Deception

by Tory Hayward

  Jack let out a bored and worried sigh. He’d expected her to bolt back to Sydney with the jewels, secure them in some bank vault and commence meetings with interested buyers.

  Which was when he’d planned to run a bit of interference.

  But nothing had happened. Not a thing. No sign of her or the jewels. She’d vaporised.

  What if she’d sold them already? What if … He stopped the thought. If the jewels changed hands then he’d go after the next person. Wuu Sing Chow would not be calling in his blood debt.

  Jack’s phone vibrated on the nearby table and he jumped on it, hoping there was a message from one of his contacts. He’d tried to go through official channels to make an appointment with Meredith Taylor. But he’d been scathingly dismissed. She had no time available until late March. Given it was January and Wuu Sing Chow was rapidly losing patience, Jack wasn’t waiting.

  He scowled at his phone. It wasn’t good news. Instead, a message from Wuu.

  Time is running out, Mr Jones. I want my jewels. You have a week. We shall meet seven days from now.

  Jack tossed the phone onto the table. The room was too small. He hated being cooped up. He threw on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans and headed out the door.

  Twenty minutes later he sat in his jeep across the road from the Taylor mansion, eating a chicken kebab, with extra garlic, as breakfast, and sipping a can of Fanta.

  His iPad sat on the passenger seat next to him, and as the car heated up in the summer sun, he googled Meredith for the thousandth time.

  Father, Max Taylor: world-renowned antiques dealer. Specialising in Asia Pacific artefacts.

  Mother, Jane Taylor: died when Meredith was thirteen. Car accident. Possible drink driving.

  Meredith Taylor: only child. CEO of the family antiquities business since she graduated from her tiny exclusive school at the age of seventeen. Despite a life of unparalleled privilege, an impressive string of academic qualifications were listed after her name, and Taylor Antiquities had only grown stronger under her guidance. He’d yet to find a picture of her smiling.

  He added armed-and-dangerous to the list of things he knew about Meredith Taylor.

  Then added intriguing and sexy-as-hell.

  An email popped up in his inbox from one of his contacts who’d been trying to speak to Meredith on his behalf, and his heart sped up in anticipation.

  No luck with the Taylor meeting.

  His heart steadied.

  But she’s at a fundraising ball tonight, cancer. There’s still tickets …

  Jack let out a sigh of relief. Within a few minutes he’d bought tickets to the exclusive fundraiser online. He barely blinked at the $5,000 per head price.

  Chapter Seven

  As Brent Davenport, the Taylor family lawyer and Dad’s dearest friend, described the ups and downs of his recent sail in the Sydney to Hobart yacht race, I scanned the crowd for my contact.

  The Davenports saved me after Mum died. They absorbed me into their large, loud family, and made sure I felt welcome in their home. Prickly and defensive, I wasn’t the most pleasant teenager to be around. Dad all but disappeared, travelling endlessly and working obsessively when he was in Sydney. No time for an angry lonely girl, he chose to barely notice me at all. So the Davenport’s unconditional love made a huge difference to me.

  ‘Merry?’

  I glanced at Brent, his kind weather-beaten face creased with exasperated amusement.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Are you going to tell me what’s up? Where’s your dad? He’d normally be here.’ He gestured at the sparkle and shimmer that surrounded us. ‘I haven’t seen him for months. Not a single call. I’m worried, Merry.’

  I breathed out slowly. Choosing my words. I hated to lie to Brent, but he’d do something proper and honourable if he found out the mess Max Taylor had got himself into.

  Like call the police.

  Or get himself involved in the whole dangerous thing.

  It wasn’t safe to tell him the truth, and I’d do anything to protect this man.

  ‘He’s in India.’ I lied. ‘Rumour is there’s a blue diamond. Like the Hope Diamond, only bigger, hidden in some recently discovered temple in the jungle.’

  Brent snorted with amusement. ‘Your father and blue diamonds.’

  I shrugged. ‘He won’t find anything. He never does. The only thing he’ll come home with is some nasty virus or an intestinal parasite.’ I shuddered slightly at the memory of the last time he’d come back with an exotic disease.

