingness to share details over the past few days—more than fifty years after burying the jewels—was a pretty good indicator neither of them had given up their secret.

  So who was it?

  The jeweler who’d evaluated the stones was the most likely source but there was no way he was the only one. And even if he had talked, he’d have no idea the stones lay in the center of a concrete floor.

  So who knew?

  And who had they told?

  “I can see the deep thoughts floating above your head like storm clouds.”

  Cassidy came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist as Bailey bounded up onto the front porch. He let the dog in, then firmly closed and locked the door before turning toward her, pulling her against him. “There’s a lot to think about.”