I Think I Love You (44 page)
She looked back to the stranger, laughing with incredulity. "There must be over a hundred thousand dollars' worth of loans here."
He made a sympathetic sound with his cheek. "Sorry, Doc. The wife is always the last to know."
Natalie frowned. "What are you, some kind of a loan shark?"
His mouth twitched down at the corners. "I own a pawn business, and I make loans to my customers. Ray's a good customer." He pulled a calculator from his back pocket, then bent over the table to scrutinize the appraisal forms. "Okay, let's get this over with. I'm looking for an emerald cocktail ring."
Outraged, she jerked her hands behind her back. "I'm not giving you anything."
He rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger, then said, "Work with me, here, Doc. This is so much better than me having to come to your house."
He was bluffing. "You don't know where we live."
"White brick, navy shutters, messy back yard."
She lifted her chin. "It's an English garden."
"Yeah, whatever. I'm doing you a favor here. If I get the sheriff involved, the whole damn town will know your business."
"Oh, well, as long as you're doing me a
favor
."
He shook his head, tsk-tsking. "You're wasting time."
The entire situation was starting to seem legitimate, frighteningly so. "I need to discuss this with Raymond."
"Later," he said. "When I'm eating Happy Meals with my kids."
"H-How about if I write you a check?" she offered, gathering courage. "How much do you need?"
"About five thousand, and I don't take checks."
Natalie swallowed. "Cash," she said, gesturing toward the door. "Follow me to an ATM and I'll give you cash."
"Have you checked your balances lately, Dr. Carmichael?"
She balked. "Two days ago."
He looked sympathetic. "I've seen Raymond lose ten gees on a single dog race. In two days, he could bankrupt the national treasury." He withdrew his wallet and extracted a business card, then handed it to her.
BUTLER FAMILY PAWN, BRIAN BUTLER, OWNER AND MANAGER. GOLD BOUGHT AND SOLD BY THE OUNCE. WE LOAN MONEY TO ANYONE, AND WE MEAN ANYONE.
He gave her a pointed look. "Now, for the last time, Dr. Carmichael—one emerald cocktail ring."
Feeling helpless, she removed the ring from her finger, then threw it at him, aiming for an eye.
He caught it neatly. "Thank you." Donning a jeweler's monocle, he held the ring up to the light for a few seconds, then punched in a number on the calculator, his fingers too big for the buttons. He dropped the ring onto a snowy handkerchief spread on the table. "Next, one pair of diamond stud earrings, total weight, two point five carats."
Her hands flew to her earlobes. "These were my aunt's—they're family heirlooms!"
"Lucky for Raymond, your aunt had good taste in jewelry."
Cut to the quick, Natalie bit deep into her lip to stem her tears, but failed miserably.
He winced and covered his face with his hand. "Oh, no, no, no. Stop with the tears, okay? I'm just trying to feed my family here. You married the bum, not me."
Furious, she sucked in her tears with a giant hiccup, then handed him the earrings with shaking hands. He inspected them and whistled. "Nice." Then he added them to the hanky. "And finally, one diamond solitaire pendant."
Remembering she'd dropped the piece inside her sweater, she said, "I don't have it with me."
His gaze fell to her chest, and the skin over her heart tingled. Slowly, very slowly, he moved to stand in front of her, zeroing in on the small lump of the pendant beneath her sweater—and not exactly ignoring the more sizable lumps on either side.
Her face burned as she clutched her hand to her chest.
"Come on, Doc, don't make me take it from you."
"Raymond gave this pendant to me for our anniversary."
"I know, I sold it to him. By the way, happy anniversary."
Never before had she so thoroughly despised a person. "You... are... vile."
A scowl darkened his face, illuminating the scar. "Tell you what, Doc, I'll give you a choice. The necklace—" He snatched up her left hand. She resisted, but his fingers were stronger than her entire arm. "Or your wedding ring." His voice was soft and teasing, offering a choice that was no choice at all.
Quaking, she glanced down at the thick gold band, etched with gold leaves and studded with emeralds, designed by Raymond and custom-made for her. She would never part with it. "Let go of me," she hissed, "and I'll give you the necklace."
He released her fingers so abruptly, her arm shot back. Trembling, she lifted the necklace over her head, then pitched it across the floor, sending it skidding to the door. Chest heaving, she met his gaze and injected as much bravado into her voice as she could muster. "Now get
out
."
He stared at her for a few seconds, and when an emotion resembling pity shot through his eyes, she understood how one person could injure another in the red haze of rage. If she'd had a gun, she would've deposited a bullet in one of several areas that when compromised, according to
Gray's Anatomy
, posed a minimum threat to life while ensuring a maximum amount of pain.
Emitting a soft laugh, the man turned and ripped off a pink carbon copy of the form he'd been filling out. "Your receipt," he said, then folded it neatly and pushed it to the edge of the table. He shoved the rest of the papers back into his jacket, which he draped over his corded arm.
After gathering up the hanky, he crossed to scoop up the necklace and added it to the glittery pile. He shoved the small bundle into his pocket, then unlocked the door with a snap of his wrist. When a pained expression crossed his face, he touched a hand to his flat stomach. "Oh, by the way, Doc, I
do
have a touch of indigestion."
Seething, Natalie glared. "Lay off the Happy Meals."
Suddenly he smiled, revealing even, white teeth. Probably caps, considering his line of work. Then he gave her a mock salute, and walked out.
Stephanie Bond was five years deep into a corporate career in computer programming and pursuing an MBA at night when an instructor remarked she had a flair for writing and suggested she submit material to academic journals. But Stephanie was more interested in writing fiction—more specifically, romance and mystery novels. After writing in her spare time for two years, she sold her first manuscript, a romantic comedy, to Harlequin Books. After selling ten additional projects to two publishers, she left her corporate job to write fiction full-time. To-date, Stephanie has more than fifty published novels to her name, including the popular BODY MOVERS humorous mystery series. For more information, visit
http://www.stephaniebond.com
.
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Excerpt from OUR HUSBAND by Stephanie Bond
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