The Diamond Affair (9 page)

Thur 8pm Maxim's.

The handwriting
looked familiar, but he couldn't place it. Today was Thursday. Was Sinestri
still with whoever had written the appointment time or had he left Maxim's
restaurant?

Jake pocketed the
card then checked the desk drawers but found nothing of interest. He glanced at
the computer. With no power in the office, he'd have to take the hard drive
back to his place. If a password was required to log on, he could get Damien,
his techno-wizard mate, to crack it.

He unplugged the
monitor and mouse, then had to duck down as a light shone through the front
window. Great, that's all he needed. A quick response from the electricity
company. He waited in the shadows of the desk but the light didn't move away. Instead,
he heard the front door open. Heavy footsteps stopped on the threshold. The flashlight
scanned the office, twice, before the footsteps started again.

"I saw your
light." It was Fat Frankie.

Fuck!

"And since
you're hiding, I'm thinking you're not supposed to be here."

Speaking of
people who weren't supposed to be there, why was Fat Frankie paying Sinestri a
visit late at night? Did it have something to do with what was written on the
business card?

"I have a
gun on you," Frankie said, "so stand up where I can see you, nice and
slow with your hands over your head."

If Jake did as
ordered, he'd be a dead man. So he waited. Make the lazy fucker come and get
him.

Frankie swore. "I
said get up!"

Again Jake said
nothing, did nothing. Didn't breathe.

"Now I'm
getting pissed off." The footsteps drew closer. Thick-soled boots came
into sight. Close enough.

Jake sprang up
from his crouching position and tackled Frankie low. The air left the big man
in an
oomph
as he fell back like a sack of potatoes to the floor. A
single gunshot blast reverberated around the office, followed by the sound of
plaster raining down on the floorboards.

Frankie's
flashlight slammed against the wall and went out but Jake didn't need to any
light to see. Frankie hadn't moved. If his deep gasps for air were any indication,
he was winded and couldn't move.

Jake stamped his
foot down on Frankie's arm and aimed his own gun where he estimated the other
man's chest to be. Then he turned his flashlight on and trained it on Frankie's
face.

"Finally
wised up to the fact Ruby's no thief?" Jake said.

"You!" Frankie
wheezed. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Trying to
find out who really stole the diamond, because Ruby didn't do it."

"Sinestri?"

Jake shrugged. "He's
as likely as any. Isn't that why you're here?"

"You sure
she didn't do it?" Frankie said. "Because I know how a great screw
can, well, screw you over. That what she did? Wiggle that sexy little ass in
your face— Ow! I think you broke my wrist, you crazy sonofabitch!"

"If you don't
stop talking I'll break every bone in your body."

"I was just
offering some advice. Don't want a fellow security officer getting caught up in
someone else's mess."

"You and I
are not fellow anythings. And if you and your boss would just use your heads
you would realize Ruby hasn't stolen your diamond. She's not the type."

"No? What
about her assistant?"

"Aaron?"
A sick feeling congealed in the pit of Jake's stomach.

"Do any
research on him before you dismissed him?" Frankie said. He was taunting
now. Gloating. "The guy's in debt up to his eyeballs. If your girlfriend
told him about the Florentine, don't you think he'd have taken it first chance
he got? Or used her to get it?"

The sick feeling
just got worse. He'd dismissed Aaron based solely on Ruby's opinion. She'd
vouched for her assistant and he'd instantly forgotten about him. And they'd
alerted Aaron to the danger that morning. He could be anywhere by now.

Damn it. Aaron
should have been top of his list. Ruby had got under his skin almost
immediately. She'd distracted him from his job, made him skip a step, made him
trust her.

Yet another
reason not to let her get any closer than she already had.

"Are you
going to get off my arm and point that gun somewhere else now?"

Jake removed his
foot. "The gun stays put until I can be sure you're unarmed. Now get up
and empty your pockets."

It took a lot of
effort for Frankie to stand. He rolled to the side, leaned on one knee and pushed
himself—

Jake dove out of
the way as a knife whistled past his ear. Frankie must have stashed it in his
sock. For a big man, he could sure spin round and throw fast.

In the instant it
took for Jake to roll and stand, Frankie had pulled out another gun. His first
one still lay on the ground on the far side of the office.

Jake dodged as
Frankie fired. The whine of the bullet was too close for comfort.

"Bloody hell!"
he shouted. He'd been shot at enough in Afghanistan, he didn't need it in
Australia too. Another shot and again he dodged but this time as he rolled, he
was ready.

He got to one
knee, aimed, fired.

Fat Frankie's gun
dropped to the floor and went off, shooting out the computer tower sitting near
the desk. So much for getting Damien to check it out.

"Fuck!"
Frankie roared, shaking out the hand that had held the gun. Blood dripped from
the fingers but not much. The bullet had only grazed him.

Jake kept his gun
trained on Frankie and backed up toward the door. "Follow me and I won't miss
next time." He crossed through the doorway then took off.

His car was
parked a short distance away in the next street. As he turned the corner, he
glanced back over his shoulder. In the moonlight, he could just make out
Frankie jumping into a sports car parked outside Sinestri's office. The car
revved and headed straight for Jake.

He pressed the
unlock button on his keyring and sprinted the last few feet to his car. He dove
into his SUV and threw it into gear. The sports car pulled up alongside. The
front passenger window slid down and the barrel of Frankie's gun appeared.

Jake spun the
wheel and turned down a side street. The bullet pinged off the back bumper and
tires squealed behind him. It seemed Frankie was going to follow him despite
Jake's threat. He had to hand it to Beauvoir's man, he was determined.

He also would
have memorized Jake's license plates by now. With Beauvoir's contacts it would
be easy to find out who owned the car and from that learn Jake's address.

