Eye of the God Page 11

  “No. You are cute. The socks should be burned.”

  Abby could not help but rise up on her tiptoes and peek into the brown paper bag.

  “Spaghetti, meatballs, hot bread, and salad,” he said, finding his own way to the kitchen. “And if you're good, there may even be a little tiramisu somewhere in the bottom.”

  “How could you have possibly known that was the very thing I wanted tonight?”

  He smiled. “Just a hunch, Dr. Mitchell. I thought you might need a little warm food and some good company to wind down.”

  She winced. “Do I look that strung out?”

  “You look tired … and just a little tense.”

  “Long day.”

  “The event?”

  “Ah, the event. It's just the defining moment of my career.”

  “How's that?”

  “My colleagues believe I can inspire the attendees to write obscenely large checks to the Smithsonian. Our notoriously wealthy and snobbish patrons only care that I divert their boredom for an evening. And together they have assumed that I am the world's leading expert on the Hope Diamond. I dare not disappoint them, or I will most surely hear from both sides.”

  “Well,” Alex said, searching a cabinet and pulling out two plates. “What does success look like?”

  She stood for a moment, gnawing gently on her bottom lip. “That's a great question, and I can honestly say, in all my planning, I have not asked myself.”

  “From what I'm hearing, you need to raise gobs of money while simultaneously putting on a show to remember. Is that right?”

  “Spot on.”

  “So what's the plan?”

  “Live music. Dancing. Lots of bejeweled women wearing dresses that are just a little too small and revealing. Bored men sipping champagne when they'd rather have whiskey. A little caviar. An ice sculpture.” She sighed. “Basically, an event doomed to failure.”

  “And you planned all of that because?” he asked, spooning heaps of steaming food on the plates.

  “I'm supposed to.”

  Alex looked at her with a mischievous smirk. “Do you always do what you're supposed to, Dr. Mitchell?”

  She smiled. “Pretty much.”

  Without giving her the opportunity to protest, Alex leaned in and kissed her. It only took her a moment to return his kiss.

  He pulled away with a broad grin. “Well, you shouldn't have done that.”

  “Done what?” she asked, slightly bewildered. “You kissed me.”

  “True. But you returned the kiss … and quite well I might add. We simply don't know one another well enough to be kissing like that.” He carried the plates into the living room and sat on the couch.

  Abby followed and sat down next to him, somewhat bewildered. “We don't?”

  Alex shook his head. “Not nearly well enough. We shouldn't be kissing like that for at least another three days.”

  “What should we be kissing like now?”

  “Like this,” he said, tipping her chin up with a finger, and lightly brushing his lips against hers.

  “I think I like the other way better.”

  “You'll just have to keep me around for three more days,” he said.

  “Deal.”

  “Now,” Alex said, turning his attention to the food before him. “Let's eat.”

  “Where did you get this?” she asked, wiping sauce from her chin with a napkin. “It's incredible.”

  “A little hole in the wall near Georgetown called Bella Sera.”

  “Beautiful evening.”

  “What?”

  “Bella sera means beautiful evening in Italian.”

  “Don't tell me you speak Italian? It's not enough that you have your doctorate and are much smarter than I am, but now you must show me up with linguistics as well?”

  Abby set her fork on her plate and raised an eyebrow. “Say what you like, Alex Weld, neither of us is fooled into thinking I'm smarter than you.”

  He paused for a moment, his expression undecipherable. “I'm not the one with a Dr. before my name.”

  “A string of letters that doesn't mean squat to most people.”

  “And the Italian?”

  “A few words here and there, but nothing fluent.”

  Alex nodded and stuffed another forkful of spaghetti in his mouth. “May this be a bella sera then.”

  “Hear! Hear!” she said, tapping a chunk of bread against his.

  They ate in silence for a moment, sprawled casually on the couch.

  After wiping out three-quarters of the food on his plate, Alex furrowed his eyebrows and turned to her. “Back to this event. What's proving to be your biggest hassle?”

  “That would be security.”

  “How come?”

  “First, I have an overzealous ex-military head of security who feels the need to batten the hatches and not let anyone within three hundred feel of the diamond.”

  “And that's a problem because the diamond is the main attraction.”

  “Exactly. People want to get up close and personal. They want to touch the display case. These are women who could easily own this diamond were it not locked away in a museum.”

  “They want to be enticed,” Alex said.

  “Yes.”

  “They want to be impressed.”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes flashed as though stumbling upon a clever idea. “The question is do you want them to be jealous?”

  “Jealous?”

  “Yes, jealous of the fact that they can't have that diamond no matter what they do. Jealous enough that they will donate with no regard to the balance in their checkbook.”

  She considered it for a moment. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

  “Then those are the women you need to appeal to, because the truth is that the vast majority of men in that room won't care. They are being dragged there by their wives, and the only interest they have is one-upping the boys from the country club. The women will have the motivation, but the men will have the checkbook. Pit them against one another, and you'll have solved the first of your dilemmas. And you may just get yourself a raise in the process.”

  Abby leaned back and regarded Alex with genuine interest. “You are brilliant.”

