Read Online Midnight in Ruby Bayou by Elizabeth Lowell - Free Book Online

nodded.
    â€œFlawless, or nearly so.”
    She nodded again, and started toting up the cost per carat. Even if all she did was broker the deal for another jeweler, her commission would be very nice.
    â€œThe inscription is Mughal and secular,” he continued.
    Her eyebrows lifted. “Your, er, mother is quite exacting.”
    Ivanovitch didn’t even pause. “Twenty carats.”
    Faith whistled. “That would be quite a stone. And very, very expensive. Given that size, color, and clarity, your price would be at least one hundred thousand a carat, and could easily be twice as much.”
    The client’s smile was more predatory than warm. “As I said, I can pay you very, very well. Now get the stone from the safe for me, Miss Donovan, and we can discuss price. There is no more need to be cautious. We understand each other, yes?”
    â€œNot quite,” she said dryly. “I don’t carry multimillion-dollar stones in my inventory, Mr. Ivanovitch. I would be delighted to look for such a stone for you, but frankly, if you’re in a hurry, you’d do better to go to Manhattan or London or Tokyo or Thailand. I could give you some contacts that—”
    â€œI was assured that you have such a stone,” he cut in. His hazel eyes were narrowed and his mouth looked ready to snarl.
    Ray’s hand slipped beneath his jacket. There was more than insistence in Ivanovitch’s tone. There was real anger, the kind that led to violence.
    â€œWhoever assured you was mistaken,” Faith said evenly. “I’d love to have such a magnificent ruby. I don’t.” She waved a hand. “As you can see, this isn’t Tiffany or Cartier.”
    For a blazing instant Ivanovitch imagined what Faith would look like beneath his knife, bleeding and pleading and so terribly eager to hand over the Heart of Midnight.
    But such a pleasure must be delayed. Her guard was far too alert.
    Faith watched what could have been temper or embarrassment flare on Ivanovitch’s cheekbones. He bowed briefly, turned quickly, and strode out the door.
    â€œGuess he doesn’t want me to look around for his, uh, mother’s gift,” she said dryly to Ray.
    â€œGuess not.” He watched until Ivanovitch disappeared around the corner. Only then did his hand move away from his jacket. “Wherever he came from, he’s used to getting what he wants.”
    â€œAnd fast,” she agreed. “Well, searching for a stone like that will teach him patience.” She looked around the shop. “You’ve got five minutes to finish your coffee. That’s how long it will take me to lock up. Then you can follow me to Donovan headquarters and keep me from killing someone.”
    The man held the phone the way a strangler holds his chosen victim. Plastic is harder than flesh, which was all that saved the black receiver from being crushed like the cigar butts in the ashtray on the bedside table.
    â€œWhat do you mean she doesn’t have it?” Tarasov snarled into the phone. “Offer her more.”
    The woman next to him—Tarasov’s most recent girlfriend—grumbled and snuggled deeper into the satin sheets that felt so soft against her bruised breasts. She had labored hard tonight, keeping him up and pumping like a teenager. It was sweaty, difficult, distasteful, and often painful work, but paid better than hustling drinks and foreign nationals in hope of snagging a husband who could get her out of St. Petersburg’s frozen hell to some warm, foreign heaven.
    She was careful not to show any interest in the conversation that had interrupted her sleep. She didn’t want to know how her lover made the money that kept her in Russian sable, Italian leather, Chinese silk, African diamonds, and French champagne. She was just bright enough to figure out that the less she knew, the longer she lived in luxury. Or lived at all.
    As Tarasov listened to his