Falcon's Angel (27 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Falcon was accustomed to the dark.

Years of surveillance operations instilled in him a sphinx-like patience. He had turned off the sensor lights illuminating every six feet of walkway through the stone corridors, and now waited in a pitch-black arch that led to more darkness on the other side of the vault entrance.

He’d been waiting an hour in the bowels of St. Clair Manor. The wind whipping through the labyrinth of storage areas and wine cellars reminded him of his search for Angel in the catacombs under
La Verità
, and his hand flexed over the gun holster.

A beam of light speared the cavernous gloom. No sound of footfalls echoed against the stone floor to give away the nighttime visitor’s intent while the disembodied light approached.

Falcon backed into the murk when Tara stopped before the huge metal door of the safe. She set the halogen lamp down. Her dark brown hair screened the lamp so that fiery light filtered through, reminding him of Rosa Bareschi’s red curls.

Tara took something out of a satchel slung over her shoulder. She placed the device over the electronic keypad on the wall. Within minutes, the instrument decoded the correct combination of numbers, which came up one by one on the display to activate the mechanism within the door.

The door whirred open onto a modern day Aladdin’s cave. There were compartments faced with metal and more electronic keypads were carved into the stone walls. Priceless antiques gleamed in lit wall cases. Gold, bronze and jade were fashioned in shapes spanning several periods of world history. The master thief walked past this bounty to the large glass-topped casements lining the floor in rows. She was looking for something.

Falcon waited until she set her leather bag down on top of a casement before joining her. “Well done.”

Tara swung around to face him. Her shrewd perusal was followed by a regretful sigh. “Todd isn’t really your name, is it?”

Falcon took her hand out of the bag.

Tara made a deft motion towards his throat but he grabbed her wrist, pressing until the glasscutter fell from her fingers. He twisted her arm behind her back.

“How did you know?” Tara said, struggling against him.

He let her wait for an answer as he checked her for concealed weapons. There was a small pistol she’d somehow managed to tuck into the front of her skintight black pants. He placed the gun on the glass case behind him, and then released her.

Tara eyed the vault door while rubbing her hands together to get the blood circulating.

He leaned back against the glass. “Why don’t you try and make a run for it?”

“You would enjoy that,” she chuckled mirthlessly.

“If you hadn’t gotten greedy you might have made it out of North Yorkshire unescorted.” He took the dragon anklet out of his pocket and held it up. “On second thought, maybe not.”

Tara’s cool façade fell away and her hands dropped to her sides. Whatever her name was, this was no act.

Her stunned, brown eyes looked up into his. “You know who you are.”

Placing the anklet in his palm, he fingered the ruby dragon. “And you are
il Dragone
.”

She held out her hand for the anklet and he shook his head.

“Here is what I don’t know; how is it possible that these rubies contain blood? How does it give you power?”

“Do you know what you did to me?” she whispered. “My father sent me to a convent. I died there.”

Falcon couldn’t muster any interest in her words. “Answer me.”

Although she couldn’t disguise the hurt in her eyes, her confidence was back. She shrugged. “His blood is our blood.”

“Dragon’s blood?”

Tara quirked her lips and his temper flared.

“Who gave you the order to come here? Was it Ruggiero?”

“There are many Ruggieros. You will never see them coming. And they will come for her.”

Before he knew it, his gun was pressing into her forehead. She didn’t even blink. It’s what she wanted.

Rage is dangerous,
he reminded himself. He couldn’t kill her yet. She had to be brought in. The world was waiting for her.

Falcon forced his hand down to holster the gun. He stepped back.

Tara sighed and looked down at the sapphire and diamond set in the glass case. The rectangular-shaped sapphire was nearly the size of an egg, bordered by starburst diamonds that were each at least a carat in weight. The sapphire was supported on a twenty-inch loop of diamonds.

“This set once belonged to the leader of the Maratha Empire. It is invaluable.”

He followed her gaze. “Amelie’s favorite trio. You’ve done your homework.”

“She never takes off her engagement sapphire, but the necklace and earrings are reserved for special occasions.” Tara looked up at him. “So, New York was just a job?”

