Page 63 of Wicked Intentions (Wicked Games 3)
“Maybe for now he’s safe. But when I don’t show up with that diamond, the person who ordered me to get it is going to kill Reynard! And he’s going to take his time doing it, because causing pain is his passion!”
“I know it is. Been readin’ up on the guy. And imagine how angry Vincent Moreno would’ve been when you gave him a fake diamond.”
She shakes her head, blinking fast. “Whaaa…”
It’s so comical, I almost laugh.
But I don’t, because I know she’s one laugh away from making me and a colander have a lot in common.
“The Hope Diamond on display at the Smithsonian is a fake, Angel. Has been since the seventies, when it was stolen by an unidentified group of thieves who posed as tourists, then hid in a utility closet after the museum closed and rammed through the vault wall with a forklift pinched from the loading dock. They were never caught. There’s a lot of politics involved and something about a hinky insurance policy, but the upshot of the story is that the powers that be at the time decided it would be a financial and PR disaster for the Smithsonian if word got out that a smash-and-grab crew filched the Hope, so instea
d they put a replica in its place, and that’s what’s been on display for the last forty years.
“It’s right up there with KFC’s recipe as one of the world’s best-kept secrets. Only a handful of the bigwigs at the Institute knew about the theft, and all but two of them are dead now. Even Zuckerman and the secretary don’t know.”
I take a corner too fast, but Mariana doesn’t even notice. She just keeps on staring at me with big eyes and a wide open mouth. Finally, she asks, “How do you know?”
“Because, like I’ve told you before, I’m the shit, baby.”
We zoom through the dark streets, trees and streetlights flying past, with no noise for miles but the sound of the engine and the radio on low. After a pause, she speaks again. “How do you know about Capo?”
My sigh is extravagant. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m really good at my job before you’ll believe me?”
She slumps down in the seat, drops her face into her hands, and exhales a long, slow breath. It’s several minutes before she speaks again, and when she does, her voice is so low, I almost can’t hear it.
“So…basically…you just saved my life.”
“And Reynard’s,” I point out, trying not to sound smug and completely failing.
“But…” She lowers her hands and gazes blankly out the windshield. “I can’t go back empty-handed. If I return to Capo with nothing—”
“You’re never going back to him, Mariana,” I cut in, my voice hard. She stares at me, looking confused. “You’re gonna let your man handle this, you hear me? Now, do you need to pick up anything at your fleabag safe house before we head to New York?”
She makes a soft, incoherent noise of shock.
I take it as a no and stomp my foot on the gas, headed toward the interstate.
Headed toward home.
Seventeen
Mariana
I don’t know how long I slept, but when I awaken, morning sun streams through the windshield as Ryan opens the passenger door.
“C’mon, Angel,” he murmurs, hoisting me into his arms. “We’re home.”
I mutter a protest at being handled like luggage, but I’m so exhausted I give up without a fight. I sag against the broad expanse of his chest as he kicks the car door shut behind him.
He chuckles. “You’re heavier than you look.”
“And you’re dumber than you look,” I mumble. “Another crack about my weight and you’re a dead man.”
“God, I love it when you threaten me with bodily injury.”
My legs dangle over his arm as he walks across a gated parking lot to a squat, brick building with no windows on the first floor. In front of a metal door with no handle, he stops.
“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,” he says to the door.
