Chapter One
Connie and Kayla were almost the same age and about the
same size. Even their coloring was nearly the same. But as
alike as they were, they couldn't have been more
different. Kayla exuded golden blondeness, while Connie
was pale and washed-out looking. Kayla's height was
statuesque, whereas Connie seemed to tower over people and
slumped to keep from doing so. Kayla was a woman no one
could overlook, while Connie was easy to miss.
Connie had been working at Wrightsman's jewelry store for
six years; Kayla had been there for three weeks. Connie
knew everything there was to know about the cut and
clarity of jewels. She could tell you the weight and the
color number of a diamond at a glance. She knew the
provenance of every jewel in the store, knew what was in
the safe and who had owned what and why they'd had to sell
it.
Kayla asked customers if they liked "the blue ones or the
green ones" better.
But in three weeks Kayla had sold more jewelry than Connie
had in the last six months. After the first week, Connie
had complained to Mr. Wrightsman. "She models the jewelry.
She wears low-cut dresses, hangs a million-dollar necklace
around her throat, then leans over so men can look down
her front." Connie had not been pleased by Mr.
Wrightsman's answer. He'd told her to "join the real
world."
It was late on Friday when the man entered the store.
After having worked at Wrightsman's for so long, Connie
was used to the rich and powerful stepping into the store.
Besides the professionally lit showroom where the
customers could show off their wealth by buying something
Marie Antoinette had once owned, there was an elegant room
in the backwhere they could sit in private and sell what
they could no longer afford.
Connie had met many politicians, movie stars, and jet-
setters, but she'd never seen this man before. He was
handsome in a masculine way, with heavy black eyebrows,
dark eyes, and an aquiline nose set above lips that had a
slight, teasing smile, as though he knew something no one
else did.
As Connie looked at the man, she felt her knees start to
melt. The only other time she'd felt this way was when
Sean Connery had walked into the store. This man was
wearing a black leather jacket that she was sure had cost
thousands; she could almost feel the softness of the
leather under her fingertips. His tan trousers had to have
been cut to fit him. As he walked toward the door, when
she saw that he wore no jewelry, her heart dropped. He was
buying for a woman, not himself.
She didn't really think that a man like him would be
interested in her, but still, she relished the thought of
searching through the vaults for just the right jewel. She
prided herself on being a good judge of financial position
and this man exuded money. Naked, dripping from a shower,
she thought, this man would have an aura of wealth about
him.
As he pushed the glass door open, Connie nearly giggled at
her thought of this beautiful man being wet and naked.
Catching herself, she looked across the cases filled with
sparkling jewels on blue satin to Kayla — and was
horrified to see Kayla staring at the man with the same
expression that Connie was probably wearing.
Connie wanted to scream, "Oh, no you don't. This one is
mine!" Men like this one, men who possessed old world
manners — and old world money — were her reward for
putting up with tourists who wanted to see "where Brad
Pitt shopped," and with rude rock stars and ego-tripping
two-bit actors who wanted the world to know that they
bought their jewels at Wrightsman's.
The man entered the store, removed his sunglasses, then
stood for a moment as his eyes adjusted. When they did, he
looked at Connie and smiled. Yes, she thought. Come to me.
But in the next second he turned his head and saw Kayla —
and it was to her he walked.
Connie had to duck behind the counter to hide her anger.
Before Mr. Wrightsman had hired Connie, he'd dumped a pile
of diamonds on a velvet tray, then sat there in silence
and looked at her. He didn't tell her what he wanted her
to do with them. Arrange them in order of size? Clarity?
Connie had paid her dues at half a dozen retail stores and
two wholesale merchants before she'd dared to apply at a
prestigious store like Wrightsman's. With no hesitation,
she had chosen one diamond out of the pile, one of the
smaller ones. She had no loupe so she couldn't judge it
for flaws, but for color, the diamond was nearly perfect.
She set the diamond on the side of the tray, then looked
at the old man. The tiniest of smiles appeared at a corner
of his mouth. "Monday, nine A.M.," he'd said, then looked
back at the ledger in front of him, dismissing her.
