“A lovely, rather dangerous man who collects precious things,” Stryker said. “He had the oddest obsession with emeralds, and had amassed a collection of them that was simply breathtaking. I recall three in particular that he had in his safe. He claimed they were cursed and had to keep them locked up.”
Jamys exchanged a look with Chris. “When did you see this?”
“I can’t remember the exact date. Some years ago.” Stryker eyed Christian. “You know, I think it was just after you left me, my darling.”
“Give us his name and we will leave.”
“But you’ve only just arrived.” Stryker rose, displacing his adoring acolytes as he approached Chris. When Jamys stepped in front of her, he halted. “Your boy plays bodyguard. How charming.” He inspected Jamys from head to toe and back again. “How does he look without the clothes?”
“Sorry,” Chris told him. “You’ll just have to dream.”
Jamys’s attention strayed to two men in dark suits who had entered the house and were moving quickly in their direction. Both fit the description of the men who had pursued Christian from the blood bank in Miami. “Tresori. We should go.”
She followed the direction of his gaze. “Damn it.”
“Not to worry, my darlings.” Stryker made a deceptively lazy gesture, and four men converged on the pair, discreetly disarming them before escorting them over to Stryker.
“We are Interpol agents,” one of the tresori said with convincing authority. “This man and woman are wanted for murder. You will put them in our custody.”
Stryker smiled. “Dear man, Interpol agents do not personally arrest suspects. They investigate, they coordinate, and then they issue warrants and arrange for local authorities to do the dirty work for them. I suggest the next time you decide to impersonate a law enforcement agent that you first read up on their procedural methods.”
The other tresora scowled. “We will pay you ten thousand American dollars to give them to us.” When Stryker merely lifted his brows, he added, “Twenty thousand.”
“Do you have the money on you? No? What a shame. I don’t accept checks or credit cards.” Stryker tapped his chin with one long black-polished nail. “I can give you the name of the seller, Tian, as well as his current location. He’s quite obsessed with collecting emeralds. I will even go as far as to detain these two impostors long enough to give you and your friend a reasonable head start when you leave. But as you well know, nothing in life is free. If you want my information and my services, you’ll have to offer me something in trade.”
“No.” Jamys took Chris’s hand. “Let them go. We will take our chances.”
“Wait.” Chris squeezed his hand. To Stryker, she said, “What do you want in return?”
Stryker’s eyes drifted to the couple gyrating atop the center table. “Entertainment. All my regular performers are on break now, so you and Tian give my clients a little show.” He glanced at Chris. “It’s not as if it’s her first time.” He beckoned to his entourage, who followed him over to the center table.
Chris’s scent darkened and heated as she stood and stared after the buffoon. “How badly do we need this?”
“The three gems he saw have to be the emeralds,” he admitted. He wanted to ask her what Stryker had meant by his last remark, but she was too angry. “We will leave. He wishes only to hurt you.”
“No, that’s not what he wants.” She gave him an odd look. “Do you trust me?” When he nodded, she said, “We have to perform together for him. It’ll be like a dance.”
He frowned. “I do not dance well.”
“You won’t be the one dancing.” She led him toward the platform Stryker had indicated, and once there used a chair to climb atop it.
Jamys ignored the catcalls and hooting of the spectators as he looked up at the hand she held out to him. “You are sure you wish to do this?”
“No.” Her hand remained out.
Jamys took it and climbed up beside her. All around them the lights dimmed while spotlights lit the platform.
“Quiet,” Stryker called out. When every voice stilled, he grinned up at them. “What should the DJ spin for you, Tian? You used to be fond of the Backstreet Boys, as I recall.”
“Evanescence,” she said, moving behind Jamys. “‘My Immortal.’”
“Ah, classic Goth. How painfully predictable.” Stryker made a gesture, and a few moments later the first gentle piano notes spilled out from the wall speakers.
Jamys felt Chris’s hands at his waist, and heard her voice beneath the sad music. “I’ll dance. All you have to do is stand still.”