Dark Surrender

“Maybe some other time.” She opened her car door.

“Call me if you change your mind.” He handed her his card. “Or for anything.”

Jillian nodded and tucked the card in her purse. “Take care, detective.”

“Steve,” he corrected her once more, then gave her a parting smile and took out his cell phone as he walked back to the police station.

Jillian got in her car and tossed her purse and the yellow envelope on the passenger seat.

What did she do now?

Going back to the museum wasn’t an option. Jonathon had been pestering her about the ring all morning, making her promise if the police had found it to bring it back immediately.

She wasn’t stupid.

Jonathon wanted the ring for its powers. She’d pretended to believe the story he concocted about it being a rare piece from a magical order that mysteriously disappeared during the Crusades.

She’d learned the true story from her grandfather. Lucifer had convinced the three most powerful Magi of the East that Jesus was the Antichrist, and they created the three rings to banish his soul after he was born. Instead, the three Magi were so spiritually moved by the Savior’s birth, they turned against Lucifer and used the powers of the rings to seal him in Hell forever.

If he ever broke out, he’d destroy the Earth, the human race, everything in existence.

Jillian wasn’t ready. She didn’t want the ring. Where was she supposed to keep it?

Her cell phone rang. She grabbed it out of her purse and checked the screen. A New York number.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Ms. Whitmore, I’m so glad you answered. This is Winston Smith.”

Unbelievable.

She’d barely had the ring for five minutes.

“Mr. Smith,” she said in her sweetest, most innocent sounding voice. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s what I can do for you, Ms. Whitmore.”

“If you’re calling to try to frighten me again, it won’t work.” Not when she was safe in her car with a full tank of gas.

She could go anywhere. Hundreds of miles away from New York.

“I just thought you should know you’re being followed,” he said in his husky, accented voice.

Her pulse skittered.

“I am?” Her gaze darted around the parking lot, and suddenly she was wary of every car and every person outside. “How do you know someone is following me?”

“There are many people who want the Ring of Melchior, Ms. Whitmore, or did you think I was the only one? The enemy is everywhere.”

Detective O’Malley was still standing on the sidewalk outside and he looked over his shoulder, watching her as he talked on his phone.

Who was he talking to?

Why was he watching her?

She swallowed hard. Trust no one. Her grandfather had warned her, and now it was all happening so fast.

“What makes you think I have the ring?” she asked Mr. Smith.

“Let’s not waste time on how I know. I can help you, Ms. Whitmore. Come to my house and I’ll explain everything.”

“Why should I trust you?” Jillian grew tight with tension. “You could be the enemy.”

“If I were the enemy, I would simply take the ring and you’d be helpless to stop me.”

She pictured his tall, strong frame and his fierce blue eyes, and knew she was no match for him physically.

Who was she kidding?

Jillian was no match for anyone. She didn’t know how to fight, or how to shoot a gun. She had to survive with her own skills, and they were sorely lacking when it came to saving the world.

“How can you help me, Mr. Smith?”

“Take down my address.”

Chapter 6 (#ulink_d07d0c71-db2b-5c9b-83fd-de8d0d6c8327)

She should have known by the address what type of house she’d find. Mr. Smith lived in one of the most expensive, upscale neighborhoods in New York.

High walls and wrought iron gates enclosed great Estates set back from the quiet street by sprawling green lawns. The circular driveways held every luxury car from Bentley to Rolls Royce. She pulled up to his house and waited for the gates to open before she drove up the arched driveway, circling around a white stone fountain big enough to swim in.

She parked her SUV behind a red sports car with the top down. The afternoon sun sparkled on the flawless finish and shiny tire rims. As pretty as the car was to look at, Jillian only saw a death trap.

How fast could that thing go?

To her right flat stone steps led up to the front portico, where huge white pillars flanked the black double doors.

The home was as large and intimidating as its owner. How could a man as interesting and mysterious as Mr. Smith live anywhere else?

Jillian worried she’d been too hasty in deciding to go to his house. It had sounded like a good idea over the phone, but she’d had some time to think about why it wasn’t during the drive, while she checked her mirrors every few seconds to make sure she wasn’t being followed. It was too late to turn around. Without help, she wouldn’t keep the ring through the end of the day.

Tearing into the yellow envelope she took out the ring and, not knowing where to hide it, she tucked it down the front of her bra. She left all of her things in the car, with the keys in the ignition, ready for a fast get away.

She walked up the front steps and knocked on one of the doors. Not a moment later the door swung open and an older gentleman in a livery suit greeted her with a pleasant smile.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Whitmore. He’s expecting you.” When he stepped aside and bid her to enter, she expected to see him wearing white gloves.

“Hello,” she said, smiling politely at the gentleman as she stepped over the threshold and into Mr. Smith’s home.