Diamonds & Deception Page 3

  “Maybe. Let me get a loupe.” Tazim scrabbled through his desk drawer for a jeweler’s small magnifying glass and held out his hand.

  “I’m afraid I can’t let you touch it,” the officer said.

  “I’ll use the tweezers.” Tazim turned on a bright light at his desk and examined the diamond.

  It looked to be a carat in size, and while Jillian anxiously hopped from foot to foot, Sadira remained in place with a pinched mouth and narrowed eyes.

  “Yes, this is one of the missing diamonds,” Tazim announced.

  “You planted that! You threw it on the floor when you knocked down my purse!” Sadira snarled.

  Torgerson pulled a pair of cuffs out of a pocket on his utility belt. “Connelly, can you please read the lady her rights.”

  The kid, who’d watched in fascinated silence, straightened up. “You have the right to remain silent—”

  As Officer Connelly reeled off the Miranda rights, Sadira passed Jillian a frightened look. Her eyes shone with tears. “You’ve got to believe me, Jilly. I had nothing to do with this.”

  “I know,” Jillian assured her friend. “My sister’s a lawyer. I’ll call her. She can help.” Jillian bent to gather Sadira’s stuff from the floor.

  “Don’t touch that. It’s evidence,” Torgerson barked.

  Jillian put up her hands and stepped back.

  “You remember where we parked?” Sadira’s voice wobbled. “Meet me at the police station.”

  “I will.” Jillian nodded, realizing, thankfully, she still had Sadira’s car keys in her pocket. “Don’t worry. I’ll help straighten this out.”

  “Please step back, ma’am.” Connelly held out his arm to bar Jillian from getting closer to her friend.

  Torgerson directed his younger counterpart to take Sadira to the cruiser and call it in while he bagged the evidence. Jillian trailed them into the showroom, watching as the cop raised the security gate to escort Sadira into the mall. Glancing back over her shoulder, she found the shifty little owner blotting his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. She fixed him with a squinty-eyed glare before huffing out of the store, phone in hand.

  Chapter Three

  “Okay, that’s enough with the punching and kicking.” Josh stepped back and tugged off the padded boxing-style helmet. “You seem aggressive, almost vicious, today.”

  “So?” I grabbed a white towel and swiped my sweaty brow.

  “Not that it’s bad.” He removed the padding covering his torso and family jewels. “But I’m wondering where it’s coming from.”

  “Mike and I had a fight.”

  “Your FBI guy?”

  “The very one.” I gulped down some water from my pink bottle.

  “That explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “Why you called for a class today. Good way to blow off some steam. What’d he do? Cheat on you?”

  I scrutinized Josh, one of my self-defense trainers. I’d met him and some of his colleagues when I’d gotten mixed up in an old art heist that included deadly mafia connections. Josh worked for Silverthorne Security and had been hired to protect me. They were a group of well-trained, ex-military types that provided private security to diplomats, corporations working in warzones, and though it didn’t specify on their website, I guessed they were also available for hire by the CIA and other three-lettered organizations. As Mike had put it, you hired Silverthorne when you needed a private army to create a small country coup d'etat. Needless to say, Mike had his reservations about Silverthorne. I had no such reservations. Josh was a former SEAL and looked like a big, blond, burly male himbo—all muscle and cute dimples. I’d learned not to underestimate those dimples—Josh was intelligent and watched out for me as one would a little sister.

  “No,” I huffed as I tossed the towel aside.

  Josh eyed me.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  One dimple peeked through the full beard—a new addition since I’d last seen him. “Okay. Let’s work on an attack from behind.”

  I rejoined him at the center of the practice mat, which was the center of the entire gym at the Silverthorne facility. Treadmills, a pair of stationary bikes, various free-weights, weight machines, and a pair of thick ropes large enough to tie a Carnival Cruise liner to the dock surrounded the mat area. The place smelled of sweat socks and pine fresh deodorizer.

