by Susan Laine
“When you started to doubt Camille’s motives and intentions, why didn’t you divorce her?”
“She didn’t blackmail me to maintain the marriage, if that’s what you’re implying. While she has a mean streak, she’s not irredeemable. I figured once I knew some of her secrets, the way she knew mine, she wouldn’t be an open threat, financially or otherwise. That’s one of the reasons why she’s the de facto owner of the club, not me. She even named it after her grandmother.”
As much as Cain longed to ask more about the origins of the club, he had other business to attend to first. “What kind of information did you learn about her?”
Sheridan cringed then and closed her eyes briefly. “When I did a background check on her, I admit I learned a lot more than I was initially comfortable with. But she assured me that she had no ties to that world and all those connected to the past were dead.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Her great-grandparents hailed from Germany. They were Nazi sympathizers.”
Cain blew out a half-whistling breath. This was unreal. “Holy shit.”
Sheridan harrumphed, reached for a dark red drink sitting on a table beside the couch, tossed it back, and grimaced, possibly at the bite of the liquor. “That was my reaction too. But how could I blame Camille for something her ancestors did? She hadn’t even been born back then.”
“Yeah.” Cain had little more to give. A nauseating feeling in the pit of his stomach knotted his muscles. Discomfort made him edgy and tense. Perhaps the reason was the current climate that once again allowed public displays of hatred, prejudice, and violence against anyone who was “different” at the hands of white supremacists and alt-right Christians. Hitler’s legacy lived on, unfortunately.
“Camille’s great-grandfather, Stefan, was a jeweler,” Sheridan continued. “As far as I know, he robbed his Jewish clients and then betrayed them to the authorities. Many of them were sent to the camps. That was how he made most of his money.”
Riley snarled. “That’s disgusting and reprehensible and—”
“Yes, all that and more.” Sheridan sounded and looked weary. Clearly the truth had taken a heavy toll on her emotional and physical well-being. “That’s as much as I uncovered about her past and background. I didn’t learn anything useful about her connection with the other Rodin statuette, but I was able to discern that she couldn’t have bought it at any legal or aboveboard auction. It has never been for sale in any such venue.”
“Black market, maybe?” Cain suggested. His phone pinged with a text message. He read it out of the corner of his eye. The text was from Tess—and it held a bunch of useful goodies. For the first time since all this nonsense began, things began to make sense.
“Maybe.” Sheridan suppressed a yawn, tears in her eyes.
Cain wanted to give her a break. But there was so much yet to deal with. To keep the flow of dialogue going, he asked the first thing that came to mind. “How does Woolrich factor into this mess?”
Sheridan paused, her face contemplative. “He’s a friend. Was a friend. I’m sorry that he ended up caught in this mess and died as a result. It’s not right. He knew about my suspicions regarding Camille, but he stayed above such petty matters. Emotional he wasn’t, and he didn’t care to dwell on relationships or sex drama.”
“Did Woolrich know where you’re staying?” Cain asked then, suddenly very worried.
“Oh my God…,” Riley exclaimed sitting next to a shocked-into-silence Sheridan.
Cain was on his feet with a gun in hand before the echo of his words had faded. “Gather your things. We’re leaving right now.”
He headed directly for the entrance. Before he got there, the door was kicked in.
A big, brawny, fair-haired man in a cheap, ill-fitting business suit and tie busted in—and like Cain, he had a weapon in his hand.
“Dirk!” Sheridan cried out, jumping up from the couch.
“Hands up.” The barrel of the man’s gun aimed squarely at Cain’s chest. “Drop the gun, man. Don’t try to be a hero. Heroes get everyone killed.”
Cain knew that if he lowered his gun, the game would be over and someone would die.
Perhaps in anticipation of Cain’s reluctance, the intruder shifted the barrel quickly until it pointed at Riley and Sheridan, who both stood behind Cain but were unable to hide from a direct shot.
The choice was thus ripped from Cain’s grasp.
Chapter Fifteen
“GET inside, you fool, and shut the door.”