  He grinned. “I know. Food good?”

  “Yes. Very.”

  “Now,” he said. “On to your second problem.”

  “The event itself.”

  “Yes, the event, which brings us back to the jealous little socialites.”

  “Indeed.”

  “They will all be dressed in designer gowns I presume?”

  “To the point of vulgarity.”

  “Then you need to one-up them.”

  Her pasta-laden fork paused halfway to her mouth. “What?”

  Alex leaned back on the couch, his plate resting precariously on his knees, and fixed his gaze on the far wall. He was about to say something, but stopped, head cocked to the side. “Did you take those pictures?”

  “I did.”

  “They're really good.”

  “Thanks. It's a hobby.”

  “Why churches?”

  Abby tugged at her ponytail and dropped her gaze to the floor. “Just drawn to them I suppose.”

  He gave her a sideways glance. “I didn't take you for the religious type.”

  “What did you take me for?”

  “For granted, apparently.”

  “What was it you were saying?” she asked, not wanting the conversation to continue down this path.

  He seemed to search for his lost train of thought. “They're coming to see a diamond they can't have. And you're the means by which they can get close to it.”

  “I don't follow.”

  “Since they won't actually be allowed to stick their hands inside the case and scoop up the diamond, they'll hang on your every word.” Alex stopped for a second and looked at her. “You will be giving a speech?” She nodded. “Good. Then use your words to entice their desire and use your appearanc
e to make them feel like they're not the prettiest girls at the dance. They'll trip all over themselves to compensate.”

  “I don't think I could pull off something like that.”

  Alex looked not at her body, but deep into her eyes. “You could pull it off. Believe me.”

  Abby felt heat flood her cheeks.

  “I embarrassed you?”

  She answered by shoving a mouthful of bread into her mouth.

  “Sorry,” he said with a shrug. “But it's true.”

  “Alex, we're talking about some of the wealthiest women in the country. Some of their gowns will cost more than I make in a year. And the jewels! I think I might own a pair of real diamond earrings. Maybe.”

  He twirled his fork in the pile of spaghetti. “Jewels,” he murmured, deep in thought. He looked at her, eyes alight. “But Abby, you do have a jewel to beat them all.”

  It took only a second for her to realize where he was heading. “You can't possibly mean—”

  “Yes,” he said, nodding emphatically. “Yes. You should wear the Hope Diamond.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  Abby shook her head no, while Alex polished off the rest of his dinner.

  “Impossible. They'd never go for it.”

  He shrugged.

  “You're really serious, aren't you?” she asked.

  “Why not?”

  “You're insane.”

  “Hey, just a minute ago you called me brilliant.”

  “It's a fine line, and I think you just teetered over the edge.”

  “But it was a good idea, wasn't it?”

  “No,” she retorted stubbornly. “It was a great idea, and I can't do anything about it.”

  He took their plates to the kitchen and rinsed them off in the sink. “Don't worry. You can just continue with your boring little party and you'll raise a decent amount of money. Everyone will be reasonably satisfied, and the event will go down as just another thing they attended once. Your career will survive, quite nicely I'm sure.”

  Abby groaned. “Well, when you say it like that—”

  Alex returned from the kitchen with two movies in hand. “Your pick. Rambo or Marie Antoinette?”

  She laughed. “How could I possibly choose between such classics?”

  He held up Rambo in one hand. “Lots of stuff gets blown up in this one.”

  “Let's go with that.”

  “But,” he said, waving Marie Antoinette in her face, “If we watch this one you can teach me something.”

  “How so?”

  He tapped her lightly on the forehead with a finger. “Well, Miss Historian, I believe that Marie Antoinette was married to Louis XVI, and it's my understanding that he once owned the Hope Diamond. I mean you're cute and all, but I still have to write that article you know.”

  “I guess it's settled. Marie Antoinette it is. And to think, I was so looking forward to watching Rambo.”

  “One more thing. You have to take off those socks, or I can't take you seriously.”

  Abby settled in and stretched her arms out on the back of the couch. An impish grin stretched across her face. “We don't know each other well enough to start taking our clothes off.”

  He gave her a mischievous sideways glance. “Will that start happening in three days?”

  “Don't count on it.”

  Alex rose from the couch and popped in the DVD. After flipping off the lights he rejoined her on the couch. They spent the next 120 minutes deeply engrossed in the bizarre lives of King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette.

  After sitting through the entire movie, credits and all, Alex reluctantly rose to go. He led her to the door with fingers lightly entwined.

  “Hey.” Abby looked up at him, brown eyes curious. “I was wondering something.”

  “What would that be?”

  “Would you be interested in being my date for the big event? I'll be working, but I'd really like you to be there. Who knows, you might even learn something.”

  Alex wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of shampoo and floral lotion. “I'd be honored,” he whispered.

  Abby tilted her head back and looked at him. “So how is this possible?”

  “What?

  “This. Last I checked all you wanted was an interview, and now every time I turn around you're kissing me.”

  “Life is full of surprises,” he said with a shrug, avoiding eye contact.

  “Apparently so.”

  “Can I call you tomorrow?”

