Bassist Instinct (The Rocker Series #2)

by Vanessa Lennox

  “Oh,” she still looked unsure.

  “I’ll never hurt you Fi, I swear it.” He knew she was thinking of getting spanked. “I swear it,” he said again, looking her in the eye and she nodded.

  “I believe you. I just don’t want to hurt you, it seems wrong.”

  “It would be wrong if you did it on purpose and I didn’t want you to. Don’t overthink it, you’ll make me blush.” She cocked an eyebrow at that.

  “Have you ever blushed?”

  “Not since I was thirteen and I had a cock-stand in maths class. Kids are bloody brutal.” She laughed.

  “You are very funny, Tate. I really enjoy your company. I haven’t laughed quite so much…well, since Liam used to stuff plush animals into his pajamas and dance like Michael Jackson,” she smiled remembering. “Which was some time ago. As I said earlier, I’m having the time of my life. Two minutes ago I was worried that I was an abuser and then you have me laughing at your thirteen year old self.” She hugged him tightly and the timer went off. “Thank you.” She let him go and checked the cookies.

  “Thank you for that image of Liam,” he said with a smile. “Fi, shall I take your cello to a luthier to see if they can fix it?” He asked.

  “No Tate, I think I’ll just let that go.” She smiled at him but he frowned. “The cookies are done. Let’s eat them in the living room.”

  “Shall we finish making the salad?”

  “Nah, life is uncertain, let’s eat the cookies first.”

  She handed him the plate of cookies and got a trash bag out from under the sink for the cello pieces. He put the plate on the redwood table and sat on the floor next to the cello. The buzz from the tequila was still there, but she was starting to wonder if it was actually still from the drink, or if it was from Tate. He was definitely doing something to her equilibrium.

  “It was Dean’s, and I couldn’t give it away, but keeping it was bothering me at the same time,” she sat down next to him. “Weird, I know.” She started putting the bigger pieces in the trash bag.

  “It’s not weird, it’s probably very normal, which might actually be a little weird, now that I think about it. What’s this?” He turned a piece in her hand to show her something small and black duct taped to the broken pieces of wood. It was a small black velvet bag, covered in duct tape. They looked at it and looked at each other, then looked back at the bag. Fiona took the tape off the bag and the thin strip of wood and looked at the small bag in her hand. Then she looked at Tate questioningly. Tate looked shocked. She started to open the bag with shaky fingers.

  “Wait, do it over the table.” She jumped a little, looked around and opened the bag over the table so as not to lose any small stones to the vacuum later. There was no need, there was only the one stone and it was gigantic. They both stared at the rock, the size of a lime, sitting on her coffee table next to the plate of cookies. “Bugger!”

  Fiona looked around nervously and put the diamond back in the bag and stood. Tate stood as well, and they ran upstairs to her room. She flopped on the bed with her eyes wide.

  “What was Dean thinking?” Tate carefully laid himself across the bed next to her and propped up on his elbow to look at her.

  “Fi, I know this has got to be tough for you, but what are you going to do? You could ring Liam, and he’d take this off your hands, but would that stop the bad guys from trying to get you? Do we somehow tell the bad guys that we found it, and get it to them so that they stop hunting you?” He ran his hand through his spikey hair. “Do we want the bad guys to get away with all they’ve done? God, you’re lovely.” She smiled at him. “Really, your face is flushed and your eyes are dancing. It’s just like when I’m making love with you.”

  “Tate, I can’t concentrate when you say things like that,” she said with an amused look. “Now what? I have to believe that my brother will do everything in his power to keep me safe. He always has.” She reached up and cupped his cheek. “I trust him, Tate.”

  “Then ring him. Don’t tell him why over the mobile, but tell him he needs to come here, quick like.” Fiona nodded and pulled her phone out.

  “McBride,” he said. He sounded tired and Fiona wondered how late it was.

  “Hi Liam, can you come over?”

  “Fi, are you okay? You sound strange. Is Tate being a bastard?” His voice perked up a little, she thought.

  “No, Tate’s been keeping me entertained,” she bit her lip and looked at Tate who gave her a cocky smile. “But I need you. How long will you be?”

