James, secret agent man, or whoever you really are—my clients appreciate and expect my confidentiality. I won’t give that up so easily. My integrity and my career depend on their belief in me as a professional jeweler.”
She’d allowed her voice to rise. He glanced around with a calm, steady eye. “Of course I understand that.”
“Good,” she groused.
“You were very brave, Cyn. I’m relieved and happy you came to no harm.” He sipped his coffee.
She waited for him to continue, expected him to.
“I work for Interpol, the largest international police organization in the world. You could say I’m a cop of sorts.”
“A cop of sorts. What kind of ‘sorts’?”
He reached for his wallet and flipped it open. Then he slid the photo ID from Interpol across the tablecloth. Without touching it, she memorized every detail she could garner from that little bit of information. He had shorter hair in the photo but the eyes and mouth were the same. Hard and penetrating. She picked the card up to hand back to him.
“What exactly do you do for Interpol?”
Trevor tucked the card back into his wallet. He sipped again, his mouth moving while he savored the coffee before swallowing. “I worked in the Fine Art Recovery division seven years ago when I was first recruited by Interpol upon graduation from university. Three years ago I transferred to the Precious Gems and Commodities division. I track down and recoup lost and stolen gems, jewelry, icons.”
“Ooo-kay.” She wasn’t entirely appeased by his careful synopsis of his job but reassured enough to let go of one layer of panic and at least a half layer of doubt. He had yet to explain what, specifically, he wanted from her. “So, why are you so interested in Mr. Andrews? Or is it…oh my God. He stole it!”
“No. Mr. Andrews bought a dozen diamonds legitimately at a diamond market in Amsterdam.”
Her eyes widened. “A dozen? He only gave me…” She let the slip of words die on her tongue.
“He gave you a single diamond, correct?”
Cynthia thought she saw the barest flicker of triumph in his eyes. “Feel free to speculate all you want, Agent.”
“Very well.” Trevor nodded. “What I want to know is how Mr. Andrews knew exactly who to contact in Amsterdam for the diamonds he sought. I don’t suppose he told you that?”
“I don’t know. Why not ask him?”
The waiter came by and refilled Trevor’s coffee cup. Cynthia stared at him. Conjecture swirled in the icy blue depths of his eyes, as if someone had stirred the water and created a vortex in them. She could get lost in that gaze. The force of it made her want to squirm in her chair.
Was he thinking again about the hot tub scene this morning? He said he’d forget about that. Somehow, she didn’t think he could—because she couldn’t either. Her pulse quickened at the thought of what it would be like to make love to this man, to kiss that handsome mouth and let his tongue flicker across the aching tips of her breasts.
She coughed to cover her sudden discomfort, hiding her mouth and most of her flaming cheeks behind a cloth napkin.
Trevor didn’t seem to notice. “I would be more than happy to speak with Mr. Andrews. However, he’s missing. If I knew where he was, I would ask him. You’re the last person to have seen him, Cyn, hence, the interest in you now. We suspect the man who broke into your apartment knew what Mr. Andrews had given you.”
All the blood in her body pooled down into her feet. “How could a burglar know that? Even if Mr. Andrews was into something illegal he wouldn’t want his own property stolen before it was insured. That just doesn’t make any sense. And just because he’s missing doesn’t mean anything. What if he had a family emergency? I know he’ll be coming back to claim his property.”
Trevor smiled, a gentle curve of his lips. “A nice assumption but Mr. Andrews doesn’t have any family in the United States. He’s not even an American
She’d allowed her voice to rise. He glanced around with a calm, steady eye. “Of course I understand that.”
“Good,” she groused.
“You were very brave, Cyn. I’m relieved and happy you came to no harm.” He sipped his coffee.
She waited for him to continue, expected him to.
“I work for Interpol, the largest international police organization in the world. You could say I’m a cop of sorts.”
“A cop of sorts. What kind of ‘sorts’?”
He reached for his wallet and flipped it open. Then he slid the photo ID from Interpol across the tablecloth. Without touching it, she memorized every detail she could garner from that little bit of information. He had shorter hair in the photo but the eyes and mouth were the same. Hard and penetrating. She picked the card up to hand back to him.
“What exactly do you do for Interpol?”
Trevor tucked the card back into his wallet. He sipped again, his mouth moving while he savored the coffee before swallowing. “I worked in the Fine Art Recovery division seven years ago when I was first recruited by Interpol upon graduation from university. Three years ago I transferred to the Precious Gems and Commodities division. I track down and recoup lost and stolen gems, jewelry, icons.”
“Ooo-kay.” She wasn’t entirely appeased by his careful synopsis of his job but reassured enough to let go of one layer of panic and at least a half layer of doubt. He had yet to explain what, specifically, he wanted from her. “So, why are you so interested in Mr. Andrews? Or is it…oh my God. He stole it!”
“No. Mr. Andrews bought a dozen diamonds legitimately at a diamond market in Amsterdam.”
Her eyes widened. “A dozen? He only gave me…” She let the slip of words die on her tongue.
“He gave you a single diamond, correct?”
Cynthia thought she saw the barest flicker of triumph in his eyes. “Feel free to speculate all you want, Agent.”
“Very well.” Trevor nodded. “What I want to know is how Mr. Andrews knew exactly who to contact in Amsterdam for the diamonds he sought. I don’t suppose he told you that?”
“I don’t know. Why not ask him?”
The waiter came by and refilled Trevor’s coffee cup. Cynthia stared at him. Conjecture swirled in the icy blue depths of his eyes, as if someone had stirred the water and created a vortex in them. She could get lost in that gaze. The force of it made her want to squirm in her chair.
Was he thinking again about the hot tub scene this morning? He said he’d forget about that. Somehow, she didn’t think he could—because she couldn’t either. Her pulse quickened at the thought of what it would be like to make love to this man, to kiss that handsome mouth and let his tongue flicker across the aching tips of her breasts.
She coughed to cover her sudden discomfort, hiding her mouth and most of her flaming cheeks behind a cloth napkin.
Trevor didn’t seem to notice. “I would be more than happy to speak with Mr. Andrews. However, he’s missing. If I knew where he was, I would ask him. You’re the last person to have seen him, Cyn, hence, the interest in you now. We suspect the man who broke into your apartment knew what Mr. Andrews had given you.”
All the blood in her body pooled down into her feet. “How could a burglar know that? Even if Mr. Andrews was into something illegal he wouldn’t want his own property stolen before it was insured. That just doesn’t make any sense. And just because he’s missing doesn’t mean anything. What if he had a family emergency? I know he’ll be coming back to claim his property.”
Trevor smiled, a gentle curve of his lips. “A nice assumption but Mr. Andrews doesn’t have any family in the United States. He’s not even an American
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