Hidden Gems

by Carrie Alexander

  The officers had brightened when she’d given them the private investigator’s name as the link between the thug Freddy Bascomb and Howard, Coffman, Ellis and Schnitzer. Even if the other investigation went nowhere, it was almost certain they would find evidence of complicity in the breaking and entering of her apartment. Perhaps even of Bascomb’s murder.

  McArdle had been brought in for immediate questioning. Inevitably, the trail would reach Paul and the partners, particularly if Shandi agreed to give a statement about how Paul had asked her to snoop.

  Marissa winced. The partners would be enraged with her for turning over the evidence. Even Shandi might be a reluctant witness.

  Stop beating yourself up. The forthcoming mess at the law firm was not her fault. Nor Paul’s, entirely.

  Thomas Howard was ultimately to blame, and any of the other partners who were involved. She sincerely hoped they were not. Other concerns aside, she was appalled that Mr. Howard had used a false paternal relationship to fool her into believing he was a man she could trust.

  She’d been so sure of herself, so set in her path, that she’d badly misstepped along the way.

  Thank heaven for Jamie. She smiled, just thinking about how he’d punched Paul in the jaw then swept her off to the police station. The boy next door had grown up and become the man she’d been looking for.

  Something unique and wonderful had happened between them. She couldn’t say how or why, beyond there being a vague sense of destiny involved.

  Harry walked in and cocked his head at Marissa. The tip of his tail twitched. She recognized the signs—he wanted to jump into her lap. Was probably only hesitating because it was so unusual to find her at home during the day, sitting and doing nothing.

  Enough thinking! She stood with a, “Sorry, Harry.” Suddenly she knew what she had to do: clean house.

  She’d already begun, clearing out and fumigating the closet after Harry had used it for a litter box. Now she wanted to continue, to sweep all her old junk out and make way for a fresh, new life. She wasn’t going to transform into an uber-housewife, that was for sure, but she needed to make a positive start on the future.

  The kitchen was in pretty good shape, so she made a pass through the living room, bundling up magazines and mail-order catalogs for recycling, dusting the electronics, fishing out the items that Harry had batted beneath the bookshelves. She washed windows. Vacuumed up cat hair. Then went on to scrub the bathroom.

  She moved to the bedroom, followed by Harry, whipping his tail in agitation. Since the closet was clean, she started under the bed, pulling out various items until she got to the empty suitcase. Her carry-on bag fit inside. She went to push them back under the bed.

  Bad mojo.

  She’d kept her bags packed, figuratively speaking, throughout every relationship of her life, even when it came to how fervently she’d wanted to get away from her father. This time, with Jamie, she’d do it right.

  Feeling slightly silly, she carried the suitcases to the closet, stretching on her toes to place them on the top shelf. They tilted precariously, canted on her fingertips. She rose higher. One more inch.

  Harry yowled from his perch on the radiator. She lost balance and dropped onto her heels, the suitcase coming down on top of her. It glanced off her head and thudded to the floor. The flap popped open.

  “Crap.” Marissa knelt to zip it up. Beneath the bed, a small white object caught her eye. She reached for it. A piece of jewelry. “Where did this come from?”

  Not your average necklace, she saw immediately. It appeared to be antique—a piece of ivory carved in the shape of a star. At first she was almost leery to touch it, poking at the piece with only one finger. She realized that she was holding her breath.

  The pure white star was too lovely to resist. She picked up the fragile treasure, studying it in the palm of her hand. The ivory was set in gold with a hollow at the center.

  So beautiful. She wanted to string it as a necklace and wear it for Jamie.

  Marissa cupped it against her chest. The piece was tucked in her palm, the fit so precise, the feel so right that she wished she could keep it forever.

  But she couldn’t. The star wasn’t hers.

  What was it doing under her bed, hidden by the bag? Could it have fallen out of the suitcase?

  The trip to the Caymans, she thought, remembering how she’d joked about discovering that she’d smuggled in a valuable item. ¡Dios mio! Had she?

