Defending You (The Wright Heroes of Maine #7)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Cici Wright stepped into Mr. Delvecchio’s Philadelphia shop. Like all the jewelry stores she had seen—and she’d seen her share—the air practically sparkled, reflecting the beautiful jewels displayed in glass cabinets. Classical music played softly from speakers overhead.

Mr. D looked up from wiping down one of the glass cases and smiled. “Ready to find me some treasures?”

“You said you had a new lot for me to appraise?”

“Ah, yes. I’ve barely had a moment to examine it.” He tossed his paper towel in the trash. “I’m afraid it’s mostly junk. A couple days ago, my niece paid fifteen hundred for the lot, but knowing her, it’s worth about fifty.” His twinkling eyes told her he didn’t really believe that.

Mr. D led Cici through a narrow door into the back room, where he dug into an old filing cabinet and lifted out a black velvet drawstring bag the length of her forearm.

“I’ve been wanting to go through this bag for—” The store’s doorbell chimed, and Mr. D flicked his gaze to the front.

“And that’s why I haven’t had time to do it.

Duty calls.” He handed the bag to her. “Let me know if you find Captain Hook’s plunder. ”

“Will do.”

As he left, Cici pulled her hair into a bun to keep it out of her face while she worked.

She opened the bag on a workbench. Some of the pieces were so gaudy they had to be costume jewelry.

There was a pearl ring that might be authentic, and a vintage opal bracelet.

A sparkle from the bottom of the bag caught her eye, and she tugged it out.

It was a necklace, looked to be circa 1920s. Cici assumed it was high-quality costume, but her fingers tingled as if they picked up something she’d yet to realize.

She moved the necklace into the light, and her breath caught.

This was no fake. This was…incredible.

Sixty pear-shaped rubies, each at least a carat, separated by marquee-shaped diamonds that were just as large. The piece was set in eighteen-karat gold or better.

The value of the stones alone would be in the tens of thousands. But in this artistic setting? It was stunning.

And familiar.

She pulled out her phone, hands trembling as she searched for an image she was sure she’d saved.

There it was, in an article about a ruby necklace stolen during the long-ago murders of the parents of her sister’s boyfriend in her hometown of Shadow Cove, Maine.

The necklace had been missing for a quarter century.

Cici gazed at the photograph that showed Forbes’s mother wearing the distinctive ruby-and-diamond necklace.

The Crimson Duchess. This was it. Charles and Grace Ballentine’s stolen necklace. Forbes was its rightful owner.

Not only was it practically priceless, this necklace could lead Forbes and the authorities to more of the people involved in his parents’ murders.

Heart pounding, Cici dialed her sister.

“Hey, sis,” Brookynn answered. “You back from—?”

“I need to speak to Forbes.” She kept her voice low. “Are you with him?”

“It’s nice to talk to you too.” Her older sister’s voice held a hint of amusement.

“It’s an emergency. Is he there?”

“He’s at the estate, meeting contractors. I’m at the gallery, but I’ll see him—”

“Text me his number, please.”

“Are you—?”

“I’m fine. It’s fine. I’ll tell you everything, or he can. I need to talk to him right now.” Because Cici wasn’t sure what to do. Should she call the police? Should she tell Mr. D? She had no idea what the procedure was when one found stolen merchandise that might be evidence in a double homicide.

“Texting you now,” Brooklynn said. “Be safe.”

Cici ended the call. When the text came, from her sister, she dialed.

“Forbes Ballentine.” His voice was deep and tinged with curiosity.

Cici assumed Brooklynn had texted him as well, letting him know to expect Cici’s call. “You won’t believe what I’ve found.”

“Tell me.” He must’ve picked up on her mood because his voice turned serious.

“It’s The Crimson Duchess. I’m almost positive.”

“Where? How do you…? Are you sure?”

“Hold on.” She snapped a photo of it and texted it to him. “You tell me.”

The doorbell chimed in the store, cutting through the silence. Mr. D buzzed the customers in.

On the other end of the line, Forbes sucked in a breath. “I don’t believe it. How in the world…?”

“Somebody brought it into a jewelry store with a whole bagful of other stuff, like it didn’t even matter.”

“I have a photograph of it here somewhere. Hold on one minute.”

She heard heavy footsteps on hardwood. “Hurry. I need to figure out what to do.”

“Good afternoon.” From the other room, a man’s voice was smooth as a serpent’s slink.

She usually treated customers’ conversations like background noise, but every sense was on alert right now.

“I wonder,” the man continued, “is the charming young saleswoman here? I believe my son did business with her a couple of days ago.”