  “Please.”

  His lips met hers with the lightest touch, giving the barest impression of a kiss. She pressed in deeper, but he pulled back and whispered, “Three days.”

  “Three days?” she groaned.

  “Three days.” He stepped out the door, and she closed it behind him, watching him through the peephole as he disappeared down the hall. Abby Mitchell bathed her apartment in a very satisfied grin.

  Abby stood at her front door for some time, cheek pressed against the wood, deep in thought. She shook her head and laughed, not believing he had actually seen her ghastly socks. She wrenched herself away from the door and yawned. For a moment she pondered the comfort of her warm bed but then went to the kitchen and pulled cleaning supplies from under the sink.

  He wants me to wear the diamond, she thought, first cleaning the dishes in her sink and then scouting her apartment for dirty surfaces. She chewed on her bottom lip, pondering the idea and what it meant.

  Two hours later, once her mind was fuzzy and her fingers pruned, she brushed her teeth and crawled between the Egyptian cotton sheets. As Abby slipped into the world of sleep, a dog began to bark in the darkness outside her apartment, the harbinger of uneasy dreams.

  12

  MESHERA FOREST, RUSSIA, FEBRUARY, 1689

  JEAN-BAPTISTE TAVERNIER STRUGGLED THROUGH THE DEEP UNDERGROWTH of the towering pine trees, encumbered by his weight and the heavy Oriental robes. His breathing was labored; he was unaccustomed to such physical exertion. The hands that usually sold crown jewels were ripped and bleeding from deep cuts. He stumbled again and fell face first into musty pine needles.

  “Forêt stupide!” he cursed, pulling himself to his feet. He paused for a second, a stitch burning in his side.

  Then he heard the barking again, and the beads of sweat on his forehead turned cold.

  The dogs. They were closer now. Much closer.

  Tavernier bolted, and in his fright lost all sense of direction. He could not tell if he was running from the dogs or toward them. He scrambled desperately over fallen logs and under low-hanging branches. The wild animals were but a few paces behind him now, growling, barking, hungry.

  He desperately scanned the trees, looking for one to climb. But with his eyes off the ground, he tripped again, this time crashing to the forest floor and knocking the breath from his lungs. The blood rushed through his head, pounding against his eardrums. He could hear the dogs behind him, tearing at the forest floor as they ran.

  Tavernier turned, and as he did, saw the first of seven dogs leap through the air. Finally, able to draw a breath, all he could do was scream. Instinctively, he covered his face with his hands as they descended upon him.

  13

  ABBY WOKE WITH A START, SCREAMS STILL ECHOING IN HER MIND AS the dream of Tavernier faded. The clock on her night-stand read 5:00, so she slid out of bed and shuffled to her shower. She turned the water on full blast, as hot as she could stand it. It stung her skin like searing needles and chased away the remainder of a troubled night's sleep. When she stepped out of the shower her skin was beet red and her bathroom filled with steam.

  Abby rejected her usual slacks and sweater in favor of a black pencil skirt and fitted white blouse. The three-inch black stilettos added just the right amount of sex appeal without overdoing it. She kept an eye on the clock as she dressed, paying special attention to her hair and makeup.

  A long day of work loomed be
fore her, and she still needed to go by Dow and DeDe's apartment. Abby took a step back from the mirror, eyeing her handiwork.

  If this doesn't get their attention, nothing will.

  Isaac ran still shots of Abby's face through Identix, the facial recognition software used by the U.S. government and Interpol to track criminals. The 3D analysis captured distinctive features on the surface of a face that most programs missed, such as eye-socket depth and the contour of the nose and chin. However, Isaac's concern was not whether she had a criminal background but rather her fascination with the Hope Diamond. He saw something in Abby's face during his initial reconnaissance that troubled him. It was something he recognized immediately: obsession. She looked at the diamond like a jealous woman watching her lover seduce a stranger.

  He slid the flash drive into his computer and typed in a date, scanning through the footage until the approximate time that Abby arrived at the Hope display. It was only a matter of seconds before he found an image of Abby, with all the needed recognition points. Isaac froze the frame and copied it to Identix. He then added the complete section of video and had the program check her face against the full length of tape. The computer hummed beneath the desk, occasionally offering faint clicking sounds as it checked her face. A few seconds later, the program beeped and a number appeared on the screen before Isaac.

  “No way,” he murmured.

  Over the last two years, Abby Mitchell had gone to see the diamond nearly six hundred times.

  Isaac had felt a deep, lingering suspicion about Abby from the moment that Alex recognized her from the heist in Rio. It was only now that his suspicion turned to fear. Isaac Weld was not a man accustomed to that emotion.

  DeDe answered on the first buzz, and Abby made her way into the building and rode up in the rickety elevator to their apartment. When the door swung open, DeDe did not give her the usual hug, but instead stood in the doorway with her brow furrowed and lips pursed.

  “Good morning to you too,” Abby said, somewhat disconcerted.

  DeDe smiled and pulled her into a hug.

  “Is something wrong?” Abby asked.

  “Why don't you tell me?”

  “What do you mean?”