  “Now, I don’t think we’ve done this before, but if you stand here, and I wrap my arms around you from behind like this—”

  Josh and I may not have worked on this move, but Jin, another Silverthorne specialist, and I had done so last week. As soon as I felt his body pushing down on me, I grabbed his upper arm, dropped to one knee, tucked my head, and, with his weight off balance, Josh flew over my shoulder, landing flat on his back.

  I laid a sneaker against his trachea. “Do you yield?”

  His stunned blue gaze stared up at me.

  I stepped back and held out a hand. “Jin and I worked on that move last week. It’s tough on the knees, and, wow, you went over much harder than Jin. If you’d landed on me, I think you would’ve crushed me.”

  Josh gripped my hand and got to his feet. “That wasn’t bad. But if I’d held you in a headlock, you could have broken your neck. We need to work on your technique.” He continued his tight hold on my hand as he spoke.

  In an instant, I pivoted, turning to my left and rotating Josh’s arm as I went. He dropped down to one knee with a gurgle of pain. “Christ, I see Jin has been busy.”

  “Sorry, I thought you were testing me.” I released him, delivering a cheeky grin and peace sign toward one of the security cameras. “You’ve been away for a few weeks. If you don’t stick around, you’re going to miss some things.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He shook his wrist and stood.

  “You look like you got some sun. Where have you been?” I asked, figuring I had a fifty-fifty chance Josh would actually divulge that information.

  “Let’s work on that attack from behind again,” he intoned with zero inflection, patently ignoring my question.

  Josh’s techniques tended to use more brute force, whereas, Jin, a master at a multitude of martial arts whose Vietnamese stature was smaller and more compact than Josh, used techniques with a fluidity of movement that was probably better suited to the female shape and strength. Working with Josh was like wrestling a bear and strained every muscle in my body, whereas, Jin moved with the speed and agility of Jackie Chan and exhausted my mind and reflexes. I wouldn’t dare tell Josh any of this. They both had their strengths and I was lucky they continued to train me.

  At the end of the hour, my T-shirt was drenched and my sagging ponytail stuck to the sweat on the back of my neck. I finished the water in the bottle I brought, and Josh tossed me another from a small refrigerator at the back of the room.

  “Rick said he wanted to talk to you before you left today.”

  The cap made a small snapping sound as I twisted the lid. “About what? Am I in trouble?”

  “Not that I know of.” Water dripped down Josh’s beard as he upturned his bottle and gulped.

  “Is Jin in today?”

  He wiped the wetness away with the back of his hand. “Not sure. Why?”

  “Just wondering. Is anyone still betting against me?” I crossed my arms and wiggled my brows. The Silverthorne boys entertained themselves by making bets about me—whether I’d land a punch on my trainer, take him down, or maybe make Jin laugh.

  “I’ve stopped taking their bets.” Josh crushed the bottle with one hand. “You’ll have to ask Jin.”

  Speak of the devil, Jin opened the door, and a whoosh of welcome, cold air swept over me.

  “Hey, Jin.” I finger-waved. “You win any money today?”

  He grinned, and the long scar running from his temple to his chin puckered. “I won twenty bucks off Hernandez when you threw Josh over your shoulder. After that, no one would take my bets.”

  “You kn
ow, I think I should start taking a cut from these little side bets you guys are making.”

  Jin winked, then turned to Josh. “You got a call. The prince is coming to town and wants you again.”

  Josh tossed the bottle in a blue recycling bin and waved at me on his way out. “Take it easy, Karina.”

  “Later.” I turned to Jin. “Prince? Like from England?”

  He shook his head. “Saudi Arabia.”

  I didn’t probe. There were literally hundreds of Saudi princes. I doubted he would tell me more anyway. “Josh said Rick wanted to see me.”

  “He does, but he’s in the middle of a meeting right now. Were you planning to shower here?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it. I’ve got some extra clothes in my bag. I suppose I could.”

  “You have time. You remember where the ladies’ shower is?” Jin asked.

  “Yes, but I don’t have a badge for the elevator.”

  “C’mon. I’ll take you up.”