The man must’ve been asking about Mr. D’s niece. As far as Cici knew, he didn’t employ anyone else.

“Maria works Tuesdays and Thursdays. What can I do for you?”

“Surely you’re not alone here with all these beautiful jewels.”

“That’s why I keep the door locked and the cameras running. I’m the only one working the counter today.”

“Cici.” Forbes spoke through the phone. “That’s it. That’s Mom’s necklace. Where are you exactly?”

“I’m at a store in Philadelphia. What do you want me to do? Should I call the police or—?”

“I’ll reach out to my contact at the FBI. But you need to make sure that they don’t display that necklace or sell it. Would you be able to do that, or should I have the special agent call?”

“Yeah, I think I can…”

“Sir, you’re not allowed back here.” She’d never heard Mr. D raise his voice before. “Return to the other side of the counter or I’ll be forced to call the police.”

“Cici?” Forbes prompted.

“Shh.” There was some commotion. She crept to the doorway leading to the store and peeked through.

A man stood behind Mr. D with his arm around his neck. By the way Mr. D jerked, he was struggling.

Another man, heavy-set with blue jeans and a tight-fitting black T-shirt, stood guard. His head was shaved, and he watched the door, blocking the view from outside with his wide body. He’d closed the blinds over the windows.

Aside from the classical music, the room was silent.

And then Mr. Delvecchio collapsed.

Cici couldn’t make sense of it.

Had that man just…just committed murder?

She shoved her phone into her jacket pocket, scooped up the drawstring bag, the necklace, and everything that had come with it, and hurried to the rear exit.

“Start looking,” the smooth-talking man said. “Find it. Now.”

Heart racing, Cici pushed out the door into an alley shaded from the afternoon sun by tall buildings all around. She bolted behind the neighboring store and then down another alley.

“Stop!” a man shouted after her.

She pumped her legs faster, finally reaching the main road and all the shoppers. Except there weren’t that many, not nearly enough to give her cover.

She’d parked her rental car on a side street a few blocks away. Rather than run—and draw attention to herself—Cici slowed to a fast walk. She pulled her hair out of the bun, then shrugged out of her black suit jacket, which she draped over the velvet bag of jewels.

She hoped the change would throw off the man following her.

A group of women walked ahead, and Cici jogged until she was right behind, trying to look like she was one of them.

Even though it made no sense, she would swear she could hear the footsteps of that guard catching up.

She couldn’t help it.

She turned.

And locked eyes with him. He was maybe thirty feet back and, apparently, not fooled at all by the minor adjustments to her outfit.

She broke into a run, shoving past the women, moving as fast as her too-tall heels would let her. She dodged shoppers and bicycles and anything else in her way.

At the next corner, she crossed against traffic, nearly getting hit by a car.

The blaring horn barely registered as she reached the far sidewalk, passed a couple of storefronts, then dashed down a side street, shoving her hand into her jacket pocket to retrieve her keys.

She grabbed them and clicked to unlock her car door.

She yanked it open, threw the bag into the passenger seat, and started the engine.

“Cici!” The phone had connected to Bluetooth, and Forbes’s voice was a frantic through the speakers. “What’s going on? Are you still there?”

She’d forgotten about him.

“Hold on, Forbes!” She checked her rearview.

The man was turning the corner behind her.

She angled the rental out from between two cars and floored the accelerator, lurching forward. She turned onto the next street.

“Cici,” Forbes said, his volume one notch below a shout. “Talk to me.”

“Mr. Delvecchio. I think he was murdered!” Her pitch was too high, the words coming fast. “Two men just showed up, and one was behind him, and then he fell.” She sounded panicked. She was panicked. “I have to call the police.”

“Are you safe now?”

She checked her rearview again. She’d left the guard behind. “I think so. I’m in my car.”

Which the guard had seen. It was a rental, though. Surely, he wouldn’t be able to track it to her.

“Call the police,” Forbes said. “Then call me back right after you get off the phone with them.”

“I will.” Cici ended the call, her mind racing as she dialed 911. She didn’t know Philly well and had no idea where she was headed, just taking random turns, trying to put as much distance between herself and that guy as she could.

The operator’s voice was calm, asking for details, but all Cici could focus on was the road ahead, the memory of Mr. D’s body falling, and the fear that she might be next. She gave her name and the store’s location. “I think he strangled him.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Delvecchio. The owner of the store.”

“Someone killed him?” The operator’s voice was calm, a stark contrast to the chaos Cici was experiencing. “Or did he kill—”