  But the burglar had been after the photos. Paul had admitted as much.

  Marissa opened her hand. Warmed by her skin, the star seemed to glow. It had to be rare. Valuable. She must get it evaluated by a professional. And find the rightful owner.

  But for now, she owned it, at least for a little while. Why not try it on?

  She found a ribbon and threaded it through the small hole in the star, then slipped the necklace over her head. After she’d pulled her hair away from her neck, the star came to rest just below the hollow in her throat.

  She went to look in the mirror, taken with the timeless beauty of the piece.

  She’d wear it tonight, she decided. For Jamie, the man I love.

  HE’D EXPECTED that she would have crashed by now, the reality of her situation hitting home like the crack of a baseball bat. But no. She opened the door, smiling and beautiful in a sleeveless white dress that skimmed her body from a scooped neck that showed off the tops of her breasts to a hem that ended inches above her bare feet. Her hair was up in a neat little braided knot.

  “Quitting your job seems to agree with you.”

  “Oh, that,” she said airily, lifting and cocking her head.

  He thought she wanted him to kiss her cheek, so he did. She gave off a fragrant warmth, like a woman fresh from an exotically spiced and scented bath. His constant desire for her flared higher.

  Her lips were puckered. Her eyes were large, expectant, framed in thick black lashes and a stroke of smoky color. He sensed she was waiting for him to comment, like a woman with a new hairstyle.

  His eyes swept her, lingering over her sleek curves, but stopping on the necklace.

  He stared, slow to comprehend because he’d only glanced at the Sisman’s story in the paper.

  Damn. Did she know?

  She stroked her collarbone. “What do you think? Do I do it justice?”

  He nodded.

  “I found it. Under my bed. When I was cleaning.” She laughed, twirling on her bare feet like a young girl. “Unbelievable! All of it.”

  “Do you know what that is?”

  “The necklace?”

  “The White Star,” he said.

  She faltered. “What are you talking about?”

  “Did you hear about the auction house theft from a while back? Skip Sisman’s been covering the story for the Village Observer. One of the stolen items was the White Star amulet.”

  “You can’t think this is the White Star!”

  He shrugged. “Looks like it to me.”

  “Oh, come on.” She twisted her neck, trying to look at it. “How can you tell?”

  “Well, I could be wrong. For sure, I’m no expert.” He remembered the newspaper folded under his arm and shook it out. “Today’s edition. They finally ran Sisman’s update on the theft, with a sidebar on the history of the amulet.” He folded open the paper, stopping twice to stare at the alluring ivory star around her neck. It caught the eye. “That’s got to be it. The freaking White Star!”

  She touched it tentatively. “That’s crazy. I found it in my suitcase.”

  He handed her the paper. “Take a look.”

  She examined a grainy black-and-white photo that accompanied the article, a thirty-year-old shot of an heiress wearing the amulet to a society party. “I’ll concede that there’s an obvious similarity. Both amulets are the same shape, of course, but this photo isn’t clear enough to make out the details. I’m probably wearing a knock-off version.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

&n
bsp; “I’m not sure.” She touched the star’s face. “The quality is too fine and, well, this might sound preposterous, but it feels real.”

  “And you found it in your suitcase?”

  “No, the star was under the bed. I saw it after I moved the bag. I think it had fallen from an outside pocket.”

  “When Shandi searched your belongings for Paul.”

  “Maybe. There’s no way of being certain how or when it happened. I just know that I had no idea I was carrying a valuable amulet.”

  Jamie spoke slowly in disbelief. “Someone else must have put it in your bag.”

  “Could it have been Paul?”

  “I don’t see it.”

  “Me, neither,” she agreed. “For one thing, the burglar he hired would have known exactly where to look.” She returned to the article in the paper. “They’re speculating the amulet is from an ancient African civilization,” she mused. “Three thousand years old! Incredible.”

  “Stolen property. We have to call the police.”

