said “leader,” however. Was someone else involved? At that moment a waitress in a peach-colored apron arrived. She placed a fresh cup of coffee on the table, refilled the spilled one, and said she’d return for our order.
I lifted the warm mug and sipped, watching him over the rim. I didn’t usually drink coffee black, but fiddling with packets of sweetener and little pots of cream would have created the wrong impression at a clandestine rendezvous, I felt. Bitter, strong flavor punched my tongue, but I swallowed it down.
“So, Miss Montgomery,” he said, lowering his voice and leaning toward me, “I’m here to ask for your help.”
“Oh?” I said lightly. “You need a French lit tutor?”
He smiled but shook his head. He lowered his voice further. “We know who you are and what you do.”
My gut squeezed. “I’m sorry. I don’t follow,” I said, keeping my features smooth. Who was this guy?
“Please, Miss Montgomery. We know you are skilled at . . . procuring certain items.”
I glanced swiftly around. No other patrons were within earshot. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He shrugged. “Okay. Does the Camelot Diamond sound familiar? The Bianca necklace?”
I tightened my jaw. Those were recent jobs of mine. “Maybe you’d like to tell me who you are,” I said sharply. “And who you mean by ‘we.’ Other than the lookouts you’ve got posted by the restroom and that table over there.” I flicked my eyes in the direction of the two men I’d spotted.
His eyes widened. He blinked. “I must say, Miss Montgomery, they told me you were good, but I’m impressed.”
I maintained a cold stare. “You were about to explain who you are, exactly.”
“Yes, of course. My apologies. My name is Sandor.” He rubbed his chin and pressed his lips together. “My family is—well, have you heard of the Romanovs?”
At that, my mind conjured images of imperial Russian splendor, snow-covered Saint Petersburg, and the lavish Winter Palace.
“Are you telling me your ancestors were the czars?”
Sandor nodded. He slid his coffee cup on the table, rolling it between his hands.
“But—they were all killed,” I said. “In the revolution. A mass execution.”
“Well, that’s what you were supposed to believe. But you know as well as I do that the public story is often completely different than the private one.”
A good point.
“Okay, fine.” I took another sip of coffee and shifted in the slippery vinyl booth. “Let’s just say, hypothetically, that this is all true, and you really are who you say. How do you know who I am?” Little fluttery shocks of anxiety were going off inside me, like the uncomfortable zips you get with static electricity. I had a lot of questions besides this one—like who else besides Sandor knew these things about me.
“A family like ours has a lot of resources and connections,” Sandor said. “How do you think we’ve survived all this time?”
“Fair enough.” I folded my arms over my chest, leaned back and narrowed my eyes at him. “So, what do you want, exactly?”
He bolted down the remainder of his coffee. But he winced slightly as he did it. It was endearing, really, to watch this kid try to play the big man. I was starting to get the picture. I imagined the patriarchs of his family pushed him forward for this task. I wondered why him, though. Did they think he would be the least intimidating? Were they trying to disarm me? What?
“Have you heard of the Fabergé Eggs, Miss Montgomery?”
“Of course.” Any self-respecting jewel thief knew all about the Fabergé Eggs. They were masterpieces, designed by the virtuoso jeweler Fabergé for the Russian imperial family to give to each other as Easter gifts. Today, a Fabergé Egg is worth several million dollars. The Rothschild Egg was sold by Christie’s auction house a few years ago for nearly nine million pounds sterling.
“In that case, you probably know,” Sandor continued,
I lifted the warm mug and sipped, watching him over the rim. I didn’t usually drink coffee black, but fiddling with packets of sweetener and little pots of cream would have created the wrong impression at a clandestine rendezvous, I felt. Bitter, strong flavor punched my tongue, but I swallowed it down.
“So, Miss Montgomery,” he said, lowering his voice and leaning toward me, “I’m here to ask for your help.”
“Oh?” I said lightly. “You need a French lit tutor?”
He smiled but shook his head. He lowered his voice further. “We know who you are and what you do.”
My gut squeezed. “I’m sorry. I don’t follow,” I said, keeping my features smooth. Who was this guy?
“Please, Miss Montgomery. We know you are skilled at . . . procuring certain items.”
I glanced swiftly around. No other patrons were within earshot. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He shrugged. “Okay. Does the Camelot Diamond sound familiar? The Bianca necklace?”
I tightened my jaw. Those were recent jobs of mine. “Maybe you’d like to tell me who you are,” I said sharply. “And who you mean by ‘we.’ Other than the lookouts you’ve got posted by the restroom and that table over there.” I flicked my eyes in the direction of the two men I’d spotted.
His eyes widened. He blinked. “I must say, Miss Montgomery, they told me you were good, but I’m impressed.”
I maintained a cold stare. “You were about to explain who you are, exactly.”
“Yes, of course. My apologies. My name is Sandor.” He rubbed his chin and pressed his lips together. “My family is—well, have you heard of the Romanovs?”
At that, my mind conjured images of imperial Russian splendor, snow-covered Saint Petersburg, and the lavish Winter Palace.
“Are you telling me your ancestors were the czars?”
Sandor nodded. He slid his coffee cup on the table, rolling it between his hands.
“But—they were all killed,” I said. “In the revolution. A mass execution.”
“Well, that’s what you were supposed to believe. But you know as well as I do that the public story is often completely different than the private one.”
A good point.
“Okay, fine.” I took another sip of coffee and shifted in the slippery vinyl booth. “Let’s just say, hypothetically, that this is all true, and you really are who you say. How do you know who I am?” Little fluttery shocks of anxiety were going off inside me, like the uncomfortable zips you get with static electricity. I had a lot of questions besides this one—like who else besides Sandor knew these things about me.
“A family like ours has a lot of resources and connections,” Sandor said. “How do you think we’ve survived all this time?”
“Fair enough.” I folded my arms over my chest, leaned back and narrowed my eyes at him. “So, what do you want, exactly?”
He bolted down the remainder of his coffee. But he winced slightly as he did it. It was endearing, really, to watch this kid try to play the big man. I was starting to get the picture. I imagined the patriarchs of his family pushed him forward for this task. I wondered why him, though. Did they think he would be the least intimidating? Were they trying to disarm me? What?
“Have you heard of the Fabergé Eggs, Miss Montgomery?”
“Of course.” Any self-respecting jewel thief knew all about the Fabergé Eggs. They were masterpieces, designed by the virtuoso jeweler Fabergé for the Russian imperial family to give to each other as Easter gifts. Today, a Fabergé Egg is worth several million dollars. The Rothschild Egg was sold by Christie’s auction house a few years ago for nearly nine million pounds sterling.
“In that case, you probably know,” Sandor continued,
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