Читать книгу Dark Surrender - Alyssa Morgan - Страница 14

Chapter 5

Downtown New York

The Next Morning

The Twelfth Precinct was probably the safest place in the world for her to be, and Jillian couldn’t stop her hands from shaking.

Too many bad memories.

Or maybe too much coffee at work earlier that morning.

She had gotten a call from Detective Steve O’Malley, telling her the police had recovered the items stolen from her grandparent’s house. Their home was still in escrow after Jonathon had put it up for sale, and she’d been forced to go through a lifetime of cherished memories and belongings in only a few short weeks. She’d been keeping the ring from him on purpose, saying she hadn’t found it among their things when, wouldn’t you know it, someone broke into the house and stole the ring along with the other jewelry and the television.

Now there was a good possibility the ring was somewhere in this police station.

She got into the elevator and pushed the button for the third floor. Her first visit to a police station happened when she was six-years-old. She was brought there after she and her parents had been in a car accident on the George Washington Bridge. The engine caught on fire, and a stranger had pulled her from the backseat before the car plunged over the side. Her parents both died. She’d been sent to live with her grandparents.

Even though twenty years had passed, she mourned her parents every single day. As a young girl growing up, she’d felt robbed, cheated out of a normal, happy life by an unfortunate accident. Part of the reason her grandfather had brought her along on his travels was to help alleviate some of her grief. Over time, her grief had faded, until her grandparents’ accident had left her with no family whatsoever.

She hadn’t been prepared to feel so alone.

So lost.

Her more recent trips to the police station had been to get a restraining order filed against her ex-fiancé, who had thankfully decided to show his true nature before the wedding when he turned psychotic and violent. Dr. Weber said Kevin was a sociopath. Jillian agreed.

To this day she was still learning a tough lesson. All a restraining order accomplished was pissing Kevin off even more. It didn’t stop him from calling her, or following her, showing up at her house or, worse, the museum. The police always got to the scene long after he’d done his damage. At best, she could ball up the piece of paper and throw it at him.

She’d spent over a year in and out of the police station and court rooms because Kevin wanted the restraining order lifted. She’d gotten so afraid of being alone that she moved in with her grandparents and stayed with them until almost a year ago. She finally got her own apartment five miles from the museum. Kevin’s harassment had slowed down but he still reared his ugly head from time to time, coming out of the woodwork with the rest of the lunatics when the pull of the moon was just right, usually when she least expected the attack.

Jillian thought he’d get over her leaving him eventually but Dr. Weber said he was fixated on her and, until something else came along to capture his attention, his sociopathic behavior would continue.

And she was the one seeing a therapist.

How crazy was that?

The elevator dinged as it stopped on the third floor. Jillian stepped out into the busy work area where most of the detectives had desks and offices. She didn’t have to wait long before Detective O’Malley came up beside her, a cup of coffee in his hand.

“It’s good to see you, Jillian.”

She’d forgotten how handsome the detective was, with his dark brooding brows and that Boston-Irish accent.

“You too, Detective.”

“Would you like some coffee, or water?” he offered.

“No, thank you.” She smiled politely, while her stomach fluttered with anxiety.

She was too nervous to eat or drink anything until she learned whether they had recovered the ring or not.

“I’m glad I had good news for you this time.”

Detective O’Malley had been the one to arrive at her apartment in the middle of the night to tell her that her grandparents had died in a car wreck.

“It’s a nice change,” she said.

She should have taken more than one of her pills down in the parking lot.

The detective must have sensed her anxiety because he motioned for her to follow. “I’ve got everything over at my desk.”

As they walked through rows of desks, she noticed he held a plain brown folder in his other hand.

One of her many case files she assumed. Dead parents. Check. Psychotic ex-fiancé. Check. Dead grandparents, robbery. Check, check.

What would life throw at her next?

If she didn’t get the ring back, it wasn’t going to be good.

Detective O’Malley brought her over to his desk by the only wall of thick-paned windows. Muted sunlight fell on a drooping green plant in a plastic pot that rested next to a broken-down printer on a metal table. She sat in the uncomfortable chair in front of his desk and crossed her legs, anxiously tapping the heel of her shoe.