  “Fi, I’m up to my elbows…”

  “Liam, I made carrot cake, there are lots of carats, your favorite. With lots of walnuts. Say you’ll come.” He only hesitated for a second.

  “Walnuts! I’ll be there as soon as I can, give me fifteen minutes. Just me? Or should I bring a friend?”

  “That’s up to you, but they should be a really good friend, Liam, only someone you don’t mind sharing with.”

  “I’ll be right there, Fi, save me a slice.” He ended the call.

  “I’m sorry, but that sounded like a drug deal. What’s with the cake?”

  “I didn’t want to say anything revealing, but he’s allergic to walnuts. I thought he might hear carat, like in diamonds, and see that something was up.”

  “You are beautiful and clever, aren’t you?” He pulled her into his arms.

  Chapter Eleven

  “We’ve got a diamond expert coming from Boston in about ten minutes, he’ll tell us everything we need to know,” Liam said to Fiona and Tate as they sat around staring at the rock.

  “Won’t that be a little obvious if a diamond expert suddenly pitches up?” Tate asked.

  “It would be, but his mother is the pro, he merely has the expertise. He runs his own company now, he invents stuff. Alasdair sent for him last night, apparently he knows Alasdair and he can keep his mouth shut.”

  Just as Liam finished his sentence a motorcycle pulled up into Fiona’s driveway and a man dressed in leathers swung his leg off, grabbed a messenger bag and trotted up the stairs. The door opened before he could knock and he stepped in and removed his helmet and looked around.

  “I’m Clay de Kooning,” he said to Liam as he handed his ID over.

  Fiona had heard of de Kooning diamonds, Alasdair must really have connections, she thought as she watched the man do a double take when he saw Fiona, surprising her.

  “And you are Fiona Brooks.” His hand shot out to shake hers and he stepped into her personal space. Tate’s hackles went right up. “I’m a big fan.”

  Fiona was always a little surprised when people recognized her, but this was even more surprising because hardly anyone under fifty recognized her, and this man was probably twenty five years old. The other shock was that he was absolutely gorgeous in the underwear model kind of way. He had sandy blond hair, and mesmerizing blue eyes, like the hottest part of a fire. He was tall and fit, and wore a wicked grin on his handsome face.

  “Thank you very much,” she managed. “This is Liam McBride, and Tate Dylan,” she gestured to each of them. His eyes jumped from hers to Tate’s and he smiled.

  “Tate, you bastard, how are you?”

  “Grand, how’s your mum?” They shook hands and slapped each other on the back.

  “Quite well, thank you. How’s Christie?”

  “Still happily married, no thanks to you, you poaching bastard,” they laughed.

  “It was just an invitation, which she refused. No hard feelings,” Clay smiled.

  “I take it you two know each other?” Liam said and escorted them to the living room.

  “Not that either of us would admit,” Clay said and they both laughed. “Okay, what have you got?” Clay opened his messenger bag and pulled out a small delicate scale which he powered up, calipers and a loupe. He looked up expectantly at Liam, who handed him the black velvet bag.

  Clay carefully dumped the contents of the bag on a slip of paper he laid down, whispered “Fuck,” and picked up the s
tone with two fingers. He looked at Liam and Fiona and then Tate. Then he chuckled and picked up his loupe and peered at it through the lens. He continued to look at the stone as he started to speak.

  “Late last night as I was coming home, my mother’s boyfriend, the man must be eighty, called me insisting that I fly to Washington before the break of day, I was decidedly pissed. But now…now I am delighted. Have dinner with me, Fiona,” he winked at her. “Make it worth my while.”

  “Feck off, you home wrecker,” Tate said and Clay laughed.

  “I don’t see a ring, Tate.”

  “Maybe you’re holding it,” Tate said and Clay laughed again.

  “How much do you know about diamonds?” Clay asked. Fiona had the distinct impression that Clay’s brain was working faster than the rest of theirs were and he was following several threads at once. Were people like him easily bored, she wondered? Or could they just invent things while they were grocery shopping?

  “Assume we’re ignorant,” Liam said.

  “I can do that,” he winked at Fiona again.