Camille stepped into the hotel room from the hallway, past Renner, who looked sheepish at the reproach. She wore an old-fashioned, skintight, blazing-red cocktail dress, silk stockings, and red Louboutin high heels; the red color at the sole gave away the brand. Even Cain knew that much. Camille’s hair lay loosely about her slim shoulders. Her cool gaze scanned the occupants as her partner closed the door, in effect sealing their victims’ fates.
The first thing she did was approach Cain, smile sweetly, yank the gun out of his hand, and throw it on the floor, where it slid along the carpet into a corner. Cursing under his breath, Cain could have kicked himself for losing his piece so damn easily.
Sheridan whimpered. “It’s me you want, Camille. Let the others go and I will come with you peacefully and without resistance.” Sheridan tried to move in front of Cain, but he stopped her.
Camille rolled her eyes. “It’s a little late for acts of self-sacrifice, my love.”
She stayed out of range of Cain’s grasp as she approached Sheridan, with Renner standing behind her, appearing both menacing and indifferent. Cain figured he would kill them without a shred of remorse. In that, Camille had chosen a perfect partner in crime. Assuming she could control him.
Camille sighed as if this were all just a huge misunderstanding. “Sherry, where’s the Rodin? Give it to me now and I will consider not hurting any of you.”
Cain was quick to jump in. “Why are those fucking statuettes so goddamn important?”
Passion flaring in her eyes, Camille quirked an eyebrow. She seemed to ponder her options. Finally she shrugged. “It’s a long story. But it seems we have all the time in the world….” She hummed the tune of the Louis Armstrong song of the same name. With a courteous smile, she gestured for everyone to take a seat.
Renner shifted his weight from one foot to another, seemingly anxious. “We should—”
“Hush. Grown-ups are talking.” Camille sat in one armchair while Cain occupied the other, and Riley and Sheridan took up positions on the couch, side by side, holding hands as before. Camille bowed her head incrementally. “I shall tell you the woeful tale of my family and our legacy. Perhaps then you will understand.”
Cain leaned forward, his intrigue only slightly exaggerated. “Like your man over there, I’m a gun for hire. Understanding is not a requirement of doing my job. But… it’d be enlightening.”
Camille chuckled. “I always knew you and I saw eye to eye, Mr. Noble. Very well.” With a curt nod at her companion to fetch her a drink, she began her story. “I imagine Sherry has shared at least a couple of details about my family history?”
“Vaguely,” Cain retorted.
“You’re sweet, trying to lie to my face.” Camille winked at him, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “My great-grandfather, Stefan Lehmann, was a famous jeweler in Berlin.”
“Before the war?” Cain asked.
“Yes. And during.” A dark glint in her eyes warned Cain to tread lightly on this dangerous ground. Clearly this was a touchy subject for her. If Sheridan had been right, Cain could relate. He didn’t approve of downplaying past evils, but he could understand wanting to. “In his shop, Stefan dealt with the highest rungs of society… and some less than reputable ones.”
Cain had a feeling Camille meant Jews more than the poor or downtrodden. But he didn’t voice his doubts. He wondered if she was doing this out of pure greed, for some misguided family obligation, or even outright racism. Too soon to
tell.
“From one of his clients, Stefan, um, obtained a fabled gemstone.” Camille’s eyes glowed as she mentioned this. Greed, then? “It’s notorious, you see. It’s called the Despair Diamond. It’s the sister piece to the famous Hope Diamond.”
Though Cain tried not to show his surprise at the shocking news, he failed. If true, this was momentous news. There’d been persistent, but always debunked, rumors of a twin diamond.
Camille admired the stunned silence in the room. The effect was deafening; even Cain had to admit that. “As you may or may not know, the Hope Diamond originated from India and was brought to Europe in the seventeenth century by a French gem merchant who called it the Tavernier Blue because of its rare blue hue.”