Ruby would be a
sitting duck.

Jake swiped a
bead of sweat from his brow and pressed his foot to the floor. But the SUV didn't
have the speed of the sports car and it soon came up behind him. This time, he
was ready. He pushed the button to lower his window. The sports car swerved out
from behind the SUV and came up alongside. With only its hood in his sight,
Jake aimed.

A horn blared on
his other side and he instinctively turned his head. Car lights blinded him. He
hit the brakes and spun the wheel but the SUV was going too fast to stop and it
went into a roll. Without a seatbelt, Jake was tossed around the cabin. His
body slammed into the roof, the dashboard, the doors. Pain, that familiar
enemy, ripped through his shoulders, chest and head.

When the SUV came
to a groaning halt at the side of the road, he tried to stay focused, tried to
stay awake, even though his brain was hammering against his skull.

He had to get out
of the car. Had to shoot that sonofabitch before he got to Ruby.

The last thing
Jake heard before everything went black was the screech of the sports car's
tires as it sped away.

***

Ruby rubbed her
eyes and glanced at the green display of the clock beside her bed. It was after
two. She'd decided to get some sleep after Jake left but something had woken
her.

The doorbell. She
climbed out of bed, yawned, and padded to the front door. The bell rang again.

"All right,
Jake," she said, fluffing up her bed-hair, "I'm coming." She
unlocked the door. "Didn't you take a key—?"

The door opened. A
big, sweaty body barreled through and grabbed her, spinning her around and
pinning her against a well-padded stomach. It wasn't Jake. Jake didn't smell or
feel like that. And Jake would have a key.

Stupid
idiot
!

"Good
evening, Mizz Jones. Expecting someone?" The big, sweaty body belonged to
Fat Frankie. And he was pointing a gun at her temple.

CHAPTER 8

Fat Frankie drove
fast along the Calder Highway out of Melbourne. From the middle of the back
seat, with her hands tied together in front of her, Ruby could see the road
ahead and knew exactly where she was.

Then he turned
off the main road and onto a narrow one surrounded on both sides by tall gum
trees, their branches meeting overhead in a twisted embrace. She guessed them
to be close to the regional center of Bendigo, but far enough away that only
farms and unpopulated bushland surrounded them.

Oh God. Why had
she opened the door? Her sleepy brain had got confused, remembering that she'd
opened the door to Jake earlier in the day when he'd given her his keys.

Stupid, dumb,
idiot!

Now she was
heading God knows where with a thug, and Jake was...somewhere. Something had
gone wrong. Sickeningly wrong. When she'd questioned Frankie, he'd mentioned an
accident then laughed. No matter how hard she'd tried to get him to talk, he
said nothing more. Jake could be injured, lying in a ditch or in hospital. Or
he could be dead.

A fist punched
through her chest and squeezed her heart. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't stop
the tears tumbling down her cheeks. A sob caught in her tight throat and she
choked, spluttering snot all over her knees.

"You're not
going to puke are you?" Frankie said, trying to see her in the rear view
mirror.

Puking meant
pulling over. If she could catch him off-guard she might be able to escape. "Yes."

He swore and
wound down his window. "Make sure you get the floor and not the seats. This
upholstery was expensive." He didn't even slow down.

Ruby lowered her
head and cried harder.

The car turned
onto a smaller gravel road then a short drive later, turned again. It was a
long driveway, Ruby realized. At the end, surrounded by trees and dense bush, nestled
an old log cabin that looked as exhausted as Ruby felt. The sides sagged
inwards and the porch roof drooped like a lazy eyelid over the front door. A
light was on inside. Someone was home.

A dark BMW was
parked around the side. Guy Beauvoir's car.

They got out and Fat
Frankie prodded her in the small of her back with his gun. Her bare feet trod
over pebbles and dirt to the front door. Frankie hadn't even let her put shoes
on back at Jake's apartment.

The door swung
open and Guy Beauvoir stood on the other side. "Ah, Ruby Jones." He
smiled, revealing too-white teeth. "You made it in one piece."

"Where's
Jake?" she snapped.

Beauvoir raised
an eyebrow at Frankie, hovering nearby, the gun held by his bandaged right hand.
The big security chief shrugged.

"It would
seem he either knows or doesn't care," Beauvoir said.

"You
bastards!" She leapt at him but Frankie caught her round the waist and
pulled her back, hard. She struggled and kicked out but it was pathetic. He
tightened his grip, squeezing the air out of her lungs. She stopped struggling.
She would need to conserve her energy if she were to get out alive.

"Where is
it?" Beauvoir said casually.

"I don't
know." She sucked air into her lungs and wriggled. Fat Frankie let her go
but kept the gun trained on her. "If I did, don't you think I would have
given it back to you by now so you'd leave me alone?"

"Perhaps you
can't give it back," Beauvoir said. "Maybe you've already sold it, or
someone else has taken it from you. If so, I want to know who."

"You're
freaking nuts to think I would ever steal anything from you. I would have to be
as mad as you to be so stupid."

Frankie laughed. Beauvoir
shot him a glare and the laughter died.

"You realize
if you don't co-operate, Frankie will have to kill you."

She shook her
head in a show of bravado that she certainly didn't feel. "No he won't. If
you think I know where the Florentine is, you need me alive to take you to it."

Beauvoir
stretched his neck to the side, cracking it. "Not as naïve as you look,
are you? Since we can't kill you, perhaps torture will suffice. It's amazing
what people will say and do under the application of a little pain." He
stretched his neck to the other side. "Or perhaps something a little more...fun."
His slippery gaze slid to her bare legs. She wore Jake's sloppy T-shirt and
nothing else.