“Mariana.”
He blinks, taken aback, but quickly recovers, smoothing a hand over his tie as his face shifts into a neutral expression.
“You’re surprised she told me her real name.” I’m feeling all kinds of macho and self-satisfied. I resist the urge to puff out my chest and calmly gaze at him instead.
He folds his hands on the counter and drills me with a look. “If you knew her the way I know her, you’d be surprised, too.” His gaze drifts over my leather bomber jacket to my jeans, then flicks up to my hair, which I combed by dragging my fingers through it. His mouth takes on the shriveled appearance of a prune. “You’d be very surprised indeed.”
I dig that he’s not trying to pretend he doesn’t know who I’m talking about. And I don’t take it personally that he obviously thinks Mariana’s too good for me. We’re pretty much on the same page there.
Even if she is an international jewel thief wanted by all the police.
I straighten, fold my arms across my chest, and smile wider.
He closes his eyes and shakes his head.
“Listen, buddy—”
“It’s Reynard,” he interrupts. “Please refrain from calling me any more nicknames. A grinning American addressing me as friend, buddy, and pal is quite literally my definition of hell.”
“No need to get pissy. And what d’you have against Americans, anyway? We saved your asses in World War II. If it wasn’t for us, you’d all be speaking German.”
“Let’s not get into a debate about history, Mr. McLean. I never enter into a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent.”
Bypassing the zinger—which I have to admit is a good one—I say smugly, “So she told you about me.”
From his coat pocket, Reynard withdraws a pair of glasses. Snooty as shit, he puts them on and looks down his nose at me. “Don’t flatter yourself. I looked you up in a database.”
By now my grin must be blinding. “But you had to know my name in order to look me up.”
After a pause, he says, “I’m jealous of all the people who haven’t met you.”
“Tell me where she is.”
His irritation is palpable. “Mr. McLean—”
“I can help her,” I insist, bracing my arms on the counter and getting into his face. “Whatever trouble she’s in, I can get her out of it.”
He stares at me for a long time, his gaze sharp and assessing. “You’re an interesting man, Mr. McLean, I’ll give you that. But you seem to be operating under the mistaken impression that your help is wanted.”
“You talkin’ about you, or her?”
A muscle in his jaw flexes. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
I drop the nice-guy act. “And I think it’s time for you to realize that dumb motherfuckers who stand in the way of something I want have extremely shortened lifespans,” I growl. “Tell me where she is and where she lives, or I’ll break every bone in your body.”
His patience finally snaps. Eyes blazing with fury, he whips off his glasses and lays into me.
“This might surprise you, you gargantuan idiot, but you’re not the first man on earth to threaten my life, nor would you be the first to cause me harm for protecting her. And if you had even one functioning brain cell, you’d realize that a woman in her position would never tell anyone where she lived—especially someone like me, who could be pressured by someone like you into giving up that information. For the love of all that’s holy, I have no idea what she sees in you! You’re proof that evolution can go in reverse!”
Red-faced, he huffs, jerking the glasses back onto his face. Then he peers at me through them and shouts, “Why the bloody hell are you smiling again?”
I cross my arms over my chest and drawl, “So she told you she likes me.”
He grits his teeth so hard, I think they might shatter. “Get out.”
I cock my head, pretending to think, then say, “Nah. I think I’ll just wait for my buddies from Interpol to show up and take a little gander ’round the place. You looked me up in a database? Well, I looked you up too, brother. Real nice establishment you got here. Real legit. Squeaky clean, at least on paper.”
I peer over his shoulder toward the back of the shop. “I’m sure you don’t have anything to hide, right? No random ruby necklaces hangin’ around? Big ones, maybe a hundred carats?”
I already knew it wasn’t Reynard Mallory who bruised Mariana’s neck, even before I set foot in his shop. I pegged him as her fence the minute I entered his address into Metrix’s search program and took a look at his business. If anyone can move a hot, one-hundred-carat ruby necklace, it’s Mallory & Sons Heritage Auctions. It has branches all over the globe and a sterling reputation unvarnished by its secret, long-standing ties to every underworld organization that exists.
