9. The Diamond Temperature
9
THE DIAMOND TEMPERATURE
Jake
Later, at my hotel, I researched tomorrow’s plan of attack and tackled Kylie’s tutor project, firing off emails to a few of the names she’d sent me already.
As I lay in bed, I unfolded the napkin from The Pink Pelican and reread the details. I knew this was a distraction, but I’d already given in tonight.
Was there room for a little tryst on the side? Mixing business with pleasure was dangerous. Ever since the romance with Rosalinda went belly-up, I’d been a rules man through and through, and the number-one rule was to maintain boundaries. Rosalinda’s trickery had endangered the assignment and nearly cost me one of the biggest jobs I’d ever nabbed. I pressed my thumb and forefinger against the bridge of my nose, crumpling the napkin in my other hand.
Best to forget Ariel. But then, as I tossed the napkin in the trash can near the door, I rewound to those moments in The Pink Pelican, then later at her hotel. That time on the lounge chair when she’d desperately sought her pleasure had obliterated my brain cells, and now the rich, ripe memory of it was making it hard to think about anything else.
Too hard.
I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I walked over to the trash can, fished out the napkin, and read it one more time.
123. Happy Turtle. Tomorrow.
Fuck it.
I was an adult. I could handle a tropical affair without it spilling over and affecting the job. And that was all this was—an island rendezvous that stayed inside the lines.
* * *
The next morning found me in my rental car parked a safe distance outside Eli’s house, keen to learn his habits. Sunglasses on and ball cap pulled low, I watched the silhouette of a tall man wander past a window on the second floor a few times and tried to make out what room he was in. Bedroom maybe. Perhaps an office. Even with my mini binoculars, I couldn’t tell. Too many tree branches in the way, and blinds covered most of the windows.
I lowered the binoculars, and for a while, I alternated between watching the house and answering emails from potential tutors for Kylie.
Then, I thumbed through Kate’s emails about inquiries from new clients. Have I mentioned you need to bring someone else on board? Lots of work coming our way.
I sure did enjoy those words— lots of work —because lots of work was the one guaranteed way for me to pay off all the college bills for my brother and younger sister. Excellent. Try Dan if it’s not too wild a job.
Dan was a buddy from my Army days who picked up occasional work for me.
Movement at the front of the house made me table all thoughts of work. Eli strolled down the stone path of his house, tossing his keys lightly from hand to hand, pausing to literally stop and smell the roses growing around his tropical home. He certainly knew how to enjoy every moment. The nightclub, the island sunshine…other people’s money…
He walked to a gleaming black Audi, as if to prove my point.
When he pulled onto the road and drove into town, I followed from a few vehicles behind. Looked like he was headed to the financial district. Banks, banks, and more banks lined the main street, slicing the island into water and money. Sleek black cars dropped off sharp-dressed women and men in crisp suits and ties, their outfits a stark contrast to the island lifestyle.
With my quarry parked outside a large white building, I grabbed a not-too-near spot, about to tail Eli inside, but he popped back out and I had to duck out of the way of the revolving door. He hadn’t been inside long enough to do anything but grab a few dollars at the ATM. No chance he’d dropped off any hefty sums of cash or checked on goods in a safe deposit box.
I walked purposefully to the gurgling fountain outside the bank as if that had been my intent all along. To sell it, I tossed in a few coins, making a wish that this job would pay off.
Eli crossed the street, then headed up a set of steps to a chichi restaurant called Tristan’s with a terrace one story up from the road. A sign said Open for Brunch at Ten , but Eli rapped on the door, and a tall man answered it, letting him in.
What was Eli doing there so early? It was only nine-thirty. I stayed by the fountain for a bit, looking like I was checking my phone while I watched the place. No sign of Eli coming out. Hardly anyone going in either. But then, hold the hell on.
At a few minutes before ten, I peered more closely. I did a double take. No way. There was no way that was her walking up the steps and into the restaurant.
The woman I planned to meet later today.
I hustled across the street to get a better view. She walked from inside the restaurant out to the terrace, joining…Eli.
What the hell? Why would Ariel be dining with him?
I had no answer and clearly no time to linger.
