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M.J. found the candy bar from her purse that Jack had tossed her earlier, broke off a chunk and ate it contemplatively as the lizard king from outer space lumbered toward Tokyo to wreak reptilian havoc.
“Can I have my water?” she asked in scrupulously polite tones.
He got up, fetched it out of her bag, handed it over.
“Thanks.” She took one long sip, waited until he’d settled again. “What’s your fee?” she demanded.
He took another soda out of his cooler. Wished it was a beer. “For?”
“What you do.” She shrugged. “Say I had skipped out on bail. What do you get for bringing me back?”
“Depends. Why?”
She rolled her eyes. “Depends on what?”
“On how much bail you’d skipped out on.”
She was silent for a moment as she considered. The lizard demolished a tall building with many innocent occupants. “What was it I was supposed to have done?”
“Shot your lover—the accountant. I believe his name was Hank.”
“Very funny.” She broke off another hunk of chocolate and, when Jack held out a hand, reluctantly shared. “How much were you going to get for me?”
“More than you’re worth.”
Now she sighed. “I’m going to make you a deal, Jack, but I’m a businesswoman, and I don’t make them blind. What’s your fee?”
Interesting, he thought, and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “For you, sugar, considering what you’re carrying in that suitcase you call a purse, adding in what Ralph offered me to turn you over to the goons?” He thought it over. “A hundred large.”
She didn’t bat an eye. “I appreciate you trying to lighten the situation with an attempt at wry humor. A hundred K for a man who can’t even take out a single hired thug by himself is laughable—”
“Who said I couldn’t take him out?” His pride leaped up and bit him. “I did take him out, sugar. Him and his cannon, and you haven’t bothered to thank me for it.”
“Oh, excuse me. It must have slipped my mind while I was being dragged around and handcuffed. How rude. And you didn’t take him out, I did. But regardless,” she continued, holding up her free hand like a traffic cop, “now that we’ve had our little joke, let’s try to be serious. I’ll give you a thousand to work with me on this.”
“A thousand?” He flashed that quick, dangerous grin. “Sister, there isn’t enough money in the world to tempt me to work with you. But for a hundred K, I’ll get you out of the jam you’re in.”
“In the first place—” she drew up her legs, sat lotus-style “—I’m not your sister, and I’m not your sugar. If you have to refer to me, use my name.”
“You don’t have a name, you have initials.”
“In the second place,” she said, ignoring him, “if a man like you got his hands on a hundred thousand, he’d just lose it in Vegas or pour it down some stripper’s cleavage. Since I don’t intend for that to happen to my money, I’m offering you a thousand.” She smiled at him. “With that, you can have yourself a nice weekend at the beach with a keg of imported beer.”
“It’s considerate of you to look out for my welfare, but you’re not really in the position to negotiate terms here. You want help, it’ll cost you.”
She didn’t know if she wanted his help. The fact was, she wasn’t at all sure why she was wrangling with him over a fee. Under the circumstances, she felt she could promise him any amount without any obligation to pay up if and when the time came.
But it was the principle of the thing.
“Five thousand—and you follow orders.”
“Seventy-five, and I don’t ever follow orders.”
“Five.” She set her teeth. “Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll leave it.” Casually he picked up the stone again, held it up, studied it. “And take this with me.” He rose, patted his back pocket. “And maybe I’ll call the cops on your fancy little phone after I’m clear.”
She fisted her fingers, flexed them. She didn’t want to involve the police, not until she’d contacted Bailey. Nor could she risk him following through on his threat to simply take the stone.
“Fifty thousand.” She bit the words off like raw meat. “That’s all I’ll be able to come up with. Most everything I’ve got’s tied up in my business.”
He cocked a brow. “The finder’s fee on this little bauble’s got to be worth more than fifty.”
“I didn’t steal the damn thing. It doesn’t belong to me. It’s—” She broke off, clamped her mouth shut.
He started to sit on the edge of the bed again, remembered what had happened before, and chose the arm of the chair. “Who does it belong to, M.J.?”
“I’m not spilling my guts to you. For all I know you’re as big a creep as the one who broke down my door. You could be a thief, a murderer.”
He cocked that scarred eyebrow. “Which is why I’ve robbed and murdered you.”
“The day’s young.”
“Let me point out the obvious. I’m the only one around.”
“That doesn’t inspire confidence.” She brooded a moment. How far did she dare use him? she wondered. And how much did she dare tell him?
“If you want my help,” he said, as if reading her mind, “then I need facts, details and names.”
“I’m not giving you names.” She shook her head slowly. “That’s out until I talk to the other people involved. And as for facts and details, I don’t have many.”
“Give me what you do have.”
She studied him again. No, she didn’t trust him, not nearly as far as she could throw him. If she ever got the opportunity. But she had to start somewhere. “Unlock me.”
He shook his head. “Let’s just leave things as they are for the moment.” But he rose, walked over and shut off the television. “Where’d you get the stone, M.J.?”
She hesitated another instant. Trust wasn’t the issue, she decided. He might help, if in no other way than just by providing her with a sounding board. “A friend sent it to me. Overnight courier. I just got it yesterday.”
“Where did it come from?”
“Originally from Asia Minor, I believe.” She shrugged off his hiss of annoyance. “I’m not telling you where it was sent from, but I will tell you there had to be a good reason. My friend’s too honest to steal a handshake. All I know is it was sent, with a note that said for me to keep it with me at all times, and not to tell anyone until my friend had a chance to explain.”
Abruptly she pressed a hand to her stomach and the arrogance died out of her voice. “My friend’s in trouble. It’s got to be terrible trouble. I have to call.”
“No calls.”
“Look, Jack—”
“No calls,” he repeated. “Whoever’s after you might be after your pal. His phone could be tapped, which would lead them back to you. Which leads them to me, so no calls. Now how did your honest friend happen to get his hands on a blue diamond that makes the Hope look like a prize in a box of Cracker Jack?”
“In a perfectly legitimate manner.” Stalling, she combed her fingers through her hair. He thought her friend was male—why not leave it that way?
“Look, I’m not getting into all of that. All I’m going to tell you is he was supposed to have his hands on it. Look, let me tell you about the stone. It’s one of three. At one time they were part of an altar set up to an ancient Roman god. Mithraism was one of the major religions of the Roman Empire—”
“The Three Stars of Mithra,” he murmured, and had her eyeing him first in shock, then with suspicion.
“How do you know about the Three Stars?”
“I read about them in the dentist’s office,” he murmured. Now, when he picked up the stone, it wasn’t simply with admiration, it was with awe. “It was supposed to be a myth. The Three Stars, set in the golden triangle and held in the hands of the god of light.”
“It’s not a myth,” M.J. told him. “The Smithsonian acquired the Stars through a contact in Europe just a couple months ago. My friend said the museum wanted to keep the acquisition quiet until the diamonds were verified.”
“And assessed,” he thought aloud. “Insured and under tight security.”
“They were supposed to be under security,” M.J. told him, and he answered with a soft laugh.
“Doesn’t look like it worked, does it? The diamonds represent love, knowledge and generosity.” His eyes narrowed as he contemplated the ancient stone. “I wonder which this one is?”
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