Читать книгу The Diamond Secret - Lenora Worth - Страница 11

TWO

“What do you mean, you?” And the diamond? “I don’t have that diamond.”

Esther glanced back and saw the shadows outside the door. Big, hulking shadows. Could this day get any worse?

Cullen shoved her toward the back. “I’ll explain later.”

She ground her loafers to a halt. “No, now. I can call the police, you know.” To prove that point, she reached inside the deep pocket of her flared skirt and pulled out her cell phone.

“No police. Not a good idea,” Cullen replied, dragging her with him in spite of her feet being practically glued to the floor. “This is too big, too dangerous. We can’t trust anyone.”

She had a finger on the Nine when the banging on the door started. “I won’t let them ruin my shop.”

He pulled her into a dark hallway and tugged her close, his breath fanning her now-disheveled hair. “Darlin’, you won’t be able to stop them. And better a ruined shop than the alternative.”

“But—”

“Listen to me, Esther. Some very dangerous people know about the chocolate diamond and they think your father had it. If I hadn’t reached you first, it would be even worse, trust me. And you do need to trust me, understand?”

Trust him? He’d come here demanding a diamond that she figured didn’t even exist, and now he had thugs looking for him and this alleged diamond and he wanted her to trust him instead of the police? Right.

“I don’t know you and I’ve had enough.” She tried to punch numbers. “I won’t stand for this.”

He took her phone away and tucked it into one of his many pockets. “No police. That could make things much worse.”

“Why? Because you’re actually a criminal and you lied to me about everything?”

He winced. “I used to be a criminal, but I’m reformed now. And technically, I haven’t lied about anything.”

She didn’t believe him. Except for the criminal part. She could imagine him doing bad things, very bad things. He had that kind of look about him. Half treasure hunter, half pirate. All male.

“I won’t go anywhere with you,” she said, wondering about the lesser of two evils. Should she pray for intervention or distraction?

He sighed and held her up like a rag doll, his eyes level with hers. “I don’t have time to argue with you. If you don’t do as I say, they will either torture you or kill you. Or both.”

The banging ended and the sound of crashing glass took its place.

“What’s it going to be, Esther?”

She stared up at the man holding her, her heart beating so fast she thought she was having an attack.

“What’s really going on here?” she shouted, her fingers digging into his shirt.

“More than I can explain right now,” he replied. “Now let’s get out of here.”

She heard the splintering of the two-hundred-year-old door and closed her eyes, willing this dream to be over. But it wasn’t. Cullen was still there when she opened her eyes. And she heard footsteps rushing through the shop.

“Do you have a back entrance?” he said, still dragging her along the wall, bumping her against old picture frames and antique wall sconces.

Apparently, he’d made her decision, Esther thought with each jump in her pulse. She was going with Cullen.

“Yes.” She bobbed her head, then motioned to a hallway beyond a door on the left. “It leads to the courtyard.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

Esther heard more crashing and then chairs scraping with irritating force, followed by drawers being opened and dropped. The shattering of precious crystal almost caused her to run back to save her place of business.

“Don’t,” Cullen said, his gaze hitting her with a warning.

She hated the tears that burned at her eyes, but this was her life. Her only life. Her father had worked hard to build a solid reputation in the antiques and collectibles world and Esther had vowed to carry on that tradition. She’d given up almost everything else to hold on to this showroom. If she lost this place, where would she go? Certainly not to Great-Aunt Judith’s in Lake Charles. That woman might be her only living relative, but she was ancient and mean and she lived in a trailer with six cats.

They reached the door. Esther shoved the letters into Cullen’s hands so she could get to her keys.

“Hurry,” Cullen said, pushing her to unlock it. He put the letters in his big knapsack. “We need to hide somewhere.” Then he pulled out an intricate box and quickly opened it to reveal an exquisite pistol. “I bought this next door, but it’s not loaded.” He shrugged. “I’m guessing here, but I think they’ll probably shoot at us. They won’t kill us. They’ll want to question us about the diamond. But we can bluff our way out with this if we have to. Only use this gun if something happens to me. And make them think it’s loaded.”

They had real guns and he wanted her to fake her way out of this with an empty six-shooter?

“This cannot be happening,” Esther kept repeating, her key ring jingling, her body shaking with each thump and crash. “Not to me. I follow rules, Mr. Murphy. Rules.”

“Forget the rules,” Cullen said, his Irish accent on hard-drive. “And lock this door behind us. Right now, we need to find a way to stay alive.”

She secured the door, knowing it wouldn’t matter but it might buy them some time. Then she motioned to her studio. “We can hide in there. It has another entrance. To St. Peter Street. We might be able to get away and double back.”

He guided her to the old garage. “It looks rickety,” he said on a sharp breath. “And we don’t have time to get to the exit door. They’ll spot us.”

