Hearts in Vegas. Colleen Collins

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      “I shouldn’t call it bad news. More correctly, it is potentially good news for both of us.”

      “But you said this depends on how successful I am, so apparently my actions dictate how this...whatever it is...will affect both of us.”

      “Correct.” He drew his lips into a tight, reflective grin. “I’ve been interested for some time in opening my own antiquities insurer company, but haven’t found enough interested backers. Fortunately, the CEO of Vanderbilt—an old friend of mine, we attended Cornell together—has offered me the helm of a new Vanderbilt division that will handle all high-end antiquities insurance policies. I’ll be building an elite team of appraisers, underwriters and fraud investigators whose focus will be to reduce claims fraud on our more valuable jewelry and antiquity items. Frankly, I haven’t been happy with most of our investigators—their sloppy work has resulted in Vanderbilt paying extraordinarily hefty claims without recovering insured items. But you, Frances, have a solid track record of solving cases. I’d like you to join my team as my first investigator, but...”

      But what? He was giving her high praise one moment, then seeming critical of her the next. She held his gaze for an awkward moment or two, watching the sparkle go out of his light brown eyes until they reminded her of dead leaves.

      “Spit it out, Charlie.”

      She’d never spoken like that to her boss, but it was grating on her nerves he didn’t just speak his mind. She might tell white lies to her dad so he wouldn’t worry, fabricate stories and identities in the course of her investigative work, but sometimes the best way to deal with an issue was to put it out there.

      As the violin music trilled in the background, Charlie stared hard at her, finally saying, “You can’t fail at this case.”

      “Because you want to show Vanderbilt I have what it takes to be part of your elite group.”

      “Correct.” He took another sip of champagne.

      “I know how much Vanderbilt wants me to find those coins, Charlie, but there are never any guarantees. You know that.”

      “I do. Just bring your A-game, Frances. That’s all I’m asking.”

      Which brought up the issue she’d tossed and turned over last night. Sometime between 2:00 and 3:00 a.m., she’d finally dozed off, still torn about whether or not to make this request.

      “I’m not sure I should investigate this one,” she said.

      He frowned. “Why not?”

      “It’s out of my league. I can bring my A-game, but it’s like asking a—” she listened to the violin warble “—a small-time fiddler to play first violin in an orchestra. You want me to find coins worth millions of dollars...but, Charlie, you seem to forget I was a teenage pickpocket who later lifted a few pieces of jewelry. My biggest theft was a diamond-and-ruby necklace worth eighteen grand retail, and I got caught.”

      Charlie obviously saw her concern because his expression turned soft, almost apologetic. “Let’s table that discussion for a minute.”

      She nodded.

      “Speaking of that eighteen-grand necklace, you’ve almost paid off the restitution, right?”

      “Almost.”

      “I’m proud of you, Frances.”

      She didn’t feel any pride over what she’d learned these past five years, but she definitely felt humbled.

      It hadn’t been easy paying the restitution. Besides the cost of the necklace, the court tacked on their case-processing fees, plus an assessment for the victims’ compensation fund, which brought her financial obligation to just over $22,700. A hefty payoff considering her fence, a pawnbroker named Rock Star, paid her only $4,500 for the necklace, the standard 25 percent going rate.

      At first she’d felt sorry for herself for getting into that mess. Then one day her probation officer called and said the victim, a woman named Leona, who’d recently lost her daughter in Afghanistan, wanted to meet her. Frances had balked, anxious about facing Leona’s justified anger, especially as the necklace had never been recovered.

      Her mother, in the last weeks of her life, although Frances and her dad didn’t know it at the time, simply said, You owe it to her.

      The following week, Frances had sat in a spacious, airy living room, eating chocolate cookies with Leona, a plump, fiftyish woman with eyes the color of water. She didn’t get angry. Didn’t mention the necklace, either. Instead, she talked for two hours about her daughter, Dena, who’d played the flute, raised bees and dreamed of being a veterinarian. She never mentioned Dena’s death, only said she’d joined the army to help pay for her college.

      Later, Frances thought how she’d gone to Leona’s so the woman could yell and vent her justified rage. Instead Frances received something far greater. Forgiveness.

      “But you weren’t caught stealing that necklace,” Charlie continued, “which is commendable.”

      Frances was surprised he’d used the word commendable about her theft. For all Charlie’s education, sometimes he had the depth of a puddle.

      “It was the fence that snitched you out, right?” he said pleasantly, as though this were a light, inconsequential conversation.

      “The buyer of the necklace coughed up my fence’s name to the police, who in turn coughed up mine.” Loyalty among thieves.

      “Which is my point—you’ve never been caught in the act,” he said, “because you’re good at what you do. Which our mystery Russian recognized after watching your brilliant audition on the surveillance feed.”

      The waiter returned with her Baby Bellini, poured more champagne for Charlie and informed them their food would be served shortly.

      After he left, Charlie said, “You’re not out of your league, Frances—you’re stepping up to it.”

      As he paused to take another sip of champagne, she tasted her Baby Bellini, enjoying its peachy fizz, thinking she should call Leona and ask how her bee farm was going.

      “Was the Russian at his office this morning?” Charlie set down his drink.

      “Don’t know. Oleg was in the front area, working on a computer, but the other doors were closed.”

      “Did Oleg discuss your work there?”

      “Just to be there Monday morning around nine and to ask for him.”

      “Oleg,” he mused, “is a very savvy hacker if he’s breaking into a government facial-recognition database. If the feds were to nail him, he could spend up to ten years in prison.”

      “These people don’t leave electronic tracks.”

      “No, they get caught after doing something stupid, like leaving behind a half-eaten sandwich covered with DNA.”

      A famously stupid mistake in one of the largest jewel heists in history. After several years of rigorous planning, a brilliant jewel thief named Leonardo Notarbartolo executed a meticulous break-in of the СКАЧАТЬ