“It was much more than that. You managed to disappear with half a billion dollars’ worth of paintings. Rembrandt must be rolling in his grave.” When she wouldn’t respond, he asked, “Wasn’t it just a job for you?”

“Of course not.” Tara closed the distance between them, sliding her hands up his chest, her fingers kneading his black T-shirt. “I had to leave. My mother was dying.” Her lips grazed his. “I went back to California…” Her hands caressed his back now, and inched down toward the glass case. “And I was upset that you didn’t remember me…” When she reached for the gun behind him, he clamped a hand over her wrist.

“Save it, Tara. I was going to spare you this, but…” He took the handcuffs off his belt buckle and placed them around her slender wrists.

“Wait, I still love you.” Those big brown eyes began to tear. “We can…”

“You wound me, my love.” Miles was standing on the other side of the glass case.

Tara turned off the waterworks, pressing her lips into a firm line of disgust.

Angel came forward, breathless. “The Stradivarius is missing. And so is my bracelet.”

“Look in the bag,” Falcon said.

Angel pulled a black case out of Tara’s satchel. The unique solid gold bangle set with canary yellow diamonds shined like the sun on a bed of velvet. Next to it was her brother Leif’s contribution to the Sacha Collection; a prototype he’d left in the drafting room yesterday, a sparkling tiger’s eye necklace.

* * * *

Tara spent the night locked in the poolroom.

The next day, Falcon brought Tara into Haddon Hall, where she had an audience.

Darien, who hadn’t been expected for a few days, had flown in that morning, and now sat in the middle of the Cardiff contingent, with one evil-eyed mother from Tuscany.

Falcon didn’t try to stop them from joining the makeshift interrogation. The Jeweler had touched all of their lives. They all deserved to be there.

He led Tara to the last, comfortable oversized chair she would ever sit on, facing Darien, and then took the chair next to hers.

“You are a most sought after young lady, Eliana Natale.” Darien slapped an enlarged University of Southern California identification photo on the low coffee table between them. “Part of your record was expunged until recently, when our mole found and interrogated a member of the faculty.
il Dragone
in residence.”

Angel’s gasp pre-empted all others. “But the Maestro did not have any children.”

Falcon gave her a curt nod. “That’s what the public was led to believe, but
il Dragone
knew the truth about their brother Giovanni Natale. That’s why they came after Angelina Natale that night at the Naples Conservatory. They thought she was the real thing.” He glanced at Eliana, who was glaring at Darien, tears running down her cheeks.

Darien’s stoical expression meant this just might be one of those rare times in which the barrister boiled over.

Falcon refrained from rubbing his hands together in glee. “But we’re getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?”

“How is it that a mathematical whiz who could have been anything she wanted settled for being a common thief?” Darien waved his hand in disgust. He read from the printed report Granger had sent this morning. “She was cracking government codes on her computer by the time she was in high school. She pulled off her first bank job before she graduated and got away with fifty grand.” He whistled.

Darien whistled?

As satisfying as it was to witness Darien’s cleansing rage, an emotion Falcon was all too familiar with lately, he decided to take over.

“Eliana moved her alcoholic mother into an apartment on the beach. She attended classes at Marina Del Rey.”

“You had everything going for you. Why?” Miles was staring at Tara.

Tara brushed the tears away with the back of her hand, and put both hands up as if weighing on scales. “Information Sciences or priceless museum pieces?” Her laughter was pained, bitter. “I was good at it, always one step ahead of the law.”

“She flaunted her prizes in the face of the authorities,” Falcon said. “We planted two Fabergé eggs in California. She took them without triggering the alarms, and put the fake in a trash bin outside the museum with a note attached ‘nice try’ before making off with the genuine article.”

“If I’d only known it was you, we could have been together much sooner.” Words were Eliana’s only defense now.

Darien gave a savage snort. “Your father taught you well.”

“My father?” Eliana sneered. “My father robbed me of my birthright. He’d already been married twenty years when I came along, and he kept me hidden far away from his wife, his fame.” Eliana turned to Angel. “The Maestro was not who the world thought he was.”