  “They must be sick of me by now. Can’t you just see O’Connor’s face when I tell him this story?” She touched the amulet again, unable to resist even though she knew she should take it off immediately. Just in case. “I thought that I’d get an expert’s opinion first and then…” She sighed.

  “You don’t want to give it up.”

  Nodding. “I’d keep it forever if I could.”

  “You look like a desert princess. Your skin, your eyes, the black hair.”

  She came into his arms, crumpling the newspaper between them. “I feel so…oh, I don’t know. Different.”

  He played with a loose tendril of her hair, curling it against her pinkened cheek. “Different how?”

  “I can’t explain. If I was the mystical woo-woo type of girl, I’d swear it’s the amulet. As if it has a special power.” She gave a skeptical laugh, but he could tell that some part of her believed what she’d said. “Whatever’s happening, I know that I’m more sure than I’ve ever been.”

  “Sure of what?”

  She blushed. “Of you and me. How much I love you.”

  His heart might have stopped. Or maybe it was time that did. The rotation of the earth, the ocean tide. Something—anything—to mark this moment of pure joy.

  “I love you,” he said, gently tilting her face for his kiss. The difference was there, too, a covenant that flowed between them like a river rushing into a waterfall. Sweeping them up, carrying them away.

  They held each other for a long while, sharing soft kisses and sweet words, woven in the promise and power of love. He felt as if he could conquer the world.

  Reluctantly she pulled away. “I should take this off, on the chance that it is genuine,” she said, stroking the ribbon. “The amulet’s probably very fragile.”

  He followed her into the bedroom, smoothing and folding the newspaper before tossing it onto the bed. Her hands lifted to remove the necklace, but he said, “Wait.” Stunned by her beauty. “Let me look at you.”

  Smiling, she lowered her arms. “Take your hair down,” he said.

  She undid the bun, the braid, shaking her hair across her shoulders in a rippled ebony wave. “There’s a look in your eye,” she said. Her lips puckered into a kiss that he swore he felt from across the room. “What do you have in mind?”

  As if she didn’t know. He was brimming with lust. “Wear the amulet.” Each word was distinct and separate and momentous. “Only for tonight.”

  Her expression showed her inner struggle. “I can’t.” Reluctantly she removed the necklace and laid it carefully on the bedside table. “If it’s real, it must be worth a lot of money.” She turned to him. “Do you still want me without it?”

  “As if there’s a question.”

  She smiled, her bare arms curving into an invitation.

  He pulled the lace curtains. The light diffused, throwing spangled lacy patterns across Marissa’s white dress and golden skin.

  Savoring the moment, he approached slowly. She waited, her hands clasped. Different, yes, she was different. Patient and still. But also the same. The woman he knew so well that she’d become a part of him.

  He slid the dress off her shoulders, kissing each inch of skin as it was revealed. Her nape, her back, her shoulders, her breasts. The garment fell away, pooling around her feet. He knelt, slowly peeling away her underpants. His fingers brushed across her hipbone, the flare of her hips, her legs like slender stems. His lips followed the same path. He breathed deeply, tantalized by her scent.

  He glanced at the amulet. There was something fascinating about it, almost otherworldly. He sensed its power, even though ten minutes ago he would have scoffed in disbelief that such a thing might be true.

  Marissa had begun to tremble. He scooped her up, laid her on the bed that had been stripped to its sheets. She sighed and relaxed, stretching out her arms so her hands dangled off the sides of the bed. Her face was serene. A goddess, giving herself over to a higher power, surrendering to fate.

  He forgot about the amulet. Marissa, pure and bare and true, was fascinating enough for him.

  Her lashes fluttered. A small smile appeared. “Don’t just stand there. Make love to me.”

  That was her, all the way. He was almost relieved.

  “As you wish, goddess.” He removed his clothing, letting the potency wash through him as she gazed at him with equal awe. There had been times he’d wondered if he was really the right man—enough man—for her, but now he knew. He felt it.