* * *
Irritated, but curious as all hell, I wove through the financial district, running through scenarios for Ariel and Eli, but none felt right. Finally, I reached Wayboard Street where small storefronts had signs like Duty-Free , Wholesale , and Uncut .
I had to shove Ariel out of my mind and focus on my mission. Intel.
I tried the first diamond shop I came to. Posing as a curious customer, I said I was looking for a blue-tinted stone. The shop was busy, and the proprietor told me he hadn’t seen anything like that and sent me on my way.
The next guy pitched me a twenty percent discount on a fair-trade diamond if I bought it before I left.
This was a crapshoot. But investigations were like that sometimes. I tried a few more shops till I reached the end of the block and went into a place called Uncut. Behind the counter, a man with a thick beard and an eager grin spoke to another customer in rapid-fire Spanish, finishing the transaction quickly. When that customer thanked him and left, he strode up to me, shifting to English. “Greetings and welcome to Uncut, where we specialize in the best duty-free diamonds on the island.” His slight Cuban accent told me he was from the nearby island and his style said he was probably an excellent salesman, since he sounded like a TV commercial. “Are you looking for something for that special someone?”
“Potentially.”
“Ah, excellent. Someone you want to say I do to?”
I laughed and shook my head, sticking with the truth. “I don’t see that happening anytime in the near future. But my sister is graduating from college soon, so I thought I might get her a little something?”
He walked behind the counter, unlocked a glass case, and gestured to several diamonds that could be set into jewelry. “Surely, a lovely pair of simple diamond earrings would be a wonderful gift for your sister as she embarks on her first job after college. They say classy and elegant , and what employer wouldn’t want that?”
“Mmm. I like those—but these ones here are nice too.” I made a show of taking in the sea of sparkling gems that shimmered like brilliant reflections. “Business is good these days?” I asked casually. “I keep hearing all about diamonds.”
The man nodded vigorously and gestured to the door. More customers were streaming in. “Better than ever.”
“Sweet. Any chance you’d have one of those diamonds with a sort of bluish tint to it?”
The man shook his head. “One of my colleagues at International Diamonds has some from time to time. A few months ago, he handled a small batch of them for a new customer who brought them in. He might even have one or two left over.”
“Excellent,” I said, reining in a grin and extending a hand to shake. “I appreciate that. And I’ll be back to pick something up for my sister soon. What’s your name?”
“Montez.”
“Nice to meet you, Montez.”
With a friendly nod, he headed over to his new customers, and I took off.
* * *
The conversation had sparked a memory. The files that Andrew had sent over included a recovered email, and once I was away from the shop window, I pulled up the deleted thread. The messages referenced an amount and discussed safe transport of “luxury goods.” But there was no mention of paintings or art.
The art idea had been Andrew’s guess based on Eli’s affinity for it and the fiancée’s business venture. But how many five-thousand-dollar paintings did you have to move to equal ten million dollars? A fuck ton, that was how many. And paintings, which required safe transport, took up a helluva lot more space on a plane than gems did.
The details were adding up—the name of Eli’s nightclub, the bling on the woman, the tint of the diamonds, and the timing of the jewel trade.
Was Eli ferrying something else entirely?
As I walked down the street, I called Andrew and asked if his team had managed to recover any more documents. They were still working on it, he said, so I ran my idea past the client.
“I’m looking at the email now,” Andrew said in a focused tone. “This deleted one is from Eli to Constantine Trevino.”
I growled. That guy . Needed art moved illegally? You called Constantine. Hankered for some ivory tusks? Constantine was the middleman.
“The luxury-goods trafficker,” I bit out. “I know of him. He can move anything.”
“Like diamonds,” Andrew said. “And if that’s what he took, they’d be the rightful property of the Eli Fund.”
“Let’s get ’em back, then.”
“Let’s do it.”
I hung up then found the shop Montez mentioned. International Diamonds sprawled over a huge street corner. The sign said Open tomorrow .
Looked like my afternoon had opened up, leaving time for a rendezvous with a mermaid. And I planned to find out what the hell she was doing with the guy I was investigating. Starting now. I called Andrew back, but it went to voicemail, so I sent him a text asking if he knew about any blondes in Eli’s life who were having breakfast with him this morning.