Angel narrowed her eyes. “And that’s how this started, a rebellious outcry for attention?”

“You can’t imagine how it was to watch him with you, teaching you everything…” There was a catch in Eliana’s voice, and for a moment, it seemed she wouldn’t continue. “…when all he gave us was money to keep quiet.”

Angel leaned toward Eliana as if she hadn’t heard her clearly. “Y-you were in London?”

“I always knew where my father was hiding from
il Dragone
, although after his reconstructive surgery I was forbidden to make contact with him under any circumstances.”

“When?” Roman was looking at Eliana as if she were an unusual species of insect.

Eliana never took her eyes off Angel. “Every chance my schedule permitted.”

“Oh, God,” Angel whispered. “It was you.”

With elbows on knees, Falcon leaned forward. “What is it, Angel?”

“The night before I left for Italy I was at the Academy…” Angel began quietly. With her head in her hands, she told them of the night she was locked in the study hall at the Royal Academy of Music, and how the master thief had tried to take the violin. She lifted her head to look up at him. “I … I started screaming … and … the door opened.”

Falcon nodded slightly so that Angel could see he took her meaning. Blessing or curse, the sleeping witch within had finally been awakened.

“Ma petite, how could you keep this from us?” her mother asked.

“Would you have let me go to Italy then?” When her mother didn’t answer, Angel continued. “I thought it was Jonny. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you, so I just sort of … buried it.” She paused, frowning at Eliana. “You were the photographer at the funeral.”

“I couldn’t get a moment alone with my father’s star pupil.” Eliana’s smile was frigid, promising.

Falcon’s gun hand flexed, but he’d left his gun in the bedroom for this very reason. He felt like killing her on the spot. He turned to Angel. “When you left for Italy she would not follow, fearing a confrontation with Ruggiero and
il Dragone
, who she knew was also after the Strad.”

“So she started working on me.” Miles’s eyes glittered with resentment.

Eliana swung her head towards him with an intimate smile. “That was the fun part.”

“Miles,” Falcon stayed him with a hand. Miles sat back down. “Don’t feel bad. You’re just one among many. Isn’t that right, Eliana?”

Darien opened a folder and withdrew a report. “That is a matter of fact, thanks to Duke Eduardo Falco’s report.”

Miles rose from his seat and picked up the report.

Darien went on. “She got involved with the duke’s son and in no time at all, she had secured the violin. By the way, where is it?”

“It’s safe. Last night I found the Stradivarius in the trunk of Tara’s car, tucked away in its case.”

Angel nodded understanding. “You wanted back the only part of your father you could ever really have. The thing he loved most in life. His music.”

“He’d always wanted the Strad. It was for him,” Eliana whispered. “But he flew into a rage, worried about his reputation. He told me I’d ruined him.”

Falcon sat back in his chair. “Natale couldn’t expose the daughter he’d kept hidden for twenty years, so he took the violin from you with the intention of selling it. When the deal with Ruggiero went sour, Natale was turned out of
il Dragone
. Neither you or your mother were safe after that.”

Eliana shook her head. “He was so angry with Ruggiero that he kept the money. Considered it payment for years of contributions to
il Dragone
, and for having to leave his beloved homeland forever. He never let the Stradivarius out of his sight.” Tears filled her eyes once more. “It was the only love he ever needed, and if
il Dragone
found us, well, they’d be doing him a favor if they killed the ex-lover he was paying to keep quiet and her twenty-year-old daughter.”

“Why did the deal with Ruggiero go sour?” Falcon asked.

Eliana waved her hand dismissively. “Alfonso Ruggiero would have given the Strad to his son Tomas, a determined student devoid of talent. My father vowed the young fool would never lay hands on the violin. He left Italy to bring the violin to England.”

Darien crossed the distance between them to bend over Eliana, both hands on the armrests of her chair. “You went back to
il Dragone
and they didn’t kill you. Why?”

“She made a deal.” Falcon got up to stand next to Angel, who was looking from him to Eliana. “Her life for Angel’s.”

Darien pulled Eliana out of the chair and dragged her to the double doors of Haddon Hall. Two armed guards stood on the other side. “Get her out of here.”