“No. There’s been a lot more interest since your police department held that press conference this morning.”
“You don’t sound happy that the exhibit has become even more popular.”
Charity stopped and whirled to face her, hostility radiating off of her. “Of course, I’m happy. Everyone should have an opportunity to see the diamond. But because of the publicity, I’ve spent the morning trying to convince future exhibitors not to cancel.”
Was Charity taking some flack for the attempted theft? Was that the reason for the woman’s anger?
“Whose idea was it to exhibit the Rubinov here at the National Gallery? Did Mr. Shalnokov approach you, or did you approach him?”
“I approached him,” Charity said. “That’s part of my job—to research possibilities and to arrange for unusual exhibits. This one took me two years to put together.”
“Did you talk to him directly?”
“No. I dealt with his assistant, Regina Meyers. You just spoke with her.”
Fiona thought again of what she’d seen and heard. It had smacked of some kind of disagreement. “Did you find it easy to work with her?”
Charity stopped and aimed a frown at her. “Yes. Why do you need to know all of this?”
“Because I’m a cop,” Fiona said. “We’re insatiably curious. Do you have any idea how someone got the diamond out without setting off any of the alarms? Or without being seen?”
“No. That’s your job, isn’t it?” With that, Charity whirled and continued to walk toward the exhibit, leaving Fiona to wonder how effectively she was handling those waffling future exhibitors. PR did not seem to be Charity Watkins’s forte.
Or perhaps she was just seeing her on an off day. Once again, she thought of D.C. and wondered what his take would be.
Their final destination sat on a raised dais at the center of the room. Track lighting illuminated the area, and even at a distance of some ten feet, Fiona caught the glint of blue fire.
More velvet ropes kept viewers several arms’ lengths away from the Rubinov. And just in case, there were armed guards stationed at each of the four corners of the dais. That was a change from yesterday.
At a signal from Charity Watkins, one of the guards allowed them access to the roped-off area.
Before they stepped through, Charity spoke in a hushed tone. “You can’t touch the glass. If you do the alarm will go off.”
“I understand that the lock on the case is voice activated and that only Mr. Shalnokov can open it.” Fiona, too, spoke softly, not wanting to draw the attention of the people waiting in line.
“Even then you couldn’t get the Rubinov out without setting off the backup alarms.”
Unless you had the know-how to jam the whole system at the perfect time. “Then there’s a good possibility that it was an inside job.”
Every bone in Charity’s body stiffened. “I can’t imagine that to be true.”
It was only as Fiona stepped into the roped-off area that she caught a glimpse of D.C. in her peripheral vision. He was on the other side of the display case with his back to her. The simple sight of him gave her a sharp sensory shock. His leather jacket was stretched taut over broad shoulders, the cane hung negligently from one arm and his head was slightly inclined toward the guard he was talking to. Even as she absorbed those details, her eyes remained riveted on the Rubinov. It rested on white velvet just below her eye level, and the brilliant blue flame in the stone drew her just as it had before.
She knew the instant that D.C. turned and saw her. Awareness heated her nerve endings, and she raised her eyes to once more meet his over the glass encasing the diamond. For an instant, the fire in the Rubinov seemed to brighten even as her surroundings dimmed. She and D.C. might have been alone in the room. And she was filled with longing. Intense. Inevitable. Was the feeling triggered by the stone? By D.C.? By both?
Fear snaked up her spine. How in the world had she gotten entangled with this? With him? She’d never been the kind of person who had wild, mindless sex up against a fireplace. Now all she had to do was look into his eyes and she wanted to do it again.
She liked straight paths and recognizable destinations. D. C. Campbell was all hairpin curves and sheer drop-offs. But it took all her effort to shift her attention to Charity. The exhibit director’s eyes were totally focused on the diamond, and there was something in her expression that was akin to worship.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Charity asked in a tone one might use in a church.
“Yes,” Fiona replied. Amanda Hemmings didn’t seem to be the only one a little obsessed with the Rubinov. “I had a chance to hold it in my hand yesterday. I’ll never forget it.”