Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

JAKE

"Nina, this is my friend Jake," Anthony says, stepping up to me.

The dark-haired woman nods and smiles. She looks lovely in her silver dress, which was obviously chosen with care and precision, much like the updo of her perfectly styled dark hair, but her eyes are cold and dark. Calculating. "I've heard so much about you."

"All good things, I hope," I say with a return smile, falling into the familiar rhythm of "light" conversation.

Her fake laugh sounds like a fork beaten against a champagne glass. My teeth want to grind together against the assault of it. " Of course …" She asks me questions about my therapy practice, which I answer with as much genuine interest as it was asked. I can't find it in myself to pay attention. My heart is beating too fast.

I want to go check out the necklace now , but Jake Jeffries, therapist extraordinaire and dopey nice guy, would probably never have heard about the Heart of the Mountain. That being said, it would be strange if I ignored the elephant in the room. It's not fucking normal to put out display cases in the middle of a party—because now I can see there's more than one—and if I failed to comment on them, that might also be noticed.

I make a couple of casual remarks about the beauty of the estate and the lady's dress before finally letting my eyes rest on the box.

If Ryan were here, he'd probably lean into my ear and say, "My precious," in his best Gollum voice, and I'd make a joke about getting into a rich lady's box. The thought makes me want to smile, right up until I remember my brother is in Roark's not-a-Club-Med and that I haven't talked to him for the better part of a year.

"What's this?" I ask, nodding toward it with casual interest.

Anthony swears under his breath, and for an instant, I see something real pass over Nina's face.

"My mother's idea of a joke," Anthony finally says in a tight voice, his gaze flitting across the room to an older woman who's shorter than half the people in the room but has the bearing of someone who's much taller. Her hair is snow white, slicked back into a perfect bun, and she's wearing a kaftan-style white dress threaded through with gold. She's talking to a couple of people.

Something tells me she's aware that white is supposed to be reserved for the bride-to-be at these things. After all, I know from my research that she's been married three times. Imagine that—wanting to shackle yourself not once but three times.

I've got nothing against relationships. Sure, I've never been in one that's lasted more than a few months, but blame the job for that. There aren't many women willing to understand if you disappear for several weeks or months at a time and can't tell them where you went. I've been accused of everything from having a secret family (false) to being an emotionally stunted man child (probably true). I walked away from that life last fall, but I still haven't gotten close to anyone. Part of it is that I can't tell anyone how I've spent the last seventeen years of my life. Add on to that that I also don't have much I'm willing to say about the thirteen years before that, and there's not much left to talk about.

Anthony's looking at me expectantly, and I realize Jake Jeffries's sympathetic side needs to be rolled out. "Oh?" I say with interest, tilting my head.

Nina gives us a constipated look, then says, "I'll let you boys talk," as if we're a couple of schoolboys in uniforms. Then she takes off, probably to sneak a cigarette outside or go shout fuck into a fancy pillow. I can't say I'd blame her.

Anthony shakes his head slightly, then walks toward the display case. I walk beside him, trying not to act too eager. When we reach it, I peer down at it for half a second, taking in the blinking red light of the censor attached to the box.

I expected some kind of alarm, so that's not a surprise. Not really a problem either. If there's no auxiliary power, I turn off the breakers in the basement and take out two birds with one stone—giving myself an opening to take the necklace and making it possible to do so. Of course, that's assuming we're not going to be stuck in this room for the rest of the evening like a tin of sardines.

"This is the Heart of the Mountain," Anthony tells me. "Have you heard of it?"

I look back up at him, going for a quizzical expression. "No, should I have?"

He quickly explains what I already know. A Smith family heirloom, check. Worth a shit ton of money, check. Subject of a documentary, check.

"You said it was your mother's idea of a joke?"

His mouth tightens, then he sighs, glancing at the older woman across the room again. This time she catches his eye and offers a little wave, her eyes bright. He does not return the gesture.

