Hidden Gems (3 page)

“Then let’s get out of here so I can feed you,” Jamie said, reverting to the reliable friend she recognized. They’d reached the head of the line and he’d stashed her suitcase in their taxi’s trunk. He held the door open, smiling at her, adorably rumpled in a tee layered over a white cotton shirt with frayed edges. No fashion plate, her friend, Jamie. Nothing like Paul, who spent more on his wardrobe than many women.

Marissa climbed into the taxi. After she was settled, she took a moment to thank her lucky stars for the Frisbee she’d mistakenly aimed at Jamie’s nose the day they’d met. She was certain that he’d never once thought of her as an accessory, even though she’d been his plus one at a number of the events that he attended in his career as an arts writer for the Village Observer, a smallish daily newspaper targeted at the city’s trendy, upscale culture vultures.

No. To Jamie, she really was a treasure.

The surprise for her was in realizing how mutual the sentiment had become.

JEAN LUC ALLARD had given the officials the slip. Child’s play, he thought as he slithered through the throng near the airport exit, though in fact he’d narrowly escaped the wide net cast by the cops and security guards that had swarmed the JFK terminal.

He’d skipped out of the boarding area in the nick of time, then taken the long detour through Arrivals to avoid crossing under their noses. But they’d also covered that area.

An unpleasant surprise. One that had forced him into ditching the goods despite the huge risk that entailed.

After making his move, he’d managed to reach a rest room, where he’d switched his dark glasses and leather jacket with the Patriots jersey and baseball cap stowed in his bag. The fake French passport he’d booked his tickets under was lodged in the crevice behind one of the sinks, replaced with an American one that claimed he was Joe Martin from Stonington, Massachusetts.

The risk made Allard’s gut churn. Fortunately he’d planned for all eventualities. But how had the bastards known where to find him in the first place?

A lucky tip from an informant…or a double cross?

Unlikely. He’d had contact with no one except his employer, a wealthy European with a large bank account and a larger ego. Allard had a number to call when he reached the rendezvous point, and no more.

He was on his own. As he preferred. His father had taught him to trust no one.

Even in the innocuous getup, passersby gave the Frenchman’s black scowl a wide berth. He paid them little heed, consumed by his racing thoughts. There would be no mercy with a fortune at stake. He would cut the throat of any person who dared stop him.

Already he had left one body behind. He’d coldcocked an interloper outside the ransacked safe of Stanhope’s Auction House, snatching the prize from the man’s hands even as he’d crumpled to the floor. Naturally, the theft of late heiress Zoey Zander’s vast collection of jewels had made the news. Every thief of international repute was reported to be a suspect.

While the New York police had paddled in place, squabbling with Interpol like ducks on the Seine, Allard had bided his time in a nondescript Brooklyn hotel room. Once he’d believed the stateside situation had cooled down, he’d booked a ticket to the Buenos Aires drop point.

To be thwarted now made his blood thin with displeasure. Merde! He’d been one boarding pass away from his escape.

That he’d become the security agent’s quarry was not in question. What remained to be seen was if they’d realized that the heist had been arranged solely to acquire the White Star, an ivory amulet so rare and revered that few had known of its existence until the auction house had publicized the contents of the Zander estate.

For these past weeks, he—and he alone—had owned the White Star. Caressed her. Held her to his lips in defiance of the legend she carried, which prophesied love for the pure of heart, a cursed future for all else.

And now she was gone.

Though Allard’s face betrayed no emotion, his tongue was bitter with frustration.

He spat. Pah.

The anxious officials’ presence had prevented him from boarding the flight to South America. He’d been cornered like a rodent, forced to take an incredible risk. Getting caught with the amulet was not an option. Therefore, regrettably, the White Star was no longer in his possession.

An extreme nuisance, that, but a necessity under the circumstances.

Carefully positioned out of the bustle, but close enough to move fast when need be, Allard cupped his hand to light a cigarette. He leaned against the building, dragging on the stinging taste of tobacco. Behind the sunglasses, his eyes zipped back and forth between the herds of American travelers, most of them waiting patiently in line like cows.

Ah, there she was.

Marissa Suarez. Stunning girl, with silken black hair and legs that went forever. It might be amusing to prolong his surveillance and seduce his way into her apartment rather than resort to the usual break-in. His employer would not approve of the indiscretion, but the man seemed to have a talent for buffing his nails while subordinates accomplished his dirty work.