She watched him go through some of the papers on his desk. Jillian liked Steve O’Malley. As a detective he was cool and professional, yet tough. They’d also gone out on one date together, right after she’d moved into her apartment, but she hadn’t been ready for a relationship at the time and didn’t know if she wanted to date a cop. Now that she found herself sitting in front of his desk again, she was starting to second guess her decision.

What if she was missing out on a really great guy? Definitely good boyfriend material.

So why could she only think of Mr. Smith? His smell, the warm feel of his touch, his bold, sensual kiss.

“We were able to recover everything.” O’Malley opened the brown file on his desk. “It all turned up at the same pawn shop in Queens.”

Her stomach fluttered wildly. Had they truly gotten the ring?

“How did you find it all so fast?” Jillian figured her odds of ever recovering the stolen items were low.

O’Malley closed the file and leaned his elbows on the desk, lacing his fingers together. “The pawn shop owner was murdered last night, and we got an anonymous phone call that the place was full of stolen goods. In cases like these, we cross-reference the shop’s inventory against our stolen goods database. In your case, we had pictures of all the items so it made our job a lot easier.”

Thank God her grandfather had been meticulous about insuring his valuables.

“Someone was murdered?” Jillian whispered, her mind running wild.

Could the murder be connected to the ring?

Her stomach tightened with panic. Was that to be her fate as well?

“Probably a robbery gone bad,” he said. “Those shops keep large amounts of cash on hand.”

Jillian wanted to believe it was nothing more than an everyday crime, a coincidence, but the knot of dread in her stomach told her there was a connection. If the ring hadn’t been stolen, she might be the one who was dead, and the awful thought got her heart racing as her anxiety continued to build.

“Don’t worry,” O’Malley said in a calming voice. “The chance of anyone robbing you again is unlikely, though you should think about storing any valuables in a safe deposit box.”

“Thank you, detective.”

“Steve.” He smiled, the one corner of his mouth twitching. “Call me Steve.”

“Steve.” She tried to relax, but he held her gaze. “I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

“It’s my job.” His gaze roamed down to her hips, over her gray skirt and along her smooth legs. “Would you like to have dinner with me again?”

Jillian hoped she didn’t look too stunned, but she hadn’t been expecting that.

“It’s nice of you to offer,” she said. “But I don’t know if I’m in the right place to start a relationship.”

“It’s only dinner,” he pressed further, smiling. “It doesn’t have to be anything serious.”

Jillian knew what kind of “date” he was looking for, and she gave him a half-hearted smile. “I’m not good at casual flings.”

“I had to try,” he said, his smile hardening, like it was stuck in place.

After a long moment, he rose from his desk and handed her a yellow evidence envelope.

Jillian opened the envelope and peeked inside. The ruby ring sat on top of the golden pile of her grandmother’s antique jewelry.

Her prayer had been answered.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Now what did she do?

“The television is over here.” O’Malley picked up a flat-screen television from the floor and held it tucked under his arm. “I’ll help you out to your car.”

“That would be nice.” Jillian was almost tempted to have dinner with him again, but she didn’t feel that romantic spark with him, and it wouldn’t be right to lead him on. O’Malley was a nice guy, and he deserved a woman who was crazy about him.

Jillian was just crazy.

It had only taken Dr. Weber two meetings before he prescribed her a steady dose of anxiety pills.

She and the detective took the elevator down to the first floor. O’Malley kept stealing hopeful glances at her, and she pretended not to notice. Honestly, how many dates would it take to scare him off with her obsessive-compulsive quirks? Even now, she felt the need to run through her system checks. Hair, glasses, sleeves, watch. To compensate, she hiked her purse strap up higher on her shoulder.

When the elevator doors slid open she took a deep, calming breath and stepped out into the downstairs lobby, relaxing when she got out into the more open space.

“Where are you parked?” O’Malley walked ahead of her, carrying the television.

