She pointed to the small kitchen table and chairs a few feet inside the apartment. "Maybe I could . . ."
"Yes, of course. Please come in." He pulled a chair out for her. "Want something to drink? I have . . . " He opened his refrigerator. "Well, I just have water. But I do have an ice machine. So,mademoiselle, would you like chilled water or chilled water with ice?" He may have added a little flourish to his words. He wasn't flirting. Definitely wasn't flirting. But the growing smile on her face suggested she was beginning to trust him. And he enjoyed that feeling more than he wanted to admit.
"Water without ice is fine. Thank you."
While he filled two glasses with water, she shut the apartment door and sat at the kitchen table, still gripping the leash, trying to keep a rein on the little furball.
Nutmeg ran in a circle around her chair, tangling the leash.
"You can let him off the leash if you want. It's not a big place. You're not going to lose him."
Her mouth quirked. "Are you sure? Victoria said he's outgrown the chewing phase, but he sure enjoyed gnawing on one of my socks today."
He handed her a glass of water and took the seat across from her. "I'm not worried. Let him run around."
"Okay. Your risk." She bent down and unclipped the leash. The teddy bear dog sprinted across the apartment like he thought a big, juicy steak—or whatever it is dogs live for—was waiting on the other side of the living area. He was probably disappointed to find books. And an empty suitcase.
Nash infused as much patience into his tone as possible. "So, you were saying?"
She took a sip of her water and stared at the glass. “I doubt I know anything that you don't. I know that the jewels belong to Stanton Hightower." She ran a finger down her glass, the weariness returning to her voice. "They were stolen a little over a week ago from Sebastian Ruben's hotel, where they were on display during a fundraiser gala.No one noticed they were missing until most of the guests had left." Her eyes sparked with new intensity. "I know neither Stanton nor Sebastian reported anything to the police, which should tell you a whole lot right there."
"Their first names."
"Huh?"
"You refer to Sebastian Ruben and Stanton Hightower by their first names. I find that interesting."
Confusion furrowed her brow until something dark chased it away. Her defenses walled around her. The trusting look evaporated. "You know my name. Who my cousin is. Who my family is. You obviously looked me up. Don't play games with me." She stood. "I told you I don't know anything that you don't. I—"
A flood of light bursting through the living room windows halted her speech. Nutmeg scuttled behind Lena's legs because apparently bright lights are scary. Brave one, that dog.
Nash walked to the window in time to see Frank and Manny running to the back of the main house, illuminated by the security floodlights.
"What's going on?" Lena asked.
"I'm not—" Nash's phone vibrated. Knox calling. "Hang on a sec," he said to Lena. He answered the call. "Hey. Any idea what's going on at the house?"
"Silent alarm triggered. Wanted to see if that was you, buddy," Knox said, sarcasm oozing through his feigned concern.
"Uh, huh. Because I go around setting off alarms."
"Well, somebody did. Wanted to make sure you knew about it."
"Yeah, we see it." Nash held the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he withdrew his Glock from a desk drawer and holstered it in the small of his back. "The floodlights triggered with the alarm. I'll go check it out."
"You said 'we.'"
"Lena's at my apartment."
"Oh. Okay, then." Nash was very grateful Lena couldn't hear the inflection in Knox's response.
"I'll check in later." He ended the call without giving Knox another opportunity to comment and turned to Lena. "Stay here. I'm going to see what's going on."
"Wait, what?"
"Stay here. I'll be back."
Nash flew down the steps, darted across the manicured lawn, skirted the garden, and followed the sound of Manny and Frank's jabbering to the sprawling back porch. They stood near an open window, exponentially more agitated than earlier, their flashlights waving, once again, in erratic lightsaber-battle-like motions while they argued about who should enter the house first.