  They would be together forever.

  He lowered himself, taking her mouth first. She was sweet and fresh. Then her neck, the smooth skin of her shoulders. Her arms. He kissed the inside of her elbow and she sighed and wiggled her hips, nestling his erection against her flat belly. So hot and slick down there that he shuddered.

  “Love you, babe.” He nuzzled at her breast. She shifted, sweeping her hands along his back in a luxurious stroke. Her fingers worked through his hair and she pressed, directing his mouth to her nipple. He teased it with his tongue, then suckled.

  Her legs spread. He felt the honeyed heat of her like a magnet, inexorably drawing him in. The first thrust went deep and she flung back her head, her arms and legs flying in every direction as she was pinioned. Other times, he would have slowed, but his instincts were driving and she was squeezing down on him and he needed to be there, at the throbbing heart of her, where they merged into one.

  They moved together, passion and pleasure becoming a molten flow. His blood pounded. She cried his name, holding nothing back.

  Their climax was transporting. Transcending.

  Then it was over, and they were utterly spent, gasping for breath as they floated back to earth. Even when their breathing quieted, there were no words that sufficed. He satisfied himself with holding her within the shelter of his crossed arms, counting the beats of her heart beneath his palm.

  “You felt it, too,” she whispered.

  “God, yes.”

  “The amulet.”

  “I don’t know.” He closed his eyes. “Yes.”

  She said no more.

  He kissed the back of her shoulder.

  Her butt snuggled into spooning position. Paper crackled. She kicked a foot. “I’ll get it,” he said, reaching down to fling away the newspaper.

  “Wait.” She plucked it from his hand. “I want to see the photo again. In my heart, I know that we have the amulet, but the cynical part of me says there’s no way it should be.”

  “Love is a mystery. But I always knew there’d come a day for us. It’s the lace and flowers.”

  She rattled the paper. “What lace and flowers?”

  “In this bedroom. You’re a closet romantic.”

  “Um.”

  “I’m wrong?”

  “I sublet this apartment, remember? The woman who had it before me was the one who decorated. If I ever get around to changing the decor, I’ll have Spanish tiles and white plaster walls with a bed made of bamb
oo. No lace. No flowers.”

  “Oh.” He was taken aback for a moment or two. Then he threw back his head and laughed heartily. The joke was on him, but he didn’t care. Her heart had revealed itself, regardless of her preference in curtains.

  She rolled onto her stomach to study the paper. “I don’t see what’s so darn—huh.” She gripped the page between her hands. “Wait…I know him!”

  “Who?”

  “This guy. This one.” She’d sat up and was stabbing the paper excitedly. “I recognize him from the airport.”

  “Jean Luc Allard,” Jamie read. Sisman’s article delved into possible suspects in the Stanhope theft. They were identified by picture and name. Allard’s photo was a distant street shot, fuzzily enlarged and cropped on his face. “Are you sure? The photo stinks.”

  “It looks like him. And he’s French.” Marissa bounced the heel of her palm off her head. “Of course. The cigarettes. The smell has been haunting me. He reeked of them at the airport and then—” She blinked. “Oh, my God. Allard is the one who’s been following me. He’s the smoker. And that must have been him at the bottom of the fire escape!”

  “Wait a minute. If this Allard stole the White Star, how did it wind up in your bag?”

  “He must have put it there. A woman bumped into me, and I fell, and he picked up my passport, I remember that. There’s your opportunity.”

  “But why would he do it? If you’d been leaving the country, sure, he might use you to smuggle the amulet out. But you were returning.”

  “Yeah, you have a point.” She frowned, thinking. “Okay, here’s the thing. There were a lot of guards and police around that day. If Allard thought they were going to pick him up, he might have wanted to ditch the amulet any way he could. In my bag. And since he looked at my passport, he got my address. So he could watch me.” She crowed. “That’s it!”

  “Could be.”

  “He tried to get it back. Coming home, remember? The mugger who went for my suitcase.”