  “Hang on,” Liam said and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Do you mind if I record this tutorial?”

  “Absolutely not,” he said. Clay hadn’t taken his eyes off the stone except to glance at Fiona, she thought the trip was worthwhile to him even if she wouldn’t go out with him. “There are four things I look at when I rate a diamond, color, clarity, cut, and carat. The color is rated from whitest to yellowest, the rarest of colors on the outside, meaning either very white, or very yellow. These colors are rated with the letters D-Z on the alphabet.” He continued to stare at the stone as he spoke. “I always find that the color is the hardest thing for me to judge, my girlfriends insist this is because of my Y chromosome.” Fiona laughed and he smiled at her. “Cobalt, azure, cerulean, they all look blue to me.”

  “In my unprofessional opinion, I would call this diamond an H. This means it is an exceptionally rare white stone. Which is sort of a redundant statement, its size alone makes it exceptionally rare, but added to that; the color is uncommonly good. It’s impressive even, but my mother could be more exact, she’s the expert, after all. Let’s see, what’s next? Clarity. This is the purity of the stone. There are some minor surface blemishes which can be polished up, and I see one very, very small inclusion. In fact, it’s so small I didn’t see it on the first sweep I made. It’s not flawless, but it’s pretty fucking close. Flawlessness would be a red flag for a synthetic stone, too.

  “Moving on to cut. Cut is more than just the shape. Well, it’s not really, but… the shape of the stone allows the amount of light to reflect through it. Even the layman can clearly see the brilliance this stone puts off, almost as brilliant as Fiona’s stunning blue eyes. Meaning it is well-proportioned. Almost as well-proportioned as…”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake, mate,” Tate roared and Fiona jumped. Clay chuckled. “Just get on with it.”

  “Where was I? The cut. When the light refracts, it’s a white light, not prismatic, another clear indication to me of its being genuine. Synthetic stones refract light like a prism, diamonds do not.

  “Aside from that Fiona, and gentlemen, in my unprofessional opinion, you have yourselves a big fucking rock.” He did a few more measurements and placed it on the scale. “Twenty seven point three carats. Do you like Ethiopian? I know a great Ethiopian place in Adams Morgan,” Clay said to Fiona, who rolled her eyes. “I find eating with one’s hands surprisingly sensual.”

  “No thanks, Clay.”

  “I can’t begin to put a price on it. Ultimately, it’s worth whatever someone will pay for it. Again, my mother would be a better judge of what things are worth, that’s not something I’ve kept up with. How about Thai food, hot and spicy? You’ll love it,” he grinned at her and she laughed.

  “Can you leave it, mate? I’m breaking out in hives you’re laying it on so thick.”

  “Notice how his accent gets more pronounced the more excited he gets?” Clay said with a laugh. Fiona put her hand in Tate’s and leaned against him.

  “I’ve noticed,” she said and Tate pulled her to him the rest of the way and put an arm around her waist.

  “You sounded great on Fallon, by the way. Are the lads in town?” Clay asked Tate.

  “You saw that, did you? The lads’ve scattered, it’s just me.”

  “Call me next time you’re in Boston,” he was packing up his stuff.

  “Is there any way we could put a tracking device on the stone?” Liam wasn’t done.

  “No.” Clay was adamant. “The first thing anybody’s going to do is what I just did, and that kind of scrutiny would find even the smallest tracking device. The loupe don’t lie.” He held up his little magnifying glass with a grin.

  “What about on the bag?” Fiona asked.

  “That’s a better bet, but even so, they could simply toss the bag, that one has tape or something sticky on it. Diamond people are a little anal about their stuff, they wouldn’t keep a sticky bag for long.”

  “How about a replica?” Liam tried again.

  “Nope, even I can tell paste with the naked eye,” Clay said and breathed on the diamond. “A real stone dissipates the warmth, most synthetic stones keep it. Meaning the moisture from my breath won’t stick around on a genuine stone. It’s a simple test that needs no tools.” He shrugged.

  “What do you mean ‘even you’? You’re the fecking expert, mate,” Tate rolled his eyes and Clay laughed.