Allard didn’t mind. He excelled in living on the fly, taking advantage of opportunities that presented themselves.

Smoke curled from his nostrils. Covertly he studied the girl. She was smart, aware of her surroundings, holding her straw bag close to her body while she waited at the curb. The man who had met her inside kept a firm grip on the other bag.

Allard saw he had no choice. An immediate recovery attempt was too risky. Not only were there authorities in the vicinity, but the girl could identify his face, particularly if he attracted more attention to himself.

He should have chosen a less observant mark, one of the weary tourists with their heaps of mismatched baggage. All too stupid to realize what he’d planted on them. But this one had literally fallen at his feet.

The boyfriend put his hand at her back, guiding her into a cab. The vital suitcase had gone into the trunk.

Allard ground the cigarette beneath his heel. He smiled to himself, pleased by his maneuvers. The unfortunate situation was under control. While his employer would be enraged if he knew the treasure had been out of Allard’s hands for even a minute, the man need only be told of the unavoidable delay of their rendezvous. Let him sputter and squawk. In the end, he would wait.

As would Allard. For a million euros, he could put up with any annoyance, any delay. He was beholden only to the White Star.

A sharp whistle summoned one of the gypsy cabs. He slid inside and mumbled a directive to the driver around the fresh cigarette he’d inserted in his mouth. As the vehicle pulled away, two of the security guards emerged from the terminal, their frustration as evident as their empty hands.

Smirking, Allard slunk low in the back seat while the car neatly whisked him away from beneath the officials’ noses. He’d escaped unscathed once more.

Jamie dragged in a deep breath before draping an arm around her. He was too nice for his own good. Definitely too nice.

“I mean, it would be so easy,” she continued, her voice muffled by his chest. He had to lean his head closer to hear her over the din of the busy and colorful restaurant, a frequent hangout only two blocks from their apartment building. Marissa liked the place for the ethnic menu and decor that reminded her of home, not that she’d ever admit to such sentimental longings.

As for Jamie, he’d go anywhere she did.

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me when we broke up,” she finished. “And then we could still stay friends.”

Since she’d spent the past ninety minutes telling him and her girlfriends that she wasn’t hurt by Paul’s betrayal, the first part of the statement was more revealing than she intended.

He touched his nose and lips to her hair, hurting for her more than she’d ever hurt for herself. Marissa pained him, she frustrated him, she exhilarated him. He’d wanted her from the day they met, but now wasn’t the time to take her question seriously. “Why would you want to start something with the intention of breaking up?”

“Not an intention. A given.” She tilted her face up, lightly knocking her forehead against his chin. Her lids were weighted and she had the dopey, slightly boozy grin that meant she was about fifteen minutes from crashing. “I’m a realist. There’s always a breakup.”

“Only because you choose the wrong men.”

She sighed and snuggled back in. He felt a shiver pass through her slender body. “We’ve already established that there’s something off about my taste in men. And since I agree that I’ve got to stop doing this to myself, next time I need to find a nice guy. Like you.” After a moment—Jamie was sure only he felt the strain of it—she chuckled. “But of course not you.”

Of course not. He looked at the tin ceiling. At least she still remembered there was a possibility of their having got together at some point. Perhaps he hadn’t wandered so deep into the “just friends” zone that there was no coming back.

Three years he’d known her. Three years waiting for the right time to tell her that he thought there could be more than friendship between them. First, there’d been other people in their lives. Then, for a long time, he’d convinced himself that she was hopelessly out of his league—a savvy, single-minded attorney who worked and played among the upper strata wouldn’t be interested in an easygoing arts writer who counted his dog among his best friends. So he’d kept his interest buried beneath layers of playing the good guy and best friend. Told himself he was better off that way, since Marissa lost her good sense when it came to her love life. He didn’t want to be one of her regrets. To say nothing of losing her as a friend.

Cassandra Richards returned from the ladies’ room to lean over the table. She was part of Marissa’s circle of friends, a stunning blonde who worked in fashion, in some sort of public relations capacity. The type of woman who, with one flick of her lashes, could make Jamie feel like a teenager again—all ears, nose, big feet and gangly limbs. He frequently found himself wondering how a brainy boy from the Connecticut suburbs had wound up associating with such Manhattan beauties. If his teenage garage band could see him now…

“How’s our girl?” Cass asked. She had dropped by to lend her support, even though Marissa had been adamant about how very okay she was without Paul…while downing mojitos, one right after the other, before the food had arrived.

