Family Jewels (23 page)

He slanted his mouth down to hers, licking and nipping on the sensitive corners. When she opened her mouth to protest, his tongue danced past her lips in one hot slide. The kiss was full of passion, demanding at first before it became a slow seduction that left her sizzling and quaking. Her body responded like a match to dry timber, flickers of warmth quickly exploding into flames. Certainly she’d melted her way through the snow down to the dead winter grass. She’d never been kissed like this, so masterfully, so thoroughly until every corner of her brain and body yearned for more.

Trevor lifted his mouth, breathing hard. He nuzzled her nose. “There. That ought to give you some clues for how I feel about you.”

Before she could protest or question his motives, he rose to his feet, grasped her forearms and pulled her upright until she stood in the snow. Her legs had turned to melted butter. Would she ever get used to that feeling whenever he was near? He started to brush snow off her backside, his hand lingering to smooth over the curve of her ass beneath her coat. Her traitorous body responded with an appreciative moan.

“So…does this mean everything is done? You found the diamond and those numbers?”

“Yes, I found them, right where you said they’d be.”

“I’m not being arrested?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “You haven’t committed a crime, darling. Come along. Any more questions will be answered inside. I’m starved and I know your kitty would really appreciate something to eat, too.”

Trevor wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pointed to the door. Relief made her agreeable. She went willingly but couldn’t help yanking on the handcuffs. When they were inside again she lifted them up. “Please, Trevor, take these off. I’m not going to run away.”

“Mmm, you’re beautiful when you beg, darling. I’m beginning to like the idea of you under lock and key. You’ll be begging for a lot more by the time I’m done with you. Now, over here. Sit.”

Trevor gave her a gentle push until she sat down on the sagging plaid sofa in front of the fireplace. He reached into his front jeans pocket, removed a tiny key and held aloft for her to see clearly. She sighed. He’d changed his mind and would be removing them after all. Smiling with relief, she raised her cuffed hands.

“You said you have more groceries in the back of your car?” He opened one handcuff.

“Yes. And some clothes and supplies that I—”

He clapped the loose handcuff closed around the wooden arm of the sofa.

“What are you doing?” She yanked. The cuff held firm. “I thought you were letting me go?”

“Not quite yet, darling. You relax, pet your kitty with your free hand while I carry your things in and fix us something to eat.”

Moses sat beside her feet as if he’d been summoned to keep her company. The cat looked so calm and accepting of everything, his eyes like slivers of emeralds against his silky, alabaster fur. He jumped onto her lap without waiting to be invited, tucked his paws under his body and curled his tail around to his chest. His purr started loud and content, sending soothing vibrations through her jeans and into her legs.

“Traitor,” she muttered at him softly. Cynthia smoothed her free hand over Mo’s gently arched spine. Being tied to the couch unnerved her but she doubted that Trevor had anything but pleasure in mind. Hadn’t she asked him to do this while they were in the shower at his hotel room? She darted a quick glance at him, desperately trying to suppress her smile. “Thanks for bringing him to me.”

“You’re welcome.” Trevor headed back out the door to the car.

Chapter Twenty-One

Cynthia made herself as comfortable as possible on the sofa, despite the inconvenience of being shackled by one hand to the armrest’s wooden spindle. Once Trevor left her alone she examined the locking mechanism on the gleaming stainless steel handcuff closely but she could find nothing to pick at it with. She tried compressing her fingers to see if she could wiggle out, only to chafe and scuff the skin on her wrist and hand with that useless attempt. After a frustrated huff, she just gave in.

She sniffed the air, her mouth watered at the delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen. He made plenty of noise by banging pots and rifling through drawers but never asked her where things were.

She relaxed, resigned to being his captive. Besides, after that kiss and his promise of more, did she really want to be freed? Confident that her captor had no devious, painful intentions, a wicked pleasure curled inside her belly. The hot rush of guilty anticipation tantalized her. She touched her fingers to her lips, reliving that amazing kiss he’d given her outside. Her blood still hummed with hope for more of that. Cynthia kicked off her boots, shrugged halfway out of her coat and let the bulky wool droop behind her back with one arm still encased inside the sleeve. She’d just have to wait for whatever he planned.

