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“Technicalities.” She slaps another picture on top, and this time I actually gasp.
“That’s the Heart of Dark Desires,” I whisper.
Anyone who’s anyone knows of the necklace.
“I know.”
“But it’s been missing for decades,” I say. “People want this. It apparently went down in that plane…”
I stop, ignoring the gloat in her voice, and I stop reciting the story of the necklace.
Because I think this actually is the now-mythical Heart of Dark Desires.
The stones are set in black and gold work that’s so unbelievably intricate it’s almost in motion, A storm, one that invites the eye from the first stone that sits at the base of the throat, down along the other five to the final one. They’re a row of dark red rubies with such clarity they’re like drops of fire. Delicate chains come down from the diamonds that sit on each side of the top stone to link with each smaller one. Except the last one that hangs like a pendant, right between the wearer’s breasts.
It’s extravagant. Extra.
Gorgeous in its pure decadence.
And it doesn’t matter which light, candle, overhead or the sun that hits it, the gems burn with their inner fire. Including the diamonds that twist in the delicate chains like stars.
I want it.
The desire is real.
A throb between the thighs.
And I might be a little wet.
I try to breathe. “This is—”
“Not a fake.” Even Harry’s voice has dropped to a reverent whisper. “See?” She points to the settings of one small diamond and picks up her loupe, handing it to me.
“That one?” Harry points. “The claw right there is a little longer, fatter, than the others. Lilian Eichenberg always did everything deliberately. Germans. And this was a tell.”
“Harry—”
“It’s mostly unknown, her tell of authenticity. Making a copy of this piece good enough isn’t worth it for the sheer value of all the stones and metals, the cuts and…I won’t bore you.”
She goes to close the folder.
“No!” The cry’s torn from me.
The small smile that curves her lips earns a scowl, but I’m also too in lust to bother giving her a hard time. “No?”
“No.” I hand back the loupe. It’s just a picture, but even seeing it up close in a photo is giving me palpitations. “What’s the story?”
“Story is, Lena, you need to steal it from Agnossio and give it back to Miller.”
I shake my head. “And I bet Agnossio claims he owns it.”
“Politics bore me.”
“This,” I say, “could start a war.”
“This could put us close to hitting the billion dollar mark and livin’ the fucking dream. Whatever that is.” She smiles.
I frown. “It could get me dead.”
