MOONLIGHT ON DIAMONDS (21 page)

John smiled politely
as he opened the car door and adjusted the seat to fit his 6’2” frame before getting
in. He could feel the Glock 27 pistol concealed in its holster beneath his
tuxedo jacket. Quinn had told him not to bring a gun, but with Dornal Zagen on
the loose, John wasn’t taking any chances.

“So I get to drive
tonight,” he observed pleasantly.

She flashed a nervous
smile. “I think it would be better.”

He had never seen her
nervous before and it only confirmed his suspicions. As he pulled away from the
hotel, John reminded himself of his resolve to be professional and courteous.
No jealous scenes, no wild accusations or questions about where she had been
today. It was none of his business, but when he felt her soft hand rest on his
shoulder, he realized it might not be quite that easy.

“John?” she asked,
her voice fluttery as a hummingbird.

“Yes?”

“They told you about
tonight, about how I’m going to wear the Hope Diamond?”

“Yes, they told me,”
he said, squeezing the steering wheel a little bit tighter to hold his tongue
in check.

She took her hand
away and began fiddling with the corner of her fur wrap. “You think it’s a bad
idea. I know that. But if we can just catch the Ghost and everything gets
resolved,” she said, now sounding almost exasperated, “it will have been worth
it. I just want you to know, the reason I feel safe enough to do this is
because you’ll be with me.”

Surprised, he turned
away from the rush-hour traffic clogging up Maryland Avenue and looked at her.
But she was leaning her elbow on the door and gazed out in the opposite
direction.

“I didn’t do such a
great job watching over your stuff last night. What makes you think I’ll do any
better at the ball?” he asked, not quite able to keep the bitterness out of his
voice.

“But that was
different. You were only supposed to watch my jewelry. Tonight you’re watching
over me and I don’t think you’d let anything happen to me.”

“I don’t know,
Veronica. You’ve put yourself in a very bad position.”

“Why?” she asked.
“What could happen? We’ll be in a room with hundreds of people including a
security staff and I’ll have you by my side.”

John pulled over to
the curb and stopped the car. He cut the motor and turned to face her head on.
“Listen, I don’t know what kind of fucked-up little game you’re playing, but I
want no part of it.”

She opened her mouth
to speak, but he didn’t give her the chance. “You want to be the
self-sufficient woman who doesn’t need any help—fine, but don’t turn around and
suddenly transform into some whimpering little kitten who needs my protection.
I don’t buy it and I think you’re full of shit.”

Amazed, she stared at
him with big eyes and then throwing up her hands she turned stone-faced and
looked straight ahead.

John felt the anger
flowing out of him now that he’d had his say, but he suddenly had a bad feeling
that he’d been way off. In profile, Veronica looked like a beautiful marble
statue, her skin was so white and she sat so deadly still. Then she said
quietly, “Please get out of my car.”

He just sat there
frozen for a moment, feeling like the biggest jerk in the world. Finally, he
swung open the door and stepped out.

Not looking at him,
Veronica slid into the driver’s seat. She turned the key in the ignition and
the convertible came to life.

John just stood there
with his hands still on the car door. She reached out to grab the handle and
slam it shut, but he gripped the door harder and wouldn’t let it budge.

“Veronica, wait.”

She looked up at him
with fury in her eyes and said through clenched teeth, “
Let go of my door.”

His fingers loosened
and she slammed the door shut between them, but he wasn’t going to have it. She
was always slamming doors between them, retreating and disappearing into her
ivory tower world and he was sick of it.

“Listen, I was
wrong,” he said. “I was wrong to yell at you and spy on you and all of it! I
have a short fuse and I’m suspicious and I get jealous. I admit all of it. But
I’m not Derrick Chapin and I would never do anything to hurt you. I want to
help. I can’t be just your hired gun anymore, the guy you can dictate
everything to and open up to when you feel like it, and then disappear when you
feel like it because your father’s signing my paycheck. If I’m just some guy
your father hired and you fucked me just for fun, I’ll go back to New York and
we’ll forget the money. We’ll call it even. But if there’s more than that,
please admit it and tell me what’s going on here. I want to know the truth.”

She had been staring
pointedly down at the steering wheel throughout his speech and she still sat
there in the same position now. He opened the car door and knelt down next to
her. Taking her chin in his hands, he turned her face to his. Her dark lashes
were wet with brimming tears and she bit her bottom lip hard, but her eyes were
open and filled with the same hunger he had seen in them when he had held her
in his arms and kissed her for the first time.

“Trust me,” he said.

They held each
other’s gaze for a long moment. He could see a struggle going on in her by the
way she clenched and unclenched her jaw and the way she searched his eyes like
she was looking for the answer to something. Then she took his hand and he
could feel the gentle pressure of her palm against his. “I’ll trust you, if
you’ll trust me.”

He thought about it
and realized he hadn’t really trusted Veronica since he’d met her. Or maybe it
wasn’t that he couldn’t trust her exactly, but that he couldn’t completely get
her. He couldn’t help thinking there was something else going on there beneath
her cool surface. But with her eyes so open and raw now looking up at him, he
felt in his gut she was being sincere.

John slowly nodded
his head in agreement, and she smiled, her sad face warming up like the sun.

It was a pact.

Veronica wiped a tear
away before it had the chance to trickle down her cheek. “We’re going to be
late.” She slid back into the passenger seat, and flipping down the small,
light-up mirror, checked her face for damage.

“Okay.” He got back
into the car. He pushed the gear into drive but then turned to her again. “You
sure you even want to go to this thing?”

She paused for a
moment, and nodded. He hit the gas. The convertible pulled into the river of
traffic making its way upstream along the twilight boulevard as the streetlamps
came on and cast a gentle glow to light their way to the Diamond Ball.

