The Sapphire Affair (Jewel #1)

“Yep. And what it’s worth, of course. To see if it could even add up. See, Andrew and I were originally thinking Eli might have moved the stolen money in art, like we talked about,” Jake said, and she winced at the word stolen. “But moving that much in art is conspicuous. It’s much easier to get on a plane with a handful of diamonds than with big wads of cash or hundreds of canvases. Shipping art that expensive, too, would be noticed, with the insurance a thief would need to cover it.”


Another wince. Another cringe. She wished he’d stop using those damn words.

“But gems,” Jake said, continuing his theorizing, “Eli can put on a string and wear that around his neck on the flight. He can have his fiancée wear them. Doesn’t matter. Once they’re diamonds, they travel easily on your person.”

“You don’t know he transported them on his neck, Jake,” she said through tight lips, keeping her eyes on the road. “We don’t know that he transported them at all.”

“Right,” he said, as if the word had ten syllables. “Maybe he had a private jet. But even so, you have to go through customs, and let’s say, hypothetically, if someone were to transport diamonds, or sapphires, or rubies, they’re movable much easier than a ton of art. That’s why a smart guy like—” he said, then stopped himself. “A smart person would take the stolen money and put it into jewels. Especially if someone can help him with safe transport.”

She knew he was referencing that e-mail, that damn incriminating e-mail, and all those other documents, too. She didn’t want to think about those details right now. She shifted to the strategy for today.

“So is there a secret back exit at International Diamonds? You’d better not sneak out the back door with my gem,” she said, zoning in on the task at hand—to find out how valuable these stones were.

“I promise I’m not going to dart through the diamond merchant’s shop to make off with your rock.”

“How do I know?” she asked, since it was, admittedly, risky to hand over the diamond for a few minutes. But it was riskier for her to go into the shop herself.

He rustled around in the passenger seat. At the red light, she glanced over. He was digging into his back pocket. He extracted his wallet and flipped it open, tapping the plastic covering his driver’s license. “Here you go. Take it. My identification. Can’t get anywhere without it. Plus, you’ve got all my credit cards in there, too, so you can have a spending spree if I turn out to be some crazy escape artist taking off with your diamond.”

He set the wallet in the center console, and her lips twitched up in a grin. “That’s a reasonable form of collateral.”

The light changed, and she pressed the gas, weaving through the afternoon traffic. “What happens if someone sees us together? What do I say? Who are you?”

He flashed a lopsided grin. “Well, you’ll be waiting in the car, so no one will. But if someone does, that’s easy. I’m a customer of Ariel’s Island Eco-Adventure Tours, and you hit on me on your dive tour.”

She rolled her eyes. “As if I would do that.”

“You totally hit on me. You couldn’t resist. I was underwater in my swim trunks, and you couldn’t stop staring, so you hit on me,” he said, the cocky bastard, as he dropped his hand onto her bare thigh. She hitched in a breath.

“You wish,” she said, trying to ignore the fact that she liked his hand on her leg.

“It’s true. I speak the full truth,” he said as he tugged the ball cap lower on his head. “You picked me up and you insisted on having me.”

“Just like you insisted on kissing me back in my hotel room,” she said as she flicked on her blinker and turned onto Wayboard Street.

“I’ll try to do a better job resisting you,” he said, but as she locked eyes with him, the look in his said resistance would be tough.

She nearly swerved when a car honked its horn at her.

Better pay attention to the road than his sexy eyes.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN


International Diamonds commanded the corner of the street. The sign above the shop glittered, with huge cutout gems bookending the name.

He pushed open the door, and a blast of cool air-conditioning greeted him. He was nearly blinded by the dazzling displays of gems. Cases upon cases. Row upon row. Necklaces, and bracelets, and rings, and watches, and even barrettes.

The shop was busy, thronging with curious tourists, judging from the attire. But also a few businessmen, he reasoned, when he spotted a pair of men in slacks and button-down shirts at the far counter. They were engaged in what looked to be a deep discussion with an employee. This was good. The busier the shop was, the less likely anyone would remember him, even though the diamond he had was memorable.

He wandered along the counters, peering through the glass at the loose gems, absently drumming his fingers along the case.

“May I help you, sir?”

The question came from a young woman in a white lab coat. She wore black glasses and had her dark hair twisted up in a bun.