“Do you have any other ideas?” She heard more precious items breaking, more doors slamming, then the echo of excited voices. “Maybe we can make a run for it.”

“Let’s go,” he said, his hand on her arm. “We might be able to wait them out or we can take the side-street exit.”

He hurried her into the growing dusk but kept her close to the courtyard wall, without regard for her bougainvillea vine or her beloved ferns and begonias.

She didn’t know about him, but she wasn’t waiting around. She intended to get away from those goons and Cullen Murphy, too. And she would go to the police. Her shop was open now and vulnerable to looters. She had to do something.

Esther tried the door of the studio, her hands shaking. Cullen put his hands over hers, the heat of his skin shocking her. “Which key?”

She looked down at the big ring. “The silver one with the fleur-de-lis,” she said on a scattered whisper.

Cullen grabbed the key ring and fumbled with the door. They heard voices and more shouting and crashing.

Then across the way, the heavy back door to her storeroom and attached miniwarehouse crashed apart like a tinker toy. Esther squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the bullets. But Cullen had her inside the studio and back behind a work bench before she could catch her next breath.

“Don’t move,” he said, his body guarding her, hiding her, holding her. “Don’t even breathe.”

“That won’t be a problem,” she said between gasps. “I’m too scared.”

Even though she didn’t know the man and even though he’d brought trouble to her door, she said a silent prayer, thanking God that Cullen was here and blocking her from these people.

They waited, crouched on the floor, the shapes of her whimsical, mismatched sculptures all around them looking more like gargoyles and monsters than art. To calm herself, Esther thought back over her day. What about that nice couple from Illinois? Patt and Dave, yes. They loved antiques and also collected ceramics and glass, and had purchased several pieces, including a set of Roseville Bleeding Heart vases and an exquisite Depression glass pink bowl.

Esther heard voices followed by heavy footsteps. She was back inside the nightmare. So she prayed. Over and over.

Cullen tightened his grip. “Hold on.”

She did, her hand grasping his arm, taking in his strength. She had to depend on him to help her through this. But later, she’d let him have it with both barrels.

I’m strong, she thought, fear and shock making her want to giggle. I’ve managed to survive and keep on going, even when I’ve had no one. Well, not exactly no one. I have Aunt Judith at least. And sweet Mr. Reynolds and his wife from next door. And Harold the lonely saxophone player down the street. I have Ted, of course. Her one loyal employee and occasional dinner companion. Ted had been sick today, but he sure wouldn’t be happy come tomorrow. Their insurance would skyrocket. Ted had been her father’s right-hand man. He always focused on the bottom line.

Esther prayed while she waited. Please, Lord, let this be a dream. Let me wake up, right now.

The footsteps drew closer and from her vantage point inside the old workroom, Esther could see that the two men searching for them did indeed have guns. Ugly, skinny-barreled guns. She prayed Cullen’s sleek but ancient weapon would at least scare them.

“They have silencers,” he said on a whisper, probably to remind her of the danger. Then he looked at the empty gun in his hand. “While I love this sweet Remington, I think I’m gonna need to use my 9 mm SIG-Sauer. It’s fully loaded.”

The man had two guns? She supposed that was a good thing. Or maybe that confirmed that he was truly a bad person.

Cullen put a finger to his mouth to warn her and then he placed the Remington back in its case and set it out of the way. She watched as he pulled out another gun and did a few clicks and loads. What all did he have in that travel bag?

Because she had no one else to turn to right now, Esther stayed there beside him, her gaze hitting on the banana-leaf fronds swaying in the humid air, her nostrils taking in the sweet scents of jasmine and wisteria, mingled with the faint scent of perspiration. She heard the steady trickle of water coming out of the twisted metal fountain sculpture she’d made three years ago. Her courtyard had always been her haven.

Now she’d never look at it in the same way again.

The men kept coming until they’d reached the glass-paned doors of the studio. One of them, looking like a hulking giant, pressed his big nose to the door and stared in. Esther hissed, but Cullen held her tightly against him behind the big sturdy work bench, as if his body would keep her invisible. She found that rather endearing in spite of her wobbly heart and weak knees.

“Hey, Murphy, you in there?”

“They speak,” she said on a low, trembling whisper. “And, surprise, they know you.”

“Yes, they know me,” he said, bobbing his head. “They want the diamond. Must have followed me across the globe. As if I’d hand it over to Hogan and his men.”

Hogan. Why did that name sound familiar? Esther closed her eyes, wishing for her hot tea. Wishing this hot diamond hunter shielding her would go away. But not until he made those bad guys go away, too.

Tugging at his shirt, she asked, “Who is Hogan?”

He shoved the Remington case at her. “I’ll explain later.”

When the other man rushed to the door and shook the knob, Cullen turned toward her and opened the case. “Remember, this might buy you some time. Where is the street entrance?”