“I don’t know much about it,” Cain admitted, hoping to garner some sympathy from their fervent, fair foe. “It’s currently displayed at the National Museum of Natural History in Washington, DC, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s been in their permanent exhibition for decades since Harry Winston donated it to them.” Camille seemed pleased with Cain and ate up his attention to her story. “The Hope Diamond has been a topic of much debate and controversy. It’s even been a part of the French crown jewels. There’s endless superstitions attached to the piece, such as deadly curses for any owner.”
“Sounds like hype built around the fame of an object,” Cain commented dryly. Cynicism made a reappearance. He wasn’t an expert on renowned gems, but this seemed too far-fetched for him to accept at face value.
Camille chuckled. “Maybe. Some things create a magical aura around them, a myth that is then perpetuated by people. In any case, the Hope Diamond came to France—while its companion piece, the Despair Diamond, ended up in the hands of the Germans.” A small snarl twisted her cute lips. “And by that I mean the Jews living in Germany at the time.”
“So it was handed down through the generations?” Cain suspected that Camille’s ancestor hadn’t even bothered to keep the name of that particular family for the records. That part of Jewish history, like so much else, had vanished into the rivers of time, drowned there by unscrupulous people.
Camille shrugged, her indifference obvious. “I suppose. Long story short, the gem became my great-grandfather’s possession before the war.”
That was easily interpreted, Cain thought bitterly. Stefan Lehmann had robbed an innocent man of his family heirloom and thrown him to the wolves to die horribly in a concentration camp. “Then what happened?” he asked through gritted teeth, angrier than he’d been in a long time, though he tried not to be so obvious about it.
Camille took a sip of her drink. Her expression turned at once sour and cold. “That part of history is known to all. The Nazis lost World War II. And during the last days of the conflict, Stefan died. With him was lost almost all knowledge of the Despair Diamond.”
Cain snapped his fingers. “That’s where the Rodin statuettes come in, I take it?”
“Yes.” Camille lifted her little chin, clearly proud of what was to follow. “Stefan saw the end coming and made preparations. The Allied Forces killed him. But he outsmarted them. He sent the stone away and then hid a key and a clue to the gemstone’s whereabouts, one in each statuette. You see, he’d discovered that the Rodin pieces had puzzle boxes at the base. He found some ancient coins hidden inside and made good use of the concealed compartments by repurposing them.”
Cain pondered the news. “A key and a map? To the location of this Despair Diamond?”
“Exactly.” Camille sounded sure of herself. Whatever the truth was, this was hers. She was a true believer. She didn’t have a shred of doubt about the veracity of the tale.
Cain, however, saw several flaws in her logic. “And you believe these clues suggest the gem is here, in the New World, so to speak? In the US? Why would Stefan send it to be hidden here of all places?”
Camille exhaled long, her patience seemingly cresting, and rolled her eyes. “I have my reasons. Stefan had friends in America. Not all Americans were opposed to the Nazis, you know. Still aren’t.” She stood and focused her attention on Sheridan. “It’s time, Sherry. Give me the statuette and the key. I know you have them.”
“You’ve certainly waited a long time to get your hands on them,” Riley remarked dryly on the sidelines. At any other occasion Cain would have felt immense pride for his snarky accuracy, but the timing was off. Never antagonize guys holding guns.
Renner growled and raised his gun again. “Shut the fuck up, faggot.”
“Hush.” Camille rested her hand over Renner’s arm and lowered it. “That is not nice. He’s an abomination. He was born that way. Flawed and perverted. It’s not his fault. Same as Sherry, my dear Sherry.” She regarded Sheridan with a mix of emotions, both regret and revulsion. “My family legacy is to identify deviants who pollute the perfect gene pool. You’re abhorrent.”
Sheridan fisted her hands at her sides. “If I am, then so are you. Or have you forgotten all that we have done together and been to each other?”
Camille snorted. “I am an agent of the master race. What I did with you was a ploy to gain your confidence. It meant nothing. My goals were lofty and proud. I did not tarnish myself but lifted myself from your mire for the greater good.”
She was out of her mind, Cain concluded in concern. Whatever was said to her, her twisted logic turned it around on its head. Nothing would sway her from her version of the truth.
