Hidden Gems

He left his arm around her the rest of the way home, whether or not she wanted the protection. She didn’t demur, but stayed tucked under his wing, now and then leaning her head on his shoulder and letting out a very quiet sigh.

He remained hyperalert to every sound and motion up and down the street. His body thrummed with excess energy, but he kept that under wraps as best as he could. Strange how the surging endorphins produced by the theft attempt and their astonishing kisses were so much alike. He suspected that something had been kick-started inside him. And he was damned if he’d go back, even if that were possible.

When they arrived at their brownstone, he took charge with the keys and luggage. “I’m going to collapse,” Marissa announced at her apartment door, forestalling him even before he attempted to get inside.

He tried not to let it bother him that she was so certain about ending their experiment that she’d given him not even the smallest opening to delay. “Let me check the place out,” he said, sliding past her without waiting for permission. What the hell. He turned on lights, glancing into the bath and bedroom, even her closet. Every room was in its usual state—topsy-turvy. Housekeeping was not one of Marissa’s talents.

“Find anything?” she called in a tone that said he was being overprotective.

“Hold on.” He swept aside a lace curtain and tested the window that opened onto the fire escape off the bedroom. More of the lace was draped over the bed. The faded rose wallpaper, white iron bed, scattered clothes, shoes and books gave the bedroom the look of an overturned Victorian wastebasket.

“It pays to be cautious,” he said, leaving the doors open behind him. “You’ve been gone for three days.”

“Is that all?” She blinked at her living room as if it were a street person’s cardboard box. Her shoulders were slumped. “I thought it was longer.”

Marissa rarely drooped. Jamie wanted to bust Paul for doing that to her, but he had to keep it cool or she’d know how deep his feelings truly ran. “You’re done in.”

She took one look at his face and moved away, masking the rebuff by lifting her arms and rubbing at the back of her neck. Avoiding looking at him again.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

He returned a minute later to find her curled up in her comfy armchair, her head tipping over. He dropped her cat into her lap. She said, “Oh-hh, Harry,” and clutched the beloved pet to her chest so gratefully that he couldn’t stay irked by her wordless withdrawal.

“Thank you for taking care of my kitty while I was gone,” she said, practically purring herself as she rubbed cheeks with the blue-eyed Angora. They were a pair— pampered, elegant, aloof, but affectionate under the right circumstances. “You’re too good to us.”

Too good? Jamie shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t touch her.

Too bad.

THREE A.M. on the fire escape outside of the apartment of Marissa Suarez, and Allard was huddled against the cold drip of a misty rain. The shallow warmth of the day had dissipated from the building’s stones hours ago. He huffed a breath into his turned-up collar to warm his face. Patience and precision were a thief’s stock in trade. Acting rashly was never wise.

A droplet fell off the tip of his nose. His mouth puckered. Resorting to an attempted snatch on the street had been a foolish mistake. He’d been seduced by the couple’s distraction into thinking he could slip the amulet from the bag before they realized what was happening.

Flimsy as it was, the plan had almost worked. The alluring White Star had been at his fingertips when Marissa’s boyfriend had torn the bag away.

A switchblade had waited in Allard’s pocket, but he’d chosen to run. Better to escape than to risk a struggle and possible identification. There would be other opportunities.

He shifted into a squat and peered through the window. Dark and quiet inside. Marissa was sprawled on the bed, her white, long-haired cat a huddled lump on her chest. The feline’s eyes shone at Allard, freezing his hand on the windowsill. He hated pets, cats especially. They were unpredictable creatures. One loud meow at the wrong moment and the girl might be jarred out of her sleep.

Allard tilted his head. There was the bag. He’d watched as a lethargic Marissa had lugged the suitcase into the bedroom and dropped it on the floor. He’d been prepared to intervene should she discover the treasure he’d hidden inside, but his luck had held. She hadn’t bothered to unpack. Instead she’d given the thing a kick to shove it under her bed.

One corner stuck out, tempting him.

The window was locked. He was certain that he could get in after a bit of jimmying. Hadn’t he already bypassed high-tech security systems in his quest for the White Star?

But there was the cat.

The damn cat. His nemesis. Allard’s father, a minor thief and total asshole, had taught him that the smallest detail, if overlooked, could ultimately exact the greatest cost. Yet when he’d seen his son’s irrational fear of cats, he’d sneeringly called Jean La Souri Noire—the dark mouse—on their midnight excursions. To this day, he believed cats were bad luck.

The feline watched Allard, twitching its fluffy tail. After a moment of debate, he eased away from the window. For now, the White Star was safe.

Unlike his drunken lout of a father, he was a patient man. He would watch and wait for his next chance and when it came, he would be ready.

Not even the cat would prevent his fated reunion with the amulet.

Someonewas breaking in!

Marissa bolted upright from a dense sleep, sending Harry shooting off the bed with his tail upright. The cat yowled and streaked away into the darkness—toward the sound of the front door closing. That was odd, but Marissa didn’t think it through. She was scrabbling over the nightstand to find her phone.

Not there. Not freaking there.

She heard a person moving around in the living room without even trying to be quiet. Marissa swallowed thickly as she slid out of bed. Fear was acrid; her mouth tasted like she’d been chewing on tin foil.

Two crimes within hours. Shocking even for a New Yorker.

A light went on in the other room. Marissa dropped down, crouching behind the far side of the bed. She felt around for a weapon, finding a silk scarf, a flimsy chain belt, a Chinese takeout container that had fallen beneath the bed. Maybe there were chopsticks? Why hadn’t she obeyed her mother, who’d said that the city was dangerous and Marissa must always sleep with a butcher knife under the mattress?

Aha. A shoe. Her fingers closed on a four-inch heel that could serve as a dagger.

She crept toward the door, shoe in hand. Would a spike heel through an eyeball work as a defense? Only in the movies, but maybe she’d gain time to run out the door.

A thud sounded from the other room, a thud she could have sworn was the sound of feet dropping onto the wood coffee table. She’d heard that thud a hundred times when Jamie came over to watch TV.

But he wasn’t out there. Unless…

She remembered how they’d kissed on the street and suddenly her lips became plump and tingly. An

absurd reaction under the circumstances. Granted, Jamie had a key, but he wouldn’t come back—would he?—hoping for…

An early morning booty break-in? Not likely.

Marissa edged out the door, ready to strike even though her confused instincts had taken the fear down a few notches. She knew something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t tell what.

One small lamp was on, leaving the room filled with dusky shadows. She narrowed her eyes. There was a person on the couch. Bent over. Making shuffling noises.

Going through my stuff. Insulted by the invasion of privacy, Marissa raised the shoe above her head.

Silently she stepped within striking distance. Harry sat on the arm of the sofa with his tail curved around his body, blinking at Marissa as if wondering what had taken her so long.

What the…?

The person on the couch was straightening.

“Freeze!” Changing tactics in an instant, Marissa pressed the sharp heel of the shoe to the intruder’s back. “Feel that? That’s a gun that’ll blow a hole straight through your spine.”

3

THE INTRUDER LET OUT a high-pitched yelp. Either his balls had crawled up into his body cavity or he was a woman.