Eyes shut, Marissa aimed a sleepy smile at her friend. “Drifting.”

Cass sent her wry look Jamie’s way. “Finally.”

Marissa’s index finger twitched. “You go home. I’ve kept you too long.”

“I’ll hold your hair anytime, Mari.”

Marissa grinned at the girlfriend shorthand for their mutual support system. She pressed a hand to her stomach. “No literal pilgrimages to the porcelain goddess tonight, please.”

Jamie rubbed her back, hoping for the same. He’d hold back her hair, but not if that made him one of the girls.

“Time to take her home,” he said to Cassandra, who’d arrived in a slouchy sweater with her whisper-fine hair tucked haphazardly in a clip. She still managed to look like a princess among the paupers.

“Need any help?”

“Thanks, I’ve got her.”

Cass snapped open her bag and dropped several bills on the table to pay for a share of the drinks, sandwiches and très leches. She’d matured from the last time Jamie had seen her. According to Marissa, Cass had fallen under the good influence of a cop from Queens. That sounded like a strange pairing to Jamie, but he’d taken it as a sign of hope for himself.

“Great,” Cass said, “because I’ve got work in the morning, unlike Happy Holidays here. I need to get home.”

“Hold on.” Jamie made a motion to slide out of the booth. Marissa tried to straighten up, not very successfully. “I’ll walk you to the train.”

“Nonsense. It’s not that far to Tribeca. I’ll grab a cab.” Cass leaned down and pecked Marissa’s flushed cheek. “Call you tomorrow.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Take care.” Cass gave Jamie an appreciative smile. The luggage they’d stored under the table caught her eye as she turned to leave. “Don’t forget the bags.”

“Nothing important in ’em,” Marissa murmured. “Just my broken dreams.”

Jamie waved a couple of fingers at Cass before turning his attention back to the woman tucked beneath his arm. Marissa, she of the sharp angles and razor tongue, wasn’t warm and cuddly very often. Was it wrong to enjoy the hell out of holding her this way when she was only looking for a friendly shoulder?

“Also your passport and credit cards and house keys,” he said, nudging the suitcase with his toe.

“Gawd, I’ve become maudlin.” Her face scrunched in revulsion. “That means it’s abs’lutely, positively time to go.”

“Are you up to walking?”

“Sure. I’m not drunk. Only kind of loose.” She let her arms flop.

Like a broken doll, Jamie thought, knowing that tomorrow she would be a warrior woman again. Tonight there was a rather large chink in her armor. If ever he’d have the chance to explore her feelings for him…

But he couldn’t take advantage. Not because he was all that noble. Because she’d be miffed with him tomorrow, and Marissa in a temper brought even more of his hidden feelings to the surface. Her passion had always awed him. Although he’d tried to keep himself at arm’s length at the start of their friendship, he’d been a moth to her intense flame. No way could he maintain a distance, even when that meant going home singed by her lack of awareness. He told himself that while being her lover would be incredible, having her as a friend was enough.

Jamie hesitated. He’d lied. Friendship wasn’t enough. Besides, she’d brought up the question, not him. But he’d like an answer.

Why hadn’t they ever hooked up?

Marissa spoke first. “I’m sorry I’ve been so needy. You probably had better things to do this evening.”

“Not at all.” He had a movie review to write, but that wasn’t due until eleven tomorrow morning. Plenty of time, especially since he’d be up all night, taming tonight’s wayward urges. Marissa had no idea what he suffered for her.

“Ready to go?”

“I guess.” She slid out of the booth.

“Wait here.” He went to pay the bill to speed up the process, idling for a few minutes in the throng around the cash register. He watched the dark glimmer of Marissa’s reflection in the mirror behind the bar. She stared blankly across the room. Vulnerability was evident in her unschooled expression, and he nearly groaned out loud at the rare sight.

Oh, hell. He couldn’t press her tonight. She needed a white knight. That would be him—again.

She was squinting into the crowd when he returned. He asked her what she was looking for and got a shrug. “Thought I saw someone from the airport.”

“Not Paul.”

“Course not. He’s still in the Caymans, having meetings.”

Jamie handed her the straw purse, then dragged the lightweight suitcase out from beneath the table. “Are you ever going to tell me exactly what happened there?” A chattering group pushed past them to claim the table.

“It’s so predictable.” Marissa took a big breath when they emerged onto the street. “I hate being predictable.”