“I’m in the visitor lot on the side.” She pointed towards the doors.

He pushed one of the double doors open with his shoulder and held it for her to pass through.

“Thank you.” She slipped out into the sunny afternoon and made her way directly across the parking lot to her silver Mercedes SUV, fishing her keys out of her purse and deactivating the alarm as she walked.

“Where do you want this?” O’Malley asked.

She opened the back door and he put the television on the seat and strapped it in with the seatbelt, then he closed the door and leaned his hand against the top frame. His blue suit jacket hung open and revealed the holstered gun he wore strapped to his side and the shiny, golden badge on the waistband of his jeans.

“Thanks again for your help.” Jillian got her car key ready in her hand.

“Are you sure you won’t change your mind about dinner?”

She studied his handsome face and cute smile, waiting for any kind of a spark to ignite, but there was no fire, no energy. He didn’t turn her inside out or make her senses reel. With Mr. Smith, she’d felt a wild attraction from the moment she’d seen him standing in the café at her museum. The very thought of him made her breathless.

And that was what she was looking for.

“Maybe some other time.” She opened her car door.

“Call me if you change your mind.” He handed her his card. “Or for anything.”

Jillian nodded and tucked the card in her purse. “Take care, detective.”

“Steve,” he corrected her once more, then gave her a parting smile and took out his cell phone as he walked back to the police station.

Jillian got in her car and tossed her purse and the yellow envelope on the passenger seat.

What did she do now?

Going back to the museum wasn’t an option. Jonathon had been pestering her about the ring all morning, making her promise if the police had found it to bring it back immediately.

She wasn’t stupid.

Jonathon wanted the ring for its powers. She’d pretended to believe the story he concocted about it being a rare piece from a magical order that mysteriously disappeared during the Crusades.

She’d learned the true story from her grandfather. Lucifer had convinced the three most powerful Magi of the East that Jesus was the Antichrist, and they created the three rings to banish his soul after he was born. Instead, the three Magi were so spiritually moved by the Savior’s birth, they turned against Lucifer and used the powers of the rings to seal him in Hell forever.

If he ever broke out, he’d destroy the Earth, the human race, everything in existence.

Jillian wasn’t ready. She didn’t want the ring. Where was she supposed to keep it?

Her cell phone rang. She grabbed it out of her purse and checked the screen. A New York number.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Ms. Whitmore, I’m so glad you answered. This is Winston Smith.”

Unbelievable.

She’d barely had the ring for five minutes.

“Mr. Smith,” she said in her sweetest, most innocent sounding voice. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s what I can do for you, Ms. Whitmore.”

“If you’re calling to try to frighten me again, it won’t work.” Not when she was safe in her car with a full tank of gas.

She could go anywhere. Hundreds of miles away from New York.

“I just thought you should know you’re being followed,” he said in his husky, accented voice.

Her pulse skittered.

“I am?” Her gaze darted around the parking lot, and suddenly she was wary of every car and every person outside. “How do you know someone is following me?”

“There are many people who want the Ring of Melchior, Ms. Whitmore, or did you think I was the only one? The enemy is everywhere.”

Detective O’Malley was still standing on the sidewalk outside and he looked over his shoulder, watching her as he talked on his phone.

Who was he talking to?

Why was he watching her?

She swallowed hard. Trust no one. Her grandfather had warned her, and now it was all happening so fast.

“What makes you think I have the ring?” she asked Mr. Smith.

“Let’s not waste time on how I know. I can help you, Ms. Whitmore. Come to my house and I’ll explain everything.”

“Why should I trust you?” Jillian grew tight with tension. “You could be the enemy.”

“If I were the enemy, I would simply take the ring and you’d be helpless to stop me.”

She pictured his tall, strong frame and his fierce blue eyes, and knew she was no match for him physically.

Who was she kidding?

Jillian was no match for anyone. She didn’t know how to fight, or how to shoot a gun. She had to survive with her own skills, and they were sorely lacking when it came to saving the world.

“How can you help me, Mr. Smith?”

“Take down my address.”