  I seized my pink and white duffle, tossing my phone and handbag inside, and followed Jin to the pair of elevators at the end of the long, beige hallway. We passed half a dozen closed doors. I knew one of them housed the IT and security center but had no idea what was behind the rest of them.

  Jin swiped his ID badge down the card reader next to the elevator; once the LED flashed green, he pressed the UP button. “You can take the elevator back down to the first floor without an access card when you’re done. Take care, Cardinal.”

  Exiting on the second floor, I went to my left, around the corner and entered the bathroom marked Ladies. It held a sink, one toilet, and a shower. There was a doorway to the men’s locker room in the gym, but not one for women. I had a feeling Silverthorne rarely hired women, and if they did, it was on a short-term basis. I’d never trained with a female, nor had I ever seen one wandering the halls. Very un-PC if you asked me, especially in such a political town. If I wanted to make a stink about it, I’m sure I could, but it would be a piss-poor way to thank a group of folks who’d literally saved my life. Moreover, they’d always treated me with respect, so I had no firsthand knowledge that Silverthorne was actively biased against women.

  I took a long, cold shower and spent some time blow drying my wavy hair into submission. A dash of eyeliner and mascara made my green eyes stand out, and a touch of lipstick finished the look. Not too shabby.

  I pulled on a pair of jeans, adjusted the dark green V-neck knit top and headed out. Swinging around the corner, I ran into a large chest.

  “Cripes! Sorry, I didn’t see you there . . . Rick?” Rick, the head honcho, a.k.a. Batman because of how he swooped in and out of my life, leaned against the wall with crossed arms. “Gee, I barely recognize you. What’s with the beard?”

  Like Josh, he sported a new beard. However, whereas Josh had groomed his, Rick’s resembled mountain man chic. His normally short-clipped hair had grown longer and shaggy, which made the salt in his pepper stand out more. The plaid button-down and jeans only enhanced the mountain man appearance. I could barely discern his to-die-for cheekbones, but that blue-gray gaze was unmistakable.

  “I’ve been on assignment. It’s better to blend in with the locals,” he said.

  “Oh, yeah? What locals?”

  He didn’t deign to answer, instead he pushed the button for the elevator.

  Knowing Rick spoke Hebrew, and guessing he spoke either Farsi or some other Arabic language, I surmised he’d been somewhere in the Middle East. The elevator arrived, and I preceded him onboard. “Josh said you needed to talk to me. What’s up?”

  “I do.” He pushed the button for the first floor. “How have you been?”

  “Fiiine. . . .” I drew out the word, surprised by Rick’s efforts at small talk.

  “No more murders? Mafia thugs? Stolen art work?”

  I delivered an arch look as the doors opened on the first floor.

  “Follow me.” Rick led me halfway down the hall, stopping at a door I’d never entered. He swiped his card, tapped in a nine-digit code, then pressed his finger against the touchscreen.

  “What, no retinal scan?” I asked sardonically.

  “Not this time,” he deadpanned, holding the door for me.

  It was a small, boxlike room with a wooden table and four chairs. The walls were padded with black soundproofing, and when Rick shut the door there was a sucking sound. I could literally hear no outside noise—no hum of the air conditioning nor tick of a clock, just our breathing and the crush of cloth as we moved.

  My instincts went on alert. I put the table between us. “What’s going on?”

  “Have a seat.”

  “You first.”

  Rick flipped a chair backward and straddled it. “It’s nothing bad.”

  I sat tentatively across from him, still kind of weirded out by the room and how our voices sounded flat and inert.

  He pulled an envelope out of his back pocket and laid it on the table. “This is yours.”

  Inside the envelope was a check from Silverthorne Security made out to me for $200,000. “What the hell is this?”

  “That’s your cut from the bounty on Rivkin.”

  I dropped the check as if it had burst into flames. Naftali Rivkin, a rogue Mossad agent who’d put my coworker and me on his hitlist, had been captured by Silverthorne. They used us as bait to trap him. The Israeli had a bounty on his head for a million dollars. However, we hadn’t been able to collect. The FBI took him into custody, and, while in a holding cell, someone had been able to get through security and slit his throat. Though Mike never talked about it, I’d gathered it was a huge breach and some folks in high places got canned.

