citizen, despite living here for more than forty years.”
“Neither of which are crimes in this country.” She focused on stirring the melted whipped cream froth into her coffee. “But it does explain his accent. Where’s he from? My guess was Eastern Europe. Germany or maybe Poland.”
“Russia.”
“Oh.” She prided herself on not reacting too visibly to his news. So her client and his diamond were from the same country. Why did this all leave a bad taste in her mouth?
Their food arrived on a little cart pushed by the waiter. He set each dish down and lifted the domed silver covers with a flourish, allowing fragrant steam to curl into the air. Cynthia hardly noticed. Her previous hunger had all but disappeared now that she suspected her client of being involved in something dangerous, whether he wanted to be or not. Whatever it was, it involved her now, too.
The waiter left. Trevor reached for a small carafe of maple syrup and drizzled a golden streak over his waffle with careful precision. “Tell me about the diamond Mr. Andrews gave you.”
“No.”
“Why not? We’ve already established that’s what it is, right?”
“No, you assumed that’s what it is. I won’t tell you because my client hasn’t done anything wrong.” Cynthia cut into her omelet and watched melted Swiss cheese ooze out onto the plate. “Until I know differently I must protect his confidentiality and his property. To do anything less is unethical. Don’t think it’s because I don’t want to cooperate with you, Agent. I was very cooperative with the cops. But there’s a limit to what I can tell you. I’m not about to sabotage my career without a damned good reason.”
“I certainly don’t expect you to.” Trevor quirked an eyebrow and picked up his knife and fork. “Did you notice anything unusual about the diamond?” He lifted a healthy bite of sausage to his mouth.
She shook her head. “You have a one-track mind, Agent.”
“Not true.” He speared a strawberry loaded with whipped cream and ate it. “Did you see a mark of any sort? Numbers, perhaps?”
Cynthia chewed a mouthful of omelet, not really tasting her food. The quirky series of numbers she’d seen had excited Mr. Andrews too. What could they possibly mean? No matter. Ultimately her client had more right to that information than anyone else.
“Do you mean was it GIA laser-engraved?”
“That’s not what I meant. I asked if you saw a mark or numbers.”
“I can’t say.” She cast him a challenging grin.
His eyes narrowed to slits of blue. “Can’t? Or, won’t?”
She shrugged. “Both.”
After a bite of his waffle, Trevor’s posture suddenly changed from relaxed to rigid and alert. He stared over her shoulder, focused on something or someone in the crowd behind her. When she started to turn around to see what caught his attention, he grabbed her hand.
“No, Cyn. Don’t turn around.” He spoke softly, just above whispering. “Are you finished with your meal?”
“No. Why?”
“We need to leave, darling.”
“I’m not your darling.” She pushed her plate aside. “I’m not hungry anymore. I’ll take it home and heat it up for dinner.”
“We’ll go out for dinner.” He opened his wallet and laid a crisp fifty-dollar bill on the edge of the table. He put his almost empty coffee cup on top of the money. “Let’s go. Straight to the car, no stops inside the lobby or for the ladies’ room.”
“What’s the rush?”
Trevor stood and took her elbow in a strong grip, urging her out of her chair. “Cynthia, I need you to trust me now. Just come along, quickly.”
She started to argue, having sucked in a long breath for it but the urgency she felt in him through his touch and the dangerous look in his hard eyes made her pause. He took her hand, squeezing slightly. She grabbed her backpack and purse and walked with him.
“Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”
He leaned down to whisper in her ear. Her skin
“Neither of which are crimes in this country.” She focused on stirring the melted whipped cream froth into her coffee. “But it does explain his accent. Where’s he from? My guess was Eastern Europe. Germany or maybe Poland.”
“Russia.”
“Oh.” She prided herself on not reacting too visibly to his news. So her client and his diamond were from the same country. Why did this all leave a bad taste in her mouth?
Their food arrived on a little cart pushed by the waiter. He set each dish down and lifted the domed silver covers with a flourish, allowing fragrant steam to curl into the air. Cynthia hardly noticed. Her previous hunger had all but disappeared now that she suspected her client of being involved in something dangerous, whether he wanted to be or not. Whatever it was, it involved her now, too.
The waiter left. Trevor reached for a small carafe of maple syrup and drizzled a golden streak over his waffle with careful precision. “Tell me about the diamond Mr. Andrews gave you.”
“No.”
“Why not? We’ve already established that’s what it is, right?”
“No, you assumed that’s what it is. I won’t tell you because my client hasn’t done anything wrong.” Cynthia cut into her omelet and watched melted Swiss cheese ooze out onto the plate. “Until I know differently I must protect his confidentiality and his property. To do anything less is unethical. Don’t think it’s because I don’t want to cooperate with you, Agent. I was very cooperative with the cops. But there’s a limit to what I can tell you. I’m not about to sabotage my career without a damned good reason.”
“I certainly don’t expect you to.” Trevor quirked an eyebrow and picked up his knife and fork. “Did you notice anything unusual about the diamond?” He lifted a healthy bite of sausage to his mouth.
She shook her head. “You have a one-track mind, Agent.”
“Not true.” He speared a strawberry loaded with whipped cream and ate it. “Did you see a mark of any sort? Numbers, perhaps?”
Cynthia chewed a mouthful of omelet, not really tasting her food. The quirky series of numbers she’d seen had excited Mr. Andrews too. What could they possibly mean? No matter. Ultimately her client had more right to that information than anyone else.
“Do you mean was it GIA laser-engraved?”
“That’s not what I meant. I asked if you saw a mark or numbers.”
“I can’t say.” She cast him a challenging grin.
His eyes narrowed to slits of blue. “Can’t? Or, won’t?”
She shrugged. “Both.”
After a bite of his waffle, Trevor’s posture suddenly changed from relaxed to rigid and alert. He stared over her shoulder, focused on something or someone in the crowd behind her. When she started to turn around to see what caught his attention, he grabbed her hand.
“No, Cyn. Don’t turn around.” He spoke softly, just above whispering. “Are you finished with your meal?”
“No. Why?”
“We need to leave, darling.”
“I’m not your darling.” She pushed her plate aside. “I’m not hungry anymore. I’ll take it home and heat it up for dinner.”
“We’ll go out for dinner.” He opened his wallet and laid a crisp fifty-dollar bill on the edge of the table. He put his almost empty coffee cup on top of the money. “Let’s go. Straight to the car, no stops inside the lobby or for the ladies’ room.”
“What’s the rush?”
Trevor stood and took her elbow in a strong grip, urging her out of her chair. “Cynthia, I need you to trust me now. Just come along, quickly.”
She started to argue, having sucked in a long breath for it but the urgency she felt in him through his touch and the dangerous look in his hard eyes made her pause. He took her hand, squeezing slightly. She grabbed her backpack and purse and walked with him.
“Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”
He leaned down to whisper in her ear. Her skin
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