As the convertible
turned onto Constitution Avenue, it almost came to a complete halt. The
security lines were three deep in black-suited men waving around clipboards and
walkie-talkies. The paparazzi were also out in full force, their flashbulbs
exploding like fireworks as the party guests in their limousines slowly rolled
past the police barricades.

John had expected
this mess, but what took him by surprise were the protesters. They stood
yelling above the rush hour traffic’s noise, waving their big signs, which
read:
“SAVE OUR SCHOOLS, NOT THE
WEALTHY’S TAX $!” “NO MORE WAR!”
And John’s favorite:
“IMPEACH DICK SPENCER NOW!!!”

The DC cops were
already hassling them and trying to force the angry protesters down the block.
The whole situation was a powder keg itching for a match.

The limos cruised by
like big, black sharks, their tinted windows hiding well-heeled inhabitants
from the angry mob. There were no cameras turned in the mob’s direction. All
lenses were focused on the money shot. Pictures of a bigwig’s wife stepping out
of the car in front of the entrance to the Smithsonian were what the tabloids
paid the bucks for. Protesters in DC weren’t worth the film it cost to shoot
them.

John wondered if the
same member of the paparazzi who had captured the infamous picture of Veronica
lying on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum was here tonight. He wondered if
Veronica wondered the same thing. It was hard to tell by looking at her. She
had gone quiet, gazing straight ahead. She ignored the parasites who screamed
her name trying to get her to look so they could snap a picture and take it all
the way to the bank.

They had finally made
it through the mess outside the museum and pulled into the main driveway. John
handed over the car keys to a fresh-faced valet, probably a Georgetown student
trying to work his way through a poli-sci major. He opened the door for
Veronica who stepped out of the convertible as gracefully as a princess
alighting from her pumpkin. She was cool and calm now, maybe because she was in
her element as she entered the large, front hall of the Smithsonian on John’s
arm.

“We have to go over
here,” she said, pointing to an area behind the information booth. They passed
more black suits who nodded their heads as she sailed past. Evidently, they
were all up to speed on who got access to the back rooms of the museum. John
and Veronica went through a door behind the information area and Georgette, Kay
Hopkins’ assistant, stood waiting with a clipboard gripped in her hands. She
was wearing a pale fluttery chiffon dress and her hair looked stiff and
over-coiffed. She plastered a stressed-out smile on her face as Veronica and
John reached her. “Good evening.”

“Good evening,”
replied Veronica. “I’m so sorry we’re a bit late.”

“No worries, no
worries,” said Georgette, sounding worried. “Let me take you back to the Adam’s
Parlor where the jewels are.”

She took off at a
fast clip down a maze of hallways lit with fluorescent lights and lined with
glass-framed posters of all the museum’s exhibitions. At last they arrived in a
little salon beautifully decorated in matching green damask rococo furniture.

Mirrors in ornately
carved, gold-leaf frames reflected back the warm candlelight of antique crystal
chandeliers. Fresh peony tulips, apple blossoms, and jade perfumed the room
with a pleasant scent. Over the settee, a lush bouquet of flowers bloomed in
the Van Gogh that hung there. John felt his blood pressure drop the minute he
set foot on the thick Persian carpet. The place was so gracious and comfortable
it made you want to settle in for a nice game of cards or a long, intimate
chat.

Georgette remained as
wired as a wind-up toy. She pointed to Kay Hopkins, the museum’s social
director, who had overseen the rehearsal the previous day. Kay was dressed in a
black evening gown with her white-streaked hair piled up on top of her head.

“Kay will get you all
set up,” chirped Georgette as she was already turning to trot off to some other
business back at the ball.

“Thank you,” said
Veronica to the swirl of peach chiffon that was halfway out the door.

Kay Hopkins smiled
brightly as Veronica stepped forward. The DC matron was standing over a table
with burgundy velvet flung across it. Resting on the velvet was an eye-opening
spread of some of the most fabulous jewels on the planet sparkling genteelly in
the dim light.

John realized there
were other people in the room besides Kay. The security team was doing a good
job of blending into the wallpaper while First Lady Lillian Spencer and her
daughter, Cynthia, sat on a loveseat in the corner. They both turned as John
and Veronica entered the room.

Lillian rose and
greeted Veronica warmly, kissing her cheek. “Veronica, you’re going to be the
star of our little ball tonight. Thank you so much for doing this. It’s thanks
to you that the children in Anacostia will have their library.”

Veronica nodded her
head and said rather coldly. “I hope they enjoy it.”

Lillian’s expression
turned hard as she looked at her daughter, who still slouched on the couch in
the corner. “Cynthia, don’t you want to say hello to Veronica?”

Cynthia stood up like
a trained lap dog and vaguely attempted a smile. “Hi, Veronica.”

“Hello, Cynthia.”

“And this handsome
young man is?” asked the First Lady looking at John with a Stepford smile
plastered across her face.

“This is John Monroe.”

John stuck out his
hand and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Spencer.”

“Very nice to meet
you,” she responded while looking him up and down the way one might a dog
you’re not quite sure about. She turned to Veronica. “Your bodyguard?”

“My escort,” said
Veronica smoothly.

“Yes, of course.” The
First Lady smiled, taking this information in. She turned to Kay Hopkins.
“Well, we better get going here. People are already arriving.”

“I think that’s a
good idea,” agreed Kay. “Cynthia, honey, shall we do you first?”

A reluctant Cynthia
inched her way slowly toward the treasure table, as if she were afraid she
would get nuked if she got too close to the high-voltage rocks. Kay picked up a
massive diamond necklace that seemed to put a strain on her thin arms. As she
raised it up to catch the light, rainbows of color flamed through the crystals.
Everyone in the room, except for Kay who was used to the Smithsonian jewel
collection, forgot their breeding and gaped.