The mid-January sun slanted through the living room window, rapidly angling down to the horizon. Sunlight set the sky aflame with bold streaks of orange and red, casting the snow into pinks and violets. She tucked her legs under her and watched the fire in the hearth die down to glowing embers.

Moses returned from the kitchen. Trevor had called him for some sort of kitty meal and the traitor had immediately deserted her lap with his tail held high. What had he fed him? She hadn’t bought cat food. Moses hopped up onto the cushion beside the fireplace, hiked a hind leg into the air and began his after-dinner grooming ritual. His loud purr filled her with comfort. Her eyelids drooped. A jaw-cracking yawn escaped her mouth. She began to doze off.

“Dinner is served, my lady.”

Cynthia blinked awake. Trevor carried a large wooden tray her mother had always used to bring lunch down to the docks. He set it on the coffee table in front of the couch.

She gaped at the sumptuous meal. “Oh my God! You made all that?”

Chuckling softly, he set out two plates. “Linguine with red pepper clam sauce. Herbed parmesan cheese bread and a mixed vegetable salad. All from things I found in your grocery bags. Hardly a lot but adequate, I hope?”

“Are you kidding? It looks great. And it’s not even close to what I’d planned to make with those ingredients. Smells even better. Now uncuff me so I can eat.”

He shook his head and sat down beside her. The sofa cushions sagged between them. “Like I said, I like having you under lock and key. Here’s a fork, darling. You only need the one hand for this.”

She snatched the fork from him, incensed that he still wouldn’t release her. But she also had to admit she enjoyed being his captive. It had naughty appeal too.

Trevor poured wine into two glasses and placed everything within reach of her free hand. She couldn’t wait to wrap her fork around the pasta with creamy clam sauce.

After a few mouthfuls, her hunger eased and she chewed more slowly, grateful that Trevor reserved comment on her ravenous appetite. He seemed quite intent on finishing his own meal. She reached for her wine, swirled the lusty Merlot in her glass and sipped. There were questions she needed to have answered and he’d promised to do that once they finished eating.

Their eyes met. He swallowed and winked at her. “I can see your curiosity won’t be contained any longer. Go ahead. Ask anything you like.”

Cynthia took a deep breath. “Those numbers were correct?”

He nodded.

“And?” She gave him a pointed look. “Aren’t you going to tell me about it? Did the Steinbrunn family get what they wanted?”

“They did. And they thank you.”

“Oh, well, they’re welcome to it, whatever it was. What did those numbers represent?”

Trevor sipped his wine, made a smacking sound with his lips before looking at her. “You were correct, the number ‘9’ was the Cyrillic letter ‘g’. I wouldn’t have noticed it had I looked at the stone myself.”

Cynthia sat back, exasperated with his roundabout answer. “Okay, so? What did it represent?”

“Exactly one hundred and thirty-two million six hundred thousand and five euros.”

“Wha-what?”

“I should start at the beginning.” He bit into a thick slice of bread.

“Damn right, you should.” She put her empty plate aside and refilled their glasses with Merlot. “But go ahead and finish your dinner while I ponder that figure you just quoted. Holy cow,” she murmured and took a big swallow. “That’s a helluva a lot of money. I can’t even think in numbers that big.”

He finished eating, set his empty plate on top of hers and picked up his wineglass. He leaned back and draped his arm around her shoulders. Even though she was still handcuffed, the warmth and weight of his arm comforted her. She let her head fall back, cushioned on his biceps.

“Feel free to spill your guts now, Agent.” She lifted her glass to him in a toast. “I’m all ears.”

Smiling, he whispered seductively, “And I find your ears so attractive.”

“Good.” She grinned. “Now why don’t you start by telling me who etched those numbers into that diamond?”

He snuggled her closer, clinked his glass to hers and began his tale.

“It begins with Josef Andrevsky, a master diamond cutter. He married the Steinbrunn’s only daughter, Elsa, whose family originally discovered and owned the Yakutia diamond mine. Josef and his younger brother, Mikhail, lived with their elder sister, Franjeska. She worked at the mine as a rough diamond sorter. Both Josef and his brother were expert craftsmen during a time when such a skill was rare and highly sought-after.”

“Sounds like a close-knit family.”

“Hmm,” he muttered. “As a master diamond cutter, Josef earned the respect of Elsa’s father but the elder Steinbrunn never considered him as anyone more than an employee. That is, until Josef began to woo Elsa. She was a very spoiled, headstrong woman. Despite her father’s opposition to such an arrangement, they married.”