  “I’m no expert, Tate, I haven’t been serious about diamonds since high school. I was commandeered by Sir Gerard Buckingham and his crony Alasdair Fleming because I can keep my mouth shut. So tell me, where did you find this stone? It’s got to be a conflict diamond if the State Department sent me.” He looked at Tate and then Fiona and finally Liam. They were all silent. Clay sighed heavily. “Really?”

  “It’s too dangerous, Clay.” Fiona said softly.

  He stood. “You’re so much prettier in person, Fiona Brooks.” He took her hand and kissed the back of it, looking at it a little more closely than Tate thought he should have. “These hands.” He sighed. “Are they insured?” Fiona looked nervously at Tate and then looked back at Clay and nodded.

  “Of course they are,” Liam said irritably. Clay looked at Liam a little more closely, too.

  “I’m in town until 6:00 if you have a use for me, let me know before then.” Liam shook his hand next.

  “Thank you, you were a big help,” he said.

  “Hey, you’re her brother.” Liam was astonished.

  “Yes, how’d you guess?”

  “Same brow,” he shrugged.

  “Brow? Who the hell notices brows?” Liam said.

  “She’s much prettier.” Clay said and took Tate’s hand. “I mean it, man, next time you play Boston, I want really great seats.”

  “And you’ll get them, we tour next summer, Boston’s usually an early date, but I’ll have to Google the concert calendar, for I’ve no idea.” He nodded at him. “Thanks, Clay.”

  “No problem. Keep her safe, she’s a national treasure,” he said and looked at Fiona. “The next time you play Boston I want really great seats, too.”

  “After Christmas,” she said.

  “I know, I’ve had the tickets for about eighteen months,” he said and made for the door, putting his helmet on and opening the door and walking out.

  Tate breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Clay de Kooning was putting the moves on my woman, I could clobber him. What did I just say? By Christ I’m scaring myself.

  “Are you more famous than I am?” He asked Fiona.

  “She’s a fucking child prodigy,” Liam exclaimed.

  “Leave it,” Fiona said and went to make her coffee. Tate’s phone rang before he could catch up with her.

  “Connor,” he said into the phone.

  “You’re still breathing, I take it?”

  “I am. How’s the wife?”

  “Freaking out about you and Tess,” Conno
r grumbled.

  “How’s Tess?”

  “Hating that she has a security detail,” Connor grumbled some more.

  “So everyone’s cheesed off at me.”

  “Pretty much. I’ve never seen Genna so worked up before. She’d completely stressed out. I fear for the baby.”

  “It’ll all be over soon, I think. Tell her that.”

  “I will. Tate, be dog wide, aye?”

  “I will.”

  ***

  “Use anything at your disposal to throw off your opponent, Tess,” Sam said to her after he threw her to the floor for the third time. The first few times sparring he had been easy on her, not so much tonight. She’d be covered in bruises tomorrow. Sam was strong and he was quick, but Tess was just the slightest bit quicker and a lot more flexible, she just had to figure out a way to use that against him. The first time she got around him in the hospital was because he’d underestimated her, that wasn’t going to happen again. She would rarely be stronger than her opponent, but she might just be smarter; Sam stressed that all the time, he was a pretty good teacher. “Be aware of your surroundings and the tools you can use. Sometimes it only takes a split second of inattention.” He snapped his fingers and she nodded.

  Standing, she assumed the fighting stance, equal distribution of weight on her feet for balance, with her hands up in front of her. Sam feigned to her right and grabbed her left arm. Tess turned toward him and thrust her right leg between his legs, bringing them both down in a heap, his upper body across her lower body. She sat up and struggled to get out from under him but he reached up and pulled the back of her shirt, which choked her and brought her back down. That was going to show up tomorrow, too, she thought ruefully.

  “Blueberry,” she gasped and he released her immediately. It was their safe word. Sam chuckled.

  “You wishing you chose a different safe word, yet?” Sam asked and Tess huffed out a laugh.

  “Do we have to call it a safe word?” She thought the word blueberry would keep her mind off the fact that safe words usually involved whips and chains, but other things kept popping into her mind that were equally unwholesome and arousing, nonetheless.