  ‘I wonder, sometimes, what would happen if he did find one.’ There was a note of sadness in Brent’s voice. As if he knew the answer.

  I sat back in my chair and scanned the crowd again, looking, trying to see the person who’d be my contact. But the place was just a blur of men in tuxedos and women in beautiful dresses. No one caught my eye.

  ‘It wouldn’t be enough for him.’ I spoke without bitterness, not looking at Brent. ‘He’d stash it somewhere and forget it. Move onto the next thing. Nothing is ever enough for him.’

  Brent settled a calloused hand on my bare shoulder. ‘I’ve known you all your life and you’re useless at lying to me. He’s not really after a diamond, is he?’

  I turned and met his eye. ‘If I need help, I’ll call you first. I promise.’

  He nodded. Hurt in his eyes at being excluded, but knowing it was useless to press me further.

  ‘Excuse me.’ Unable to sit still, I stood and drifted away from the table, into the well-heeled throng of the Sydney establishment.

  I sought, in particular, people I didn’t know. Strangers in the crowd. Someone. Anyone. Who would tell me where to take the Piprahwa jewels, so I could get Dad back. I’d emailed the neutral and clue-free email address they’d given me for communication the moment I’d got back to Sydney. But for two days there’d been nothing. The waiting was wearing me down. Night was the worst, when I was too tired to distract myself with work, and sour, negative thoughts crept out of the corners of my mind to haunt me. I barely slept.

  Then, twenty-four hours ago, the kidnappers texted that my contact would be at the ball.

  I moved through the crowd, smiling, nodding. Eyes sliding past the faces of friends and acquaintances, resting briefly on those I didn’t know but not pausing when there was no connection, no significant message beneath their facade of niceness.

  It wasn’t until blue eyes, so familiar that my stomach turned, met my own and I stopped dead in my tracks.

  He looked incredible in a tux. I took a slow, calming breath, praying nothing showed in my face.

  ‘Lioness.’ He grinned. ‘You do scrub up well.’

  I put every ounce of contempt I felt for him into a glare.

  What the hell was he doing here?

  Wretched man.

  He’d harassed everyone I knew trying to get to the jewels. Every second call or text had been about him.

  He just didn’t take a hint. He wasn’t getting the jewels. It wasn’t happening.

  ‘Oh, I do like that look.’ He spoke softly, leaning into me. I could smell his crisp cologne, and his lips hovered mere centimetres from mine.

  I scowled harder and tried to figure out what he meant. When that didn’t budge the naked admiration in his eyes, and the silence as he waited for me to figure it out got awkward, I glanced down.

  A mistake.

  My nipples had tightened against the sheer fabric of my dress. I vowed never to go out without a bra on. Ever again.

  I backed away, desperate to put space between us.

  ‘Running off again?’ He bent his head, peering at me with mock enquiry. I reluctantly met his eye.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  I glanced sideways, back to the table to see if Brent Davenport watched us. But the throng of people obscured any view he might have.

  ‘I think we got off on the wrong foot before.’ He held out a hand.

  I took it automatically, his skin warm beneath my fingers.
A person behind jostled into me, shoving me forward. I collided with Jack, my body pushed against his. His arm snaked around me, and for a second he held me close. His chest pressed against my breasts, and as the heat of him flowed through my thin dress, my nipples pricked in response.

  His leg edged slightly between mine, and for an insane second I wanted to part my thighs a few inches more and tilt my hips against his. A hot needy part of myself ached for it.

  ‘No,’ I pushed against his chest.

  He released me so abruptly that I nearly stumbled. Surprised at his brutish manner I glanced at his face; I’d been expecting to see superiority, or laughter. But instead he had a shocked look, softened by a shadow of desire that made my breath hitch.

  This had to stop. Something was happening here, something that I sincerely did not want to happen.

  ‘You broke into my beach house. I didn’t think common thieves were particularly interested in raising money for people with cancer.’ I gestured to the well-heeled crowd that surrounded us.