  “You promised me you had nothing to do with his death,” I uttered.

  “We didn’t.” Rick stroked his beard. “Apparently, Rivkin stole a shipment from a Chechen gunrunner and sold it to a Libyan warlord. The Chechens weren’t happy.”

  “So why didn’t the Israelis pay the gunrunner?”

  “They have no interest in giving the money to a Chechen gunrunner.”

  “Why’d they give it to you, then?”

  “I convinced them if it hadn’t been for our capturing Rivkin, he never would have been brought to justice.” His straight, white teeth flashed at me.

  “He wasn’t brought to justice. He was murdered.” I tapped the table. “In FBI custody, no less.”

  “According to Mossad, justice was served.”

  I licked my lips as I digested that. “An-eye-for-an-eye and all that business?”

  Rick shrugged, his expression flat.

  I grimaced and scrutinized the check. “Please tell me you didn’t notify the Chechens of Rivkin’s arrest.”

  “I didn’t notify the Chechens.” The way he said it made me feel like he wasn’t lying per se, but that there was more to the story—like someone told someone, who told someone, who told the Chechens. “Karina, he was a bad dude.”

  I sighed. Rick was not known for windy explanations or exposition, and his single sentence cut to the heart of the matter. I hadn’t shed any tears, and was frankly relieved, when I found out Rivkin was dead. He had threatened me before the FBI hauled him off, and I believed him. If he’d ever gotten out, I never would have had a decent night’s sleep again.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” I pointed to the check. “How do I claim it on my taxes? Is there a line item for illegal bounty income?”

  His mouth curled inward before he spoke. “I could show you how to . . . invest it—offshore, let’s say.”

  I scowled.

  “Otherwise, you can claim it as a gift and the government will take half.”

  Chewing my lip, I debated my options. If I took Rick’s advice and put it in an offshore account, $200,000 would go a long way. I could pay off my college loans and buy a new car that didn’t have a dent in the bumper. Unfortunately, even though it sounded good, I’d never be able to live with myself. I’d crossed some lines into gray areas in the past, but this was o
ne line I simply wasn’t willing to cross. Claiming it legally would likely send up a red flag at the IRS and could get me into a different kind of trouble. Rick’s company would have an easier time absorbing the dollars.

  Sighing, I put the check back in the envelope and pushed it across the table. “I can’t take it. It’s blood money.”

  Rick placed a hand over the envelope. “You’re sure?”

  I took a beat before answering, “I’m sure.”

  “Tell you what, here’s what I can do, I’ll open a line of credit. Your self-defense classes will come out of it and should you or a family member need our services in the future, it’ll be covered.”

  I considered his suggestion. The last time Silverthorne helped me was because Rick owed me a favor. Getting Rivkin off the streets, and me out of his crosshairs, had repaid that favor and then some. “I have a sister. Can I bring her in for classes?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Ok-ay. In reality, I hope I never have to take you up on your offer.” My shoulders slumped as I thought about the times I’d already relied on the Silverthorne boys. “But I suppose it’s worth having an insurance policy—just in case.”

  He pocketed the check. “Good choice.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” Rick rose.

  I followed his cue. “Why did you want to talk to me here, in this weird little room?”

  “No cameras. No recording devices. No wi-fi. No cell service.” He flipped the chair around and pushed it in.

  “So, we’re . . . off the grid? In a dead zone? Like a Faraday cage?”

  “Exactly.”

  I didn’t want to know the reason Silverthorne needed such a room. My imagination conjured up too many to count. “So, this conversation never happened?”

  “No, it happened. I just never told you anything about putting the money into an untraceable offshore account. You chose to leave the money with me in exchange for our services.”

  “Gotcha.”

  When I got to my car, I checked my phone to find three voicemails and four text messages from my sister over the past hour. The topic of all of them were pretty much the same—call her immediately! Someone she knew was in trouble and needed my help. I put in my earpiece, dialed, then backed out of the parking space.