In the past six years Connie had brought the old, family-
owned store into the twenty-first century. She'd put in a
computer system, made a website, had arranged for some
discreet publicity, and had twice foiled Mr. Wrightsman's
youngest son's plans to abscond with the store's profits.
Her life had been nearly perfect until Mr. Wrightsman had,
for some unfathomable reason, hired a woman whose only
selling advantage was a lot of hair and a lot of bosom.
Now, surreptitiously, Connie watched the man as he bent
over the counter in front of Kayla. When she put what
Connie called "the tourist tray" before him, she heard the
man give a low laugh. His voice was silky-smooth and deep,
a voice that made Connie close her eyes for a moment.
And when she did, she dropped the tray of rings in her
hand. Never had she dropped a tray before. Cursing Kayla,
cursing Mr. Wrightsman for hiring her, Connie got down on
her hands and knees and began to pick up the scattered
$20,000 rings. One emerald beauty had bounced under the
cabinet so Connie had to bend low to get it — and when she
did, she glanced through the glass case just in time to
see the man slip a ruby and diamond necklace into his
trousers' pocket.
Connie was so taken aback that she sat down on her heels
and stared at what she could see of the man through the
glass. Surely not, she thought. Slowly, she stood up, then
even more slowly, she walked over to where Kayla and the
man were standing, keeping her eyes away from him. She
mustn't let a pair of sexy eyes distract her.
While Connie had been scurrying to pick up the rings,
Kayla had done what she'd been repeatedly told not to do:
she'd covered the countertop with merchandise. She'd been
told to take one item at a time out so she could keep
track of what was where.
It took Connie all of three seconds to see that the case
that held the necklace of an empress of Russia was empty,
and that the necklace was not in the jumble of jewels
lying in a heap. Unaware of what the man had done, Kayla
was bent down, pulling three more trays out of the bottom
of the case.
Connie raised her eyes to look at the man and when her
gaze met his, he smiled in a soft, seductive way that made
her want to run to the vault and get out the really good
jewels. Maybe he'd like a Fabergé egg or two.
But Connie had morals, and wrong was wrong. The man was
beautiful, but he was a thief. With her heart pounding in
her throat, she smiled back at him while she reached under
the counter, opened the little metal door, and pushed the
button of the silent alarm. In six years, she'd only
pushed that button one other time.
Kayla saw Connie push the button and looked at her
coworker in disbelief. With her head turned away from the
man, Connie gave Kayla a look meant to silence her.
After the button was pushed, there was about five seconds
of quiet, then all hell broke loose. Sirens sounded
outside and heavy iron bars began to drop down across the
front of the store.
For a moment Connie's heart seemed to stop. She locked
eyes with the man and she had to fight against screaming
at him to run, to try to get away. If he broke a
window...if he pushed open a door...but no, the glass had
a high-strength plastic in the middle of it and the doors
wouldn't open because of the gates.
But Connie's feelings of compassion, her desire to see the
man get away, ended when Kayla stood up. "You mean,
spiteful bitch," Kayla said. "You couldn't stand that I
got him and you didn't."
Flustered, Connie couldn't speak. She hadn't pushed the
alarm because she was jealous.
"Quiet, little one," the man said to Kayla in his smooth
voice, then he picked up her hand and kissed the back of
it.
Connie turned away at that and in the next second three
policemen were there, and she used her key and a code
number to open the gate. "He put a necklace in his
pocket," she said, not looking at Kayla.
The police were oddly silent, and when the man held out
his hands, they put handcuffs on him and told him his
rights. It was almost as if they had been told not to ask
questions. And throughout it all, as far as Connie could
tell, the man had never lost his smile, and she was
puzzled by it. Why had he been so stupid? Why wasn't he
protesting? After all, until he'd left the store with the
necklace in his pocket, he hadn't actually committed a
crime. Maybe she'd been hasty in pushing the alarm button.
It was when they reached the front door that Connie heard
her own thought. The necklace! Grabbing the empty velvet
tray, she held it out to the man. "He still has the
necklace," she said.