She motioned with her head, then whispered, “Behind us to the left.”

“It’s locked?”

“Of course.”

“We need a distraction.”

He glanced around and saw her blow torch.

Esther’s gaze followed him. “Oh, no. You can’t do that.”

“I can and I will, to save your life.”

And then, he was up and like a gunslinger, swinging around in a poetic kind of warrior way to grab her blow torch and wield it high in front of him.

While the doors to her studio burst apart and fell away like shattered memories.

* * *

Cullen knew she was scared, but he needed Esther to help him get them out of this situation. “Run for the door,” he shouted at the same time he started firing.

The two men broke apart and dropped down with guns blazing, but Cullen kept advancing, zigzagging behind tables and half-finished sculpture pieces. Somehow through the haze of darkness and with the blessing of surprise on his side, he managed to stay out of the line of fire.

He had the SIG-Sauer in one hand and the blow torch in the other. He triggered the gun, marveling at the way it hissed in his right hand. The blow torch did the same in his left, sending a white-hot heat toward the two bumbling thugs. He wasn’t really aiming for anyone in particular. He mainly wanted to scare these two so Esther could get away. Which was probably what she’d been hoping for all along. She’d be gone in a flash, but at least she’d be safe. Or she might use his unusable, unloaded Remington six-shooter on him—hitting him over the head.

“Go, Esther!”

But prim little Esther surprised him.

“Not without you,” she shouted, the big gun in her tiny hand.

She headed for the locked door, but instead of testing the six-shooter, she managed to find a few ceramic pots and other interesting weapons along the way. And in spite of being a little spit of a thing, the woman had an impressive aim. She heaved a pot, followed by a crude-looking knife that could only be some sort of sculpture tool. While neither made a direct hit, her projectiles did stop the two attackers from advancing. Then she lifted the Remington with both hands, as if she actually knew what she was doing. It didn’t fire, of course.

This might turn out to be fun, if he didn’t die.

More importantly, all fun and frolic aside, he couldn’t let Esther Carlisle die. He’d made a promise to her father that he’d protect her. Cullen wasn’t known for keeping promises, but this one was important to the tune of millions of dollars. It had taken him several months and a whole lot of territory to finally make it here to fulfill that promise. He wasn’t about to give in so easily now.

So he shot one last flare from the blow torch and glanced back to see Esther standing at the open door, her hands frozen in place on the Remington. Then he dropped the torch and used both hands to hold the gun steady as he went after the two men.

And this time, he aimed to kill.

* * *

Esther’s heart seemed to hit with all the velocity of those zinging bullets. She heard the sound of traffic and people, heard that sweet saxophone playing up near the café. She sent out a prayer that they would all be safe.

“Cullen, hurry,” she called, wanting with every fiber of her being to run. The exquisite gun she held was useless, but it gave her a sense of security. Besides, she was pretty sure it could still be dangerous, even with an empty chamber.

No matter, she couldn’t leave him.

And that made her more angry than frightened. Why was she willing to stand here and be killed for a man who’d crashed into her world without explanation and changed it without any apparent qualms? Because, he brought her father’s letters with him. That meant for some strange reason her father had reached out to this man, had trusted him. Maybe Cullen had some answers. Answers she needed, since her father hadn’t confided in her about much of anything.

Cringing as he ducked, Esther watched Cullen shooting his way across her studio. So far, so good. Then she heard sirens.

“Cullen, someone must have called the police.” Mr. Reynolds, obviously. His hearing was remarkable for a seventy-year-old. And his wife, Helen, was spry and sharp and interested in the things going on around her. Esther hoped neither of them decided to pop over and investigate.

Cullen hurried to the door, then turned to fire a couple more shots. At least the two men were pinned down at the front of the studio. Probably with singed eyebrows and burning skin.

Cullen rushed her out the door and closed it tight, locking it to be double sure. Then he slipped the pistol back in the shoulder bag he’d managed to hang on to and handed her back her phone. “I think you had a call.”

Shocked at how efficiently the man multitasked during a shoot-out, she gave him the extra gun and took the phone. “It’s Ted. He’s my bookkeeper and sales associate. He was sick today so he’s probably calling to see how my day went.”

Cullen did a quick scan of the nearby buildings as they headed east up St. Peter toward the Mississippi River. Off to the left the St. Louis Cathedral was bathed in the golden light of dusk. And directly across, Jackson Square teemed with tourists and locals alike. Nobody seemed to care that shots had been fired and sirens were wailing.

“What are you going to tell him?”

Esther lifted her brows, took a deep breath, then punched numbers. “That everything is fine, thank you.”

But in her heart, she had a funny feeling that everything wasn’t fine. In fact, holding on to the handsome, capable, daring man who’d done his best to protect her—after he’d ruined her day and her shop—she was pretty sure her life had changed forever.

And the scary part? She’d never felt more alive.