The Sapphire Affair (Jewel #1)

The sleek, silvery Sapphire shimmered. Mirrored walls behind the bar were edged with neon blue. Jewel-toned lights flashed from the ceiling, moving and swaying in colored spotlights. Women in barely there black dresses that skimmed the top of their thighs on one end and plumped up their chests on the other sidled up beside girlfriends or next to men. The crowd was mostly young, but sprinkled with the evidence of tourists of many ages—the mom and dad on a getaway from the kids, groups of fortysomething friends reliving their younger days with a hot night on the town, and lots of single men, from frat boys up to sugar-daddy age.

Jake leaned against the bar, soaking it in, taking mental notes about Eli’s new world. Everything sparkled. The lights, the bar, and the disco ball. His eyes roamed the dance floor, then he raised them higher, up to the second level, and he saw him.

No question about it.

That man had to be Eli Thompson. The face matched the images Jake had scoped out online. Like a middle-age Robert Redford, Eli had that golden-boy look to him still. He rested his hands on the railing and surveyed the scene, like a prince presiding over his subjects.

Jake narrowed his eyes. What a sneaky fucker. Stealing from his company, skipping out of town with it in art. Maybe even turning that art back into dough here in the Caribbean.

Funny thing, though. If Eli had poured the dollars he pilfered into this club, the man had picked wisely—much better than his failed cocoa bean investment. But it sounded like the cocoa beans were meant to fail. So he could have this, perhaps? Jake scratched his chin, wondering if this club was the endgame—did the man steal to build this new business?

Judging from the liquor flowing, the cover charge, and the lack of elbow room, the man was making money hand over fist, and he played the part well with a crisp button-down and tailored pants. A feline-esque woman with jet-black hair and a wine-red dress joined him, wrapping an arm around his waist. Eli glanced briefly at her, clasping her hand, then stopping to run a finger across the hollow of her throat.

The new woman in his life. Something about her throat interested Eli. Which meant it interested Jake.

Setting his glass of ice water on the bar, he worked his way to the coiled metal staircase at the edge of the dance floor. Keeping his eyes on Eli and the woman, he headed up the steps as quickly as he could, given the heavy press of crowds pushing in both directions. His focus narrowed to the two of them. Like a sniper staring down the barrel of a gun, he only saw Eli and his lady. He rounded the corner as the woman planted a kiss on Eli’s cheek.

Eli cupped her face in his hand and returned the smooch, his fingers drifting to her neckline. Even from Jake’s spot ten feet away, he was nearly blinded. The stone on her necklace was brighter than the sun, and it was the object of Eli’s affection. Stroking it, caressing it, fondling the stone, the man was fixated on her rock. Jake managed to sneak a few feet closer to snag a better look at the stone. Square, with just a trace of a bluish tint to it.

Like a sapphire.

Eli was dating an art dealer, all right, but the man sure seemed fonder of jewels than art. And there was a big diamond business on the Islands.

Before they could see him, he swiveled around. As he walked to the exit, Jake played connect the dots in his head. Money, art, diamonds, club. He didn’t have enough information yet to draw a conclusion, but he didn’t want to leave any stones unturned. He peered up at the balcony one more time—Eli reached into his pocket and pressed his cell phone to his ear. In two seconds, his face lit up with an almost childlike glee. Whoever had called him had made the man’s day. Eli turned around and opened a door, extracting himself from the crowds.

Jake reached the exit, too, where a burly security guard manned the door. His arms were crossed, revealing ink on his forearm of his rank in the army. Jake had put himself through college thanks to the army ROTC, then traveled to Europe where he was stationed with the 66th Military Intelligence Brigade.

“Staff Sergeant,” Jake said to the man with a nod, reading his stripes.

The big man raised his gaze, and the expression in his eyes shifted from one of standoffishness to connection. “Yes.”

Jake tapped his chest. “Captain. Six years.”

“Served for seven myself,” he said, then named his unit. “Cal Winters.”

“Jake Harlowe.”

“Thank you for your service.”

“Thank you for your service.”

A while later, at his hotel, he researched his plan of attack for tomorrow, and also tackled Kylie’s tutor project, firing off e-mails to a few of the names she’d sent him already. Then, as he lay in bed, he unfolded the napkin from the Pink Pelican and tapped his fingertips against his chin as he reread the details. Earlier, he’d been certain he’d follow this trail back to Ariel. But, through no fault of the woman, tonight’s visit to Sapphire had reminded him that this was no easy job. He’d only just begun, and he had a lot of legwork ahead of him to get to the bottom of the missing $10 million. Finding stolen goods wasn’t for the faint of heart.

Hell, the best gigs with the biggest payoffs were the toughest ones, with the most twists and turns on the road.