  His expression went cold, and something that looked like guilt flickered in his eyes.

  ‘I needed to get the jewels. It was essential. I would never hurt you.’

  A horrible thought slithered into my mind. What if he was the contact? It made sense. Why else had he followed me to the beach house?

  ‘You’ve been sent to get them? Why didn’t you say so?’ He was the contact. The one who was supposed to swap the jewels for my father. My heart contracted into a lump of sickening dismay. I’d nearly screwed the whole thing up.

  ‘Maybe if you’d told me what you wanted at the beach house, we could’ve got on better. Or were you just trying to take the jewels without paying the price?’

  A frown crossed his face. For a moment he looked older, less like a beach bum in a tux, and more like a man who dealt very successfully in the artefacts he found.

  ‘I’m not a thief …’ The words faded on his lips. I raised an eyebrow so he was in no doubt that I thought quite the opposite.

  People pressed around us, pushing me back towards him.

  ‘We can’t talk here. Follow me.’ I shoved past him and led the way out of the ballroom and into the lobby of the swish hotel. Nervous excitement sat in the pit of my stomach. Dad was going to be okay. Jack Jones strode silently beside me as I headed up the wide carpeted stairs to the cosy bar on the second floor.

  The whole time my mind was racing. What was his involvement? Had he kidnapped my father? Or was he working for someone else? Was he just an intermediary?

  I glanced sideways, and he caught my eye and smiled tentatively. I dismissed the idea that he was a ringleader in the kidnapping. He was a well-known treasure hunter, one of the most high profile in the world according to Google. His business was reputable. The person who had my father wanted the jewels and nothing else. One thing I had in common with Mr Jones was that we were both in the business of buying and selling. We were about the money and not the things.

  But he was somehow involved. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here.

  The bar was nearly deserted. I chose a table tucked under a tall window, far from eavesdroppers.

  ‘What would you like?’ Jack nodded towards the bar.

  I pressed my lips together to stop from snapping, my father.

  ‘I’ll have absinthe.’

  ‘Absinthe?’ A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Yes, it’s an alcoholic drink. There are other types than beer.’

  He placed his hands on the back of the empty chair and leaned towards me, amusement dancing in his eyes. ‘Is that so?’

  I nodded. ‘You should try it some time. Broaden your horizons.’

  ‘And there I was thinking you were a champagne girl.’

  I scowled. ‘Champagne is for celebrations, I have nothing to celebrate.’

  ‘Not even the beginning of our beautiful friendship?’

  ‘I’m in the mood for absinthe, it’s a bitter drink.’

  He leaned even closer. ‘So hostile, Lioness.’

  I nearly rolled my eyes. The man expected me to be pleasant when he’d got involved with the kidnap of my father?

  ‘Shall we have our drink and discuss our business?’ I gave him my frostiest look.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ The amusement disappeared from his eyes and he stalked off to the bar.

  I took the few moments he was gone to compose my thoughts. Negotiating was my forte. It was what I did.

  ‘Really, Merry, we’re no better than horsetraders,’ Dad would always say. ‘Gypsies who roam the world to buy and sell second-hand trinkets. Don’t ever forget it.’

  I hadn’t.

  Jack slid into his seat. ‘Absinthe.’ He placed a glass of smoky green liquid in front of me.

  I cradled the glass in my hand and examined my foe. He looked like someone who was always outside. His longish sandy-coloured hair was bleached white blond in places by the sun, his face tanned and his eyes a deep sapphire blue surrounded by thick lashes. They were saved from being feminine by the hard lines of his face and square jaw.

  Stress glimmered in his eyes though. The lighthearted charm and infectious smile hid something altogether more serious.

  ‘I think all is not well with you, Mr Jones?’ I said.

  ‘You can call me Jack.’

  I shrugged. I wasn’t going to make a fuss about names. Even though calling him Mr Jones felt safer, like it put a barrier between us.

  ‘Okay, Jack.’ I bestowed my best ice-queen smile on him. ‘You can call me Meredith.’

