Page 11 of The Diamond Thief
Did Sylvester know he harbored a criminal in his ranks? I’ll sure tell him.
The thing is, she shouldn’t have been able to leave.
My heart thuds faster as I realize that she must have somehow deactivated the door locks. Without my code and fingerprints, you can’t even leave this place unless I escort you out.
Maybe she infiltrated the private cleaning company that I own and has access to this apartment. Maybe she was working with someone on the inside.
My mind races through scenarios. It seems like a lot of effort for a simple tiara that was not a particularly pricey object. But maybe twenty thousand is a lot to someone like Jade. It’s just that if she had the skills to pull a heist inside my own apartment, she should have the ability to pull off a much bigger job.
After a small panic, I wonder about the key to my bunker vault downstairs.
I head to my dresser and deactivate the alarm system. When I open the drawer, I relax upon spotting the ancient key exactly where it is supposed to be, nestled between layers of satin.
The bunker and vault are safe.
So I lost a modestly valuable tiara to a tricky call girl. It isn’t the end of the world. The haul I made last night will make up for it a thousand times over. I just dislike rather intensely being made a fool of.
The enchantment I felt for Jade has evaporated. A shame, since we were so incredibly compatible in our appetites last night. A call to Sylvester is definitely in order.
But first, a shower. I want the lilac smell of that beguiling thief off my body.
* * *
The callwith Sylvester did not go well. He refused to give me the identity of the girl, who he knew as Anna, even after I told him about the missing tiara. He said he would handle it internally and I would be reimbursed.
I’m not surprised that she gave me a fake name. Most of them do. But Sylvester has access to her bank information in order to pay her, and I will get a little more forceful with him quite soon. This is not a matter of money.
But first I need to take care of the buyers who are interested in the seven swords. They want photographs and will insist on video of my heist to prove their authenticity.
I can provide all of that. But I need to edit the material and prepare it. I also need to photograph the swords with a particular assortment of items and printed phrases that would appease their concern that I don’t have them in my possession. All standard. All perfectly acceptable for a purchase of this stature.
Sylvester can wait. I will find the girl and make her pay for stealing from me. I will also demand to know where she learned her trade and who she works for.
I take my iron key and slip it into a secure pocket inside the breast of my coat jacket. Funny how people think thieves at my level dress well because they want to look sharp. They don’t realize that jeans and T-shirts do not afford a proper ability to conceal.
My tailor is a genius. Most of my clothing holds the sort of hidden pockets you can’t even imagine unless you work in the trade.
I ride the private elevator down, so I do not need to concern myself with the network of security cameras. I pass through the closet and into the tunnel without incident. But as I linger by my door, I swear I catch the slightest whiff of lilacs. The scent of that woman.
It’s impossible. She can’t know of the existence of this bunker, much less get as close as the tunnel door.
But I haven’t gotten as far as I am now by assuming too little. I prepare myself for the possibility that she or some henchmen are inside.
I activate a sequence on the security pad that will initiate a lockdown in fifteen seconds. Once I am inside, the only way out will be a voice command from me.
The door slides open.
I leap inside, snatching up a handgun hidden behind the table by the door.
But I can aim it at no one. The bunker appears empty.
A quick walk around the main room proves this to be the case. I step into the alcove, checking the closet and beneath the bed. Nothing. Still, I swear the trace of lilacs lingers in the air. She’s bewitched me.
No doubt my anger is fueling a mild paranoia. All appears to be well. I approach the vault, which is closed and sealed as expected. I initiate the sequence to open it and wait the proper interval. I insert the key and the door swings open.
I glance at the Romanov tiara, knowing I will never move it upstairs. It’s worth considerably more than the Scandinavian one.
And suck in a breath.