"You know where it is," the man said, so much sex oozing
from his voice that Connie could almost see the two of
them sitting on a mile of white beach, margaritas in hand.
She couldn't help herself as she reached forward to slip
her hand inside the man's front pocket to retrieve the
necklace. And when she did, he bent his head and kissed
her. Time seemed to stand still. She could feel his warm
thigh under her hand, his chest was touching hers, and his
lips were...She closed her eyes and she could almost hear
steel drums, feel soft tropical breezes on her skin.
"Okay, let's break this up," one of the cops said. "Lady!
Get your hands out of his pants and your face off his."
This brought guffaws of laughter from the two other
policemen. Connie pulled the necklace from his pocket and,
her eyes never leaving his, spread it on the tray.
Standing by the window, the tray in her hand, Connie
watched them lead the man to the waiting police car. She
could still feel his kiss on her lips.
"Is that the right one?" she heard Kayla ask. Reluctantly,
Connie pulled her eyes away from the man and looked at the
necklace on the tray. It was not an exquisite ruby and
diamond creation but a cheap concoction of glass and gold-
toned pot metal.
When Connie glanced up, she saw that the man was about to
enter the police car. "He still has the necklace," she
shouted, but the thick glass was almost completely
soundproof. She banged on the window to get their
attention and when the policemen turned to look, the man
took that moment to go into action.
His hands were in cuffs, but standing on one leg, he
kicked out to send one policeman spinning, then whirled to
plant a foot in the chest of the second one. The third cop
pulled his gun, but the man knocked it with his cuffed
hands, sending the gun flying into the street.
In the next second, the man was sprinting down the street
with the speed of an Olympic runner, and Connie saw him
disappear into an alley a block away.
"If he gets caught, it will be your fault," Kayla said as
she flung the door open and went outside.
For a moment Connie stood alone in the shop, then she
thought of what Mr. Wrightsman was going to say when he
heard that Connie had allowed the thief to take the
necklace. She hadn't even looked at it when she'd taken it
from his pocket. She'd been so ensorcelled by his kiss
that...that she was going to lose her job.
Dropping the horrid necklace, she ran out the door,
reaching into her pocket to push the electronic door lock
as she ran. She had to get that necklace back!
By the time she got to the alley, the three policemen had
recovered and were searching inside the Dumpster and
behind the garbage cans. She stood back, watching them,
her heart pounding from her run. If the man had run in
here, unless he was Spider-Man, there was no escape. There
were twenty-foot-tall brick walls and the few windows were
painted over, unused for years. All the fire escapes ended
two stories above the ground.
Connie's first impulse was to join in the search, but
instead, she stood back and looked. Where could a man hide?
She never would have seen him if he hadn't moved. It was
almost as though he wanted to be caught.
There was a tiny ledge on one of the buildings and he was
lying flat on it, so still that there were two pigeons on
his back. She took a moment to figure out how he'd managed
to climb up there. He must have leaped from the Dumpster
to catch the bottom of a fire escape, swung upward, crept
along the four-inch-wide ledge into the deep shadows where
two buildings intersected, then lain flat out, half-hidden
under the broken remnants of an old iron and concrete
balcony.
Why had he moved? she wondered. Why had he purposefully
let her see him?
One of the cops saw Connie looking up and drew his gun.
But before the policeman could do whatever he was going to
do next, two cars screeched to a halt at the end of the
alley and six men in suits and dark glasses jumped out.
They flashed badges at the cops and one man said, "FBI.
We've been looking for this guy for a long time. He's
ours."
Two minutes later, the beautiful man, still handcuffed,
was standing on the ground, this time surrounded by FBI
agents.
Boldly, Connie stepped forward. "He still has the necklace
he stole," she said, not looking into the man's eyes. His
eyes — and his lips — had the power to make her forget
about everything.
"You'll get it back," one of the FBI agents said brusquely
as he led the man away.
Standing at the end of the alley, the three policemen
behind her, Connie watched them put the man into the car.
He winked at her through the window, then they were gone.