“So you’re nothing but a pathetic white supremacist?” Riley clarified, disgust in his voice. God, but Cain wanted to throw him down on the floor and do dirty things to him. His bravery was not without foolishness, but the existence of his courage couldn’t be denied. “We’re all one human race. Our differences are skin-deep.”
Camille laughed. “Just the sort of thing inferiors say to defend themselves. News flash. Haven’t you heard? The president and his whole cabinet are on our side. Your side… will be exterminated.” Her gaze landed on Sheridan, and she snatched the gun from Renner’s hand in the blink of an eye. “Just like this.”
And Camille shot Sheridan in the chest.
Chapter Sixteen
CAIN acted before the ringing echo of the shot had faded. He charged at Renner full speed, knocked him on his ass, and jumped him, delivering punches left and right.
Somewhere above him came showery clinks of breaking glass. Camille screamed in what seemed like pain and anger. The door opened, running footsteps sounded, and the door slammed shut again. It was hard to tell what had happened, but Cain assumed Riley had done something to induce Camille to flee the scene. Whatever it was, Cain had no time to worry about it at that moment.
Renner wasn’t going down without a fight. He blocked Cain’s punches with his forearms and elbows. Finally he managed to roll them around so that he could get up in a hurry while Cain was still lying on the floor.
Pain swimming in his head, Cain had trouble seeing. Renner’s fist had connected with his cheek earlier. But he could still move.
He swung his legs and kicked Renner’s feet from under him. Groaning and cursing, Renner went down again. Cain pounced on him. But Renner brought up his knee and pushed Cain off.
Then they both were standing again and circling each other like wounded animals trying to one-up each other. Renner didn’t wait. He strode closer and drove a right cross toward Cain’s face. Cain dodged the blow and jabbed his fist hard into Renner’s abdomen. The man grunted in pain and doubled over, backing off with staggering steps.
Cain tried to jump him. But despite his agonized state, Renner met him with a swift blow to his jaw, forcing Cain to stumble back, his knees jelly, his head tolling with his heartbeats. He had trouble seeing again and expected to be knocked out at any second, so he swung his arms about in a desperate attempt to hit something.
Another sound of something breaking and shattering followed. Renner grunted again, then fell to his knees, faceplanting on the floor like a tree cut down. He was out for the count.
Cain blinked
hard to make sense of what divine intervention had saved him. Through a red throbbing haze, he saw Riley standing over Renner’s unconscious body with half of a smashed vase in his hand. He shrugged and smiled bashfully at Cain, who would’ve kissed the man silly if he’d had the strength.
On wobbly legs he crossed the room to where Sheridan lay on the floor in front of the sofa with blood pooling at her chest. Even in his confused state, though, Cain could tell Sheridan’s chest rose and fell, so she was alive. Plus, the wound appeared well above her heart.
“Call an ambulance,” Cain called out to Riley who had an iPhone stuck to his ear and who was motioning that he was already busy doing exactly that.
Sheridan moaned and squirmed. Cain stilled her movements with a hand over her shoulder. “Shh, be at ease. The ambulance will be here soon. You’re going to be fine. Camille missed.”
“Not by much…,” Sheridan muttered, her face twisted in anguish.
Cain chuckled and drawled, “By enough, trust me.” He took out a wad of clean tissues from a box on the table and pressed it against her wound. He had no way of seeing the exit wound, if there was one.
Sheridan blinked up at him, afraid. “Did she… did she get it…? The statuette…?”
Cain glanced at Riley who spoke with emergency services on the phone. But he gave Cain a knowing, somber look, and Cain had his answer. Riley must have known all along that the statuette was in the room and had decided to give it to Camille to get at least one enemy to leave. Or perhaps Camille had spotted the artwork herself, snatched it in the ensuing chaos, and chosen to make a tactical retreat.
Sheridan must have seen the truth in Riley’s face too, because she sobbed quietly. Despite his empathy for her plight, Cain had to wonder why she’d kept the key inside the puzzle box, knowing it was the statuette Camille was after. That didn’t seem like a smart move, and Sheridan seemed like a levelheaded woman. Sentiment, perhaps?