  ‘I prefer Merry. It suits you so much better.’

  He seemed impervious to ice queen. Damn him.

  ‘Sarcasm?’ I asked, faintly amused by his tone of voice.

  He leaned across the table and dropped his voice to an intimate murmur. ‘You should smile more often.’

  ‘Flirting? Don’t bother. We’re here to discuss the jewels. After this is over I hope I never see you again.’

  He sipped his drink

  Jack narrowed his eyes. ‘It’s hard not to flirt. The best tools for negotiation are charm and mule-like stubbornness.’

  ‘Are you saying I should act like a donkey?’ I kept a straight face. ‘Do you like that kind of thing?’

  He didn’t take his eyes off mine. ‘Referring to myself, actually. I can be quite an ass.’

  I quickly sipped the absinthe, to suppress a snort of laughter.

  ‘I should apologise.’ He dropped his gaze to the table.

  ‘For breaking into my beach house or for kidnapping …’

  The barman hurried to our table and I hesitated.

  ‘Kidnapping? What?’ Jack looked guilt-stricken. The colour drained from his face. ‘I’d never kidnap you. What do you take me for? Why would you think I’d plan to kidnap you? That’s ridiculous.’

  I ignored him.

  ‘Miss Taylor, there is a gentleman down at reception who urgently requires you.’

  I glanced from the barman to Jack and back. Irritation bloomed. I needed to save Dad. I didn’t have time for some idiot who’d found his grandmother’s paste jewellery in the attic and was convinced it was worth thousands. It happened everywhere I went.

  The Antiques Roadshow had a lot to answer for.

  ‘Please tell him I’m busy and to contact the Taylor Antiquities office in the morning.’

  The barman frowned slightly. ‘He said it was very urgent, that you were expecting him.’

  I nearly rolled my eyes. Some people were so persistent. ‘Tell him to leave his number at reception, and I’ll contact him as soon as I can.’

  ‘As you wish, madam.’

  I watched the barman walk away.

  ‘I’m after the Piprahwa Jewels.’ Jack pulled my attention back to him.

  ‘Well, of course. Didn’t you try to steal them at the beach house? If you’d told what you were there for, we could have negotiated then.’

  ‘I wish I’d approached the whole situation differently.’ Emba
rrassment lurked in Jack’s blue eyes.

  ‘I would like to exchange the jewels tonight.’ The relief to have Dad home before dawn would be indescribable.

  ‘Tonight?’ He seemed surprised.

  ‘I trust that’s not a problem?’ With a sinking heart I realised Dad might be far away, not in Sydney or even in the country.

  ‘It depends how much you want. I don’t carry sums of cash wherever I go.’

  For a long minute, a sick, dizzy feeling stole my power of speech, and I stared at him.

  ‘Cash? You want cash?’ My voice was tight and high-pitched, I didn’t sound like me.

  ‘That’s generally how things work. I give you cash, you give me the jewels.’ His smile was gone, his expression unreadable, as if he’d sensed things where starting to go wrong.

  ‘Oh my God.’ I stood, knocking the table sharply and sending my drink spilling across the smooth wood towards him. I turned and hurried out of the bar. One of my shoes came off as I sprinted down the stairs to the reception desk.

  ‘Where is he?’ I demanded from the bemused hotel clerk. ‘Quickly.’

  ‘The man who was here asking for you has left, madam.’ He spoke with a hint of impatience in his voice. ‘He seemed very angry.’

  ‘Did he leave a message?’

  ‘No.’

  I closed my eyes and drew in a slow breath. Of all the stupid mistakes to make.

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘Tall, thin, white hair, gold-topped walking stick, English accent, pale grey suit. He left via the main entrance.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I hurried to the grand entrance, kicking off my other shoe as I went. Out on the street, still busy despite it being nearly midnight, but there was no sign of a man with white hair and a walking stick.

  I pulled out my phone and typed a message to the kidnappers’ email address. Begging forgiveness, explaining that I’d made a mistake. Adrenaline made my hands shake and I kept misspelling words on the tiny keypad.