The Sapphire Affair (Jewel #1)(35)

“Why do you doubt me?”

“Because you want the same thing. You want to know what happened to the money. And I’m willing to bet you’ve already asked him, and he hasn’t given you the answer you want.” Her eyes widened, telling him he was right. “Am I right?” he asked, softer this time.

“Yes,” she muttered.

“OK, so let’s try to get the real answers.”

She raised her face. “Show me, then. Show me this evidence,” she said, her voice both strong and wavering. He could tell she was torn, but there was no doubt in his mind.

With his phone very tightly in his grip, he showed her the e-mail, giving her time to read it. He walked her through all the backstory, showing her some of the other documents, from how the date of the e-mail matched dates when money was moved from the fund, letting her take in the full scope of the crime.

She winced as if she’d just eaten something sour, then she blinked several times.

“We don’t know for sure he stole anything,” she said, desperation coloring her tone. “Just that he was in contact with someone. The only thing I know for sure is he screwed over my mom. That doesn’t make him a criminal, just a man.”

As far as Jake was concerned, Eli was 100 percent guilty and then some, but Steph was clinging to some shred of hope. It pained him to see her like his, but he had to think like a mercenary, not a man who would bend too easily to a vulnerable woman, so he made a lateral move.

“That’s the evidence I’m working off of, and my job is to get this ten million and return it. You’re still looking into the missing money, too. We can work together and finish faster. Join forces. We both bring something to the table.”

She huffed, returning to her tough-girl persona. “Fine. That may be true, but I was the one who was invited into Eli’s house,” she said, tapping her chest. “In-vi-ted. Me. I’ll just be strolling through the door on Thursday night, and I can wander around and check it out.”

“Oh right. Of course,” he said, deadpan, nodding several times for effect. “Because he probably keeps a bowlful of diamonds on his desk.”

She shot him a side-eyed stare. “Ha ha, funny guy. But for your information, no. I don’t think my stepdad treats them like jelly beans,” she said, miming dipping her fingers into a bowl and grabbing some. “The point being, I can get the lay of the land. How many places can there be to hide diamonds in a house?” she said, in a tone full of bravado. It was, admittedly, adorable. Especially as she straightened up in her chair, acting all cool and tough. “I’ll see if there’s a loose floorboard somewhere. Or a piece of art hiding a safe behind it.”

That’s when he knew he had her. When he knew his plan would reel her in. She was, by her own admission, playing private detective. He was, by his profession, making a living as one. She had moxie and access, and he needed both, but he had something to offer her—skills. “When you find this floorboard, will you just yank it up with the hammer you keep in your back pocket?”

She breathed in sharply, and he was sure she was biting back all the things she didn’t want to say. She snapped her gaze away from him and stared off the deck at the water and the waves gently rippling along the shore. The blue waters lapped the sand, and as she watched them, her expression seemed to soften. When she turned back to him, she lowered her voice. “Maybe I do keep a hammer in my back pocket. It’s not as if I’m incapable.”

“I don’t think you’re incapable at all. I’m simply offering to help.”

“Because you keep a hammer in your back pocket?”

“No. But because I know how to do things. Like tracking down and retrieving a stolen Stradivarius that was stuffed into a cabinet with dirty laundry in a second-story flat in Pigalle. Like finding a seventeenth-century Medici artifact that was hidden in the flour tins in an Italian bakery,” he said, and she arched an eyebrow as he rattled off some of his jobs. “Like tracking down a Degas drawing that was tucked under a floorboard in a house in Boston.”

“And you used your hammer for that?”

His lips curved up in a mild grin. “Yes. I used a hammer for that, and the owner was thrilled to have it back. I can also open most safes.”

“Is there anything you can’t do?” she asked sarcastically. “Now you’re a safecracker, too, MacGyver?”

“I’m not a safecracker,” he said as his lips twitched in a grin at the nickname. “But five years in the army working in intelligence gave me a lot of insight about how people think, and the best tools to use to solve problems. And I’ve been in this line of work long enough to develop some key skills. Those include but are not limited to picking locks, opening safes, removing floorboards quietly, climbing through windows silently, jumping out of windows without a sound. Running across the roof, shimmying down the trellis, then darting through the bushes, and doing it all without being seen.”

He left out the part about how a squeaky shoe on the wet cobblestones had gotten him stabbed. Besides, he’d escaped with the prize, despite the squeaky sole.

“My, my,” she said, making an O with her lips as he tried to sell her on his skills. But he couldn’t tell if she was truly impressed or still annoyed. “You dart, you shimmy, you dodge. You are a jack-of-all-trades.”