The Cutting Edge (Lincoln Rhyme #14)(58)

Which she was.

Sean worked for Harper Stanley, on the foreign desk. His dad was a founder of Marsh and Royal, a big hedge fund. His mom was a partner at Logan, Sharp and Towne, a Wall Street law firm.

The ring on her finger had cost forty-two thousand dollars. It was anchored by a five-carat brilliant-cut diamond, with a one-carat marquis on either side.

“Take it,” she whispered.

His eyes flicked to hers. “Take what? Your virginity? Ha, that is joke. You smell to me like campus slut. How many men before your fiancé?”

She blinked. “I—”

“Does he know?” He then frowned. “Or you mean take purse, your credit cards? Hm, hm.” Feigning surprise, he said, “Oh, oh, my, you meaning your ring. That piece of stone on sad stub of finger. Does your fiancé like your hands? What’s his name?”

Crying now, Morgan said, “I am not telling you.”

The knife—one of those with the sliding blade—appeared. She screamed, until he brandished it and she fell silent.

The assailant looked at the front door. Listened again. No response. In fact, the building was two-thirds empty at the moment. One couple was on vacation. The gay guy was spending the weekend with his friends in the Hamptons. Two units were unrented.

Morgan was sure that Mr. and Mrs. Kieslowski were in for the night, chewing down Chinese and bingeing on Game of Thrones. They’d be no help.

She stared at the blade.

He’s not getting Sean’s name, she told herself, though also thinking that if he paid Sean a visit her fiancé would wipe up the pavement with this guy. Sean worked out five times a week.

But the man seemed to lose interest in her love life, so intensely was he drawn to the ring. With a grip she had no strength to resist he pulled her hand close to his face.

“How many carats, they tell you? Four and a half?”

She was shivering in terror. The fuck was this all about?

“How many fucking carats?” he raged softly.

“Five.”

Shaking his head. “And how much of it they kill?”

She frowned.

“How much they cut off of stone to make thing on finger of yours?”

“I…I don’t know what you mean. I can get you money. A lot of money. A hundred thousand. Do you want a hundred thousand dollars? No questions asked.”

He wasn’t even listening. “You are happy, slicing diamond up?”

“Please?”

“Shhhh, little hen. Look at you. Cryee little thing.” Then he pushed her away and said, “You were crying when boyfriend bought raped diamond? No crying then. Huh?”

He was fucking insane…Oh, God, now she understood. With a sinking heart, she realized this was him, the Promisor. The man who hated engaged couples. He’d killed the couple in the Diamond District on Saturday. And he’d attacked two more. And now she knew why. For some psychotic reason he was protecting diamonds.

For a moment, anger gripped her. She muttered, “You sick fuck.”

The grip on her hair tightened, pain swelling from her scalp. He pressed the knife against her neck. Judith Morgan went limp, surrendering to tears. She closed her eyes and began reciting a silent prayer, looping and looping through her thoughts. He leaned close, his forehead against hers. “Lovebird, lovebird…I am liking that part of vow, you know. Till death do you part.”

He pressed the knife against her throat.

Oh, Mommy…

Then he paused and a faint laugh slipped from his foul-smelling mouth. The blade lowered. “Have fun idea. Better than cutting…Yes, I am liking this. You treat diamond like shit. Okay, swallow it. That where it end up.”

“What?” she whispered.

He grimaced. “Put fucking ring in mouth and swallow it.”

“But I can’t.”

“Then, die.” He shrugged again and the knife rose to her throat.

“No, no, no! I will. I’ll swallow it. I’ll do it!”

She worked the ring off her finger and gazed down at it. What would happen? Lodge in her windpipe and she’d choke to death? Or if it got down her esophagus would the sharp edges cut the delicate tissue? Could she bleed to death internally?

“Or knife on throat,” he offered cheerfully. “I am not much caring. Choose. But now.”

With a trembling hand, she lifted the ring to her face. The piece seemed huge.

She felt the knife against her neck.

“Okay, okay.”

Quickly she dropped the jewelry into her mouth. She gagged once and the ring nearly fell out but she pushed it to the back of her throat and swallowed hard.

Waves of pain stabbed her chest, neck and head as she worked the muscles over and over and over to get the damn thing down. Tears streamed. The ring made it past her windpipe—she could breathe all right—but then lodged in her esophagus, the sharp sides of the small diamonds slitting the skin. Blood cascaded. She tasted it, and, as some flowed into her windpipe and lungs, her violent coughing fired red droplets from her mouth.

Rasping screams now.

He remained amused. “Ah, little one. You see how it goes. You fuck stone, stone fucks you.”

Judith Morgan was thrashing against the pain and the sensation of drowning—in her own blood. She gripped her throat with both hands, trying to manipulate the ring up and out. It wasn’t going anywhere and the pain only increased. Without a plan, on autopilot, she struggled to her feet then lunged for her purse. He lifted it away and opened it, then removed her cell phone and smashed it on the tile floor. He gave a laugh and strode nonchalantly down the corridor and left by the front door.