Cynthia sat up higher. “He didn’t think Josef was good enough for his daughter?”

Trevor shook his head. “The Steinbrunns were Jewish and Josef Andrevsky was Russian Orthodox. To soothe her father Josef did accept Judaism as his faith.”

“That’s major. He must have loved her to change his religion.”

“Perhaps for a time, he did.” Trevor took another sip of wine. “The mine prospered. Their wealth grew until the Nazis invaded in 1941, which I told you about already.”

“Why did the Nazis target them?” she asked.

“Because of their religion. The Steinbrunns immigrated to Russia from Germany in the 1900s. Josef accepted Judaism as his religion when he married Elsa. A perfect reason for Hitler to take their wealth and property. Had they been Russian Orthodox or German Protestants, most likely none of this would have happened.”

Cynthia sat wide-eyed, listening intently. “Go on.”

“Josef was a shrewd man. He loved money, having it but not spending it. Elsa’s father died before the war broke out and her younger brother, Wilfreid Steinbrunn, assumed ownership and control of the mine. Wilfreid and Josef didn’t like each other. They fought over how to increase the mine’s production. Late one night, Wilfreid was found dead in his office by a cleaning woman. He’d been summoned there by Josef earlier. The cleaning woman claimed she’d heard the two men arguing loudly but didn’t remember hearing or seeing anything to implicate Josef in Wilfreid Steinbrunn’s untimely death.”

“That’s so sad,” Cynthia muttered. “I can’t imagine family members hating each other so much.”

“Yes, they treated each other quite horridly,” Trevor commented dryly. “Although she had no proof, Elsa accused her husband of murdering her brother because he wanted sole control of the mine. By then Josef had acquired a certain amount of respect, or fear, from community officials. He was never arrested. Elsa left him and returned to her brother’s home with her baby son. She and her sister-in-law, Wilfreid’s widow, raised their young children together.

“Meanwhile, Josef claimed her family’s wealth and sole control of the Yakutia mine. With Wilfreid out of the way, Josef and his brother Mikhail began transferring all the money out of the family’s Russian account. When Elsa confronted him, he told her he put their wealth away for safekeeping. Russia was experiencing its own economic and political upheaval at the time, so his assumption that the money wouldn’t be secure in a Russian bank was correct. He transferred the entire sum to a Swiss bank, a novel thing back then.”

She sat speechless for a moment and then gasped. “And those numbers on the Russian diamond were for the Swiss bank account! I would have never guessed.”

“Exactly as Josef planned.” Trevor smiled. “Josef told Elsa he’d give her access to her family’s money only if she returned his baby son to him. She didn’t, fearing for the child’s life.”

“But,” she interrupted again, “what motive would he have for killing his own son?”

“None. I assume it was her own fear. What mother wants to give up a child she loves to a man she hates?”

She shook her head. “There’s no way.”

“Precisely.” Trevor nodded. “Josef kept the bank account information to himself. Only his brother, Mikhail, knew about it.”

“Wow,” she said. “This is the stuff of novels. Somebody should write their story down. So what happened after the Nazis arrived?”

“Josef, Mikhail and their sister, Franjeska, made plans to flee the country. They knew they had to travel light. Josef engraved the numbers on one of his larger diamonds. Franjeska sewed the gems into the linings and hems of their coats and pants. Their plan to escape under cover of night failed when the vehicle they traveled in broke down. They were found by a troop of Nazi soldiers. Of course, upon capture the SS officers also discovered the diamonds they tried to hide in their clothing. One officer in particular, Heinrich Schulz, claimed those gems as his own. They were spoils of war and he kept them.”

Cynthia gulped, not wanting to comprehend the dark fear of that time, not wanting to think about the families torn apart, the death camps, torture and gas ovens. But she couldn’t disregard the awful truth of history.

“Did Elsa survive?” she asked, hopeful.

“Sadly, no. She died the first winter at the Sobibor death camp. Her sister-in-law, Nadia Steinbrunn, struggled to raise Elsa’s son, then three years old, along with her two children, a five-year-old boy and six-year-old girl. As miracles would have it, when the camp was liberated, they’d all survived. As well as Mikhail and Franjeska Andrevsky.”