“Your bluffs are as unfortunate as your fashion sense, Mr. McLean,” he says stiffly. “I have a high-ranking friend on the police force who would have alerted me if Interpol were about to pay me a visit.”
Then, with no small satisfaction, he continues. “But I do have a GPS tracking device you might be interested in. It’s small and extremely light, excellent for hiding in clothing. Unfortunately it’s nonfunctional, due to being smashed by the heel of a shoe—whose owner was spewing some rather colorful language at the time, I might add—so it won’t do you much good.”
So that’s why I lost the signal. Somehow Mariana found the tracker and destroyed it.
Which means she knew I’d come here…which means she’s gone.
Again.
Shouldn’t have ordered that cheeseburger.
As a jazz number that sounds like five different guys are playing five different songs comes on the speakers, Reynard and I glare at each other. After a while, I cave in. “Okay. Two things. Number one, I’m gonna give you a cell phone number. It’s unregistered and untraceable. Only one other person in the world has it—”
“Your therapist?” he asks sweetly.
“Funny. I’m gonna give you my number, and you’re gonna give it to Mariana.”
His expression sours. Before he can tell me to go jump off the nearest bridge, I add, “In case of an emergency, she can call me twenty-four seven on that number. I mean it. Day or night. From anywhere in the world, she can call me, and I’ll come.”
I grab a pen from a cup next to the cash register and scribble my number on a yellow Post-it note, then stick it to the center of Reynard’s tie. He peels it off with two fingers, his pinky held out and his lip curled. I’m surprised he doesn’t pinch his nose.
He mutters “Stupendous” and puts the Post-it between the pages of a book he lifts from under the counter. Then he tosses the book back into place with derision, dusting off his hands.
Cheeky son of a bitch.
“Number two, I want you to tell me who did that to her neck so I can have a talk with him. And by talk, I mean beat him to a pulp.”
Reynard freezes. “You’re playing a very dangerous game, Mr. McLean,” he says with a strange stillness in his entire aspect, even his voice.
I send him a hard stare. “I’m not playing any game, Reynard. I’ve never been more serious in my life. Someone hurt my girl. That shit doesn’t stand. He’s lucky if I leave him breathing.”
He blinks rapidly, as if clearing his vision. “Your…girl?”
I make a dismissive gesture, then park my hands on my hips. “She’s not a hundred percent on board with the program yet, but I’ll get her there. I’m irresistible, as you can tell.”
His laugh is faint and disbelieving. He reaches for the porcelain teacup sitting to his left on the counter and gulps from it, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Then he reaches under the counter again, this time to produce a slender silver flask. He uncaps it, pours a small measure of what looks like whiskey into the tea, then decides to drink directly from the flask instead.
“She loves you, you know,” I say, watching as he violently coughs, spraying a mist of golden liquid over the counter. When his coughing fit is over, he stares at me with watering eyes and an open mouth.
Man, I dig shocking the shit out of people.
“At least I’m assuming you’re the person Mariana was talkin’ about when she turned down my offer to take her back to the States with me because it would be a death sentence for someone she loved. She ran straight here like she was runnin’ home. Figured this had to be her safe place.”
He makes a strangled sound and clutches his throat. “Take her with you?” he wheezes.
“And you, if she wants. Both of you would have my protection.”
He looks me up and down with wide eyes, like I’m off my fucking rocker.
“Christ,” I say, insulted. “The two of you are really shit for my ego, you know that?”
“She took advantage of you. She lied to you. Why on earth would you offer to take her anywhere but prison?” Reynard asks, like he really can’t fathom it.
I shrug. “Because I care about her.”
He gapes at me. “Are you on drugs?”
“She moves me, Reynard. You have any idea what it takes for a man like me to be moved? By anything? Ever?”