The night air was cool and fresh, a rarity that was unique to a few brief weeks of spring in the city. After the long winter, the Village had burst into life, throbbing with the beating drums of meeting, teasing, making love, making mistakes. Or maybe it was just Jamie’s head screwing with him because that was all that he could think about, especially since Marissa had brought up the subject of sex.

They headed toward the crosswalk onto Bleecker Street. “C’mon, tell me the story,” Jamie said. “I need to know whether or not I have to beat up Paul.” The statement was sure to get a laugh, given his resident pet geek status.

Marissa didn’t laugh. She peered at him from the corners of her eyes for a full five seconds before her berry-ripe lips stretched into an amused smile. “Thanks, darling. I’ll just kick Paul in the family jewels if he ever approaches me again.”

“Ow.”

She took his hand, twining their arms and swinging them as they walked. The cool air had perked her up. “Paul and I had been falling apart even before the Caymans. The trip was a last-ditch effort to keep the romance going.” Her face went grim. “If it was ever a romance at all.”

“I thought that Paul had swept you off your feet.” Hearing the details of their fancy dinners with champagne and roses had eaten Jamie up inside.

“Yes, well, turns out that I’ve been deceiving myself about what we meant to each other. After the first flush of attraction, we had nothing in common except ambition.” She squeezed Jamie’s fingers. “That’s always my mistake. I go for the flashy dressings when what I need is a man of real substance.”

What she needed was to figure out why she was drawn to the wrong men when she knew she’d end up unsatisfied. He’d recognized the pattern four disastrous relationships ago.

“What did Paul do?”

“I’m more unhappy with myself than him.” She wrinkled her nose. “But it was like I said. He promised me a fabulous spring vacation in the Caribbean. Then when we got there I found out he’d actually set up meetings with clients. The Cayman Islands have advantageous offshore investment and banking regulations. We have several clients who’ve incorporated their businesses there to avoid taxes.”

“Isn’t that kind of shady?”

“Not really,” she defended. “The law is the law. Howard, Coffman is a reputable firm.” A frown crossed her face. “I’ll admit I became curious about what Paul was up to. But when I asked to come along, he told me to get out of his business and into a bikini.”

“Ah.” Jamie almost smiled. He’d known the arrogant Paul would shoot himself in the foot sooner or later.

“Yeah. You know I hate getting that head-patting thing from guys. He tried to make it up to me when he came back, but I wasn’t having any. After that, it was all downhill. He ditched me in the hotel bar and took calls the one time we actually made it to the beach.”

She stopped, shook her head, then resumed a faster pace as they turned onto their home street, a short, narrow lane lined with chestnut trees and brownstones that had gone dark and quiet. “Enough. Let’s just get home. I’m boring even myself with this rehashing.”

“He hurt you. I can see it.” Jamie was agitated because he knew Marissa was leaving something out. It wasn’t like her to be evasive.

She turned quiet, firming her soft mouth as she stared straight ahead. Their footsteps echoed. “He cheated, okay? He said he had one last late-night meeting, and I guess that much was true because I saw him through my—”

She shot a shamefaced look at Jamie. “I didn’t mean to spy. I’d been snapping photos of the sunset from the hotel balcony. I happened to spot Paul through the lens, a short way down the road outside a beachfront bar. He was talking to a man with a briefcase, so I didn’t think too much of it until this island hoochie-coochie came up.”

Marissa was absorbed in the story now. They’d slowed to a stop near the wide front steps of a stately brownstone with double oak doors, half a block from home. Jamie put the bag down and took her other hand.

She gave him a chagrined grin. “You know the type. Semi-pro. Big bleached-blond hair, implants, pink lipstick, high heels. I thought she was with Paul’s client because he kissed her hello, but then she attached herself to Paul. And he was willing.”

“You saw all of this through the camera?”

“Yes. I even—” She cut off. “It’s so tawdry.” She inched closer to Jamie. “The melodrama revolts me. I don’t want that kind of life.”

He knew why. She’d told him of the soap opera of life in Little Havana, where everyone had an opinion on each other’s business, and how she’d escaped by keeping herself aloof and focused.

One of his hands went to her back, sliding up and down in a soothing caress while he struggled with the urge to take her into his arms, to hold her, love her, give her the closeness that she didn’t know she desired. The hell of it was that even if she opened up her heart, the need for intimacy might never include him.