"Nina asked to wear it as her something borrowed for the wedding. Mom declined. She said putting it out tonight is a compromise, but she's doing it taunt Nina. Same thing with the uniforms." He angles his head at a woman with bright blonde hair, a purple streak weaving through it. Like the other servers and employees, she's dressed in a black button down with a red tie and black pants.

"Oh?" I ask, tilting my head.

"Nina used to work at Red Lobster."

A smile crests across my face. The old woman's savage, and I can't help but admire someone who's not afraid to play dirty.

A strange strangled sound escapes Anthony, and I glance at him in genuine shock. His face is a rictus of held-back…

Before I can think better of it, I ask, "Are you…laughing?"

He instantly turns his back on his mother—

"No," he says, although he's still struggling to keep it together.

Interesting. Maybe there's more to him, and this situation, than I thought.

"Look," he says, trying to get control of himself. "I don't want you to think I'm a dick—"

Too late for that.

"—I don't give a shit that Nina worked at Red Lobster. Who cares. It's just…my mother's shameless, and she'll stop at nothing… It's kind of…"

"Funny," I agree. "But you'd rather die than let her know."

He nods slightly, his lips tipped upward. "Precisely."

For the first time since our meet cute, I actually like the guy. Figures that it happens just before it's time to screw him over.

"So, what's the plan for the evening?" I ask, clearing my throat.

He rolls his eyes and silently pulls a brochure from his jacket pocket and hands it to me. Silently, I'm guessing, because he looks like he's swallowing down laughter again. I glance at the program.

6:30 Cocktails and light conversation

7:00 Petting zoo – Anthony's childhood favorite!

7:30 Seven-course meal

9:00 Games

9:30 Slideshow, followed by dancing

11:00 Farewell toast

"Petting zoo?" I ask, remembering the animal cry I'd heard outside. This could work for me. While everyone's outside, busy with the inane distraction, I could sneak back into the house, cut the power, and make a run for the necklace.

"I'm not participating, obviously," he says dryly. "Nina has informed me she'd rather die."

"But it's your childhood favorite," I object with a grin.

He shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. "No…it's not. It's another example of my mother amusing herself. We went to a petting zoo once when I was a kid. I got bitten by a donkey, then fell in a pile of manure. My father told me I wasn't much of a man. Good memory." He sighs, running a hand across his chin, probably to piss his mother off. "She doesn't know about that part—he made sure to take me aside for my dressing down—but she knows the rest."

"Your mother's vicious," I say.

His father, too, but I know he passed away when Anthony was young, and most people won't talk badly of the dead. I've never understood that—the way people are sainted just by the act of dying.

"Would you mind going with them?" he asks, his gaze shifting to the door behind my back. "It might be a good chance for you to talk some sense into my mother."

There goes the petting zoo plan, but it was probably dead in the water anyway if Anthony and Nina aren't going.

I'll do it during dinner, I decide.

I can excuse myself and cut the power while everyone's getting into their salad course or whatever. They'll freak out. They'll flail around like slugs in salt, and by the time they get their shit together, I'll have grabbed the necklace and replaced it with the gumball fake in my pocket.

Except…

Sitting here in a backlit case, the switch will be as obvious as if I'd swapped a real duck with a rubber ducky.

Frustration burns a hole in my gut. This is her fault. Elaine's. If she hadn't nabbed my good replica, I'd be golden. I could have replaced the necklace, flipped the breaker back on, and pretended I'd lost my way back from the bathroom in the dark.

The fake-as-shit replacement might have worked if the necklace had been hidden somewhere else within the estate, where it wouldn't be seen immediately. But now…

How do I pull this shit off without them immediately knowing that I, out of all the guests, was the one who did it?

I'm still chewing on that little chestnut when soft footfalls announce a new entry into the room. Then a woman clears her voice and announces, "The petting zoo is open. Please form a line by the door, and I'll see you to it."

That voice is smooth and familiar, and it feels like someone just strummed a chord inside of me…

I turn around and drop the brochure Anthony gave me, because it's her. It's the woman who fucked me over, and she's wearing a uniform that looks like it came from the Red Lobster catalog.

She works here.