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“No box?”
“Nope.” I hold them out. “Did the bag I had look like it could fit a box in it?”
“I don’t give a fuck about your bag.” Sitting up, Jac takes the black velvet pouch and opens it, tipping the necklace into his hand.
It’s done with almost reverence, something that I find hard to reconcile with Jac.
He studies them, silently, for a long time.
Then his fingers shut tight about the Heart of Dark Desires.
Our gazes meet. “Are you playing some kind of fucked up game with me, MG?”
“No. That’s what he had. I took it. The box was just a box, not anything special, and—”
“This isnotthe Heart of Fucking Dark Desires.”
I stare at him, chest suddenly tight. “I haven’t had it evaluated, clearly, but it was—”
“This,” Jac says, pushing the necklace closer to my face, “is a fake.”
EIGHT
JAC
Fury moves hot and wild through my veins.
After all this time, all this pain and hate and anger. After all this fucking money I don’t give a flying shit about, I’m handed a fake.
A fucking fake.
I don’t need an evaluation. Or a loupe to see the little claw holding one of the gems, a claw that should be long, is perfect like the others.
I don’t need anything to show me the clasp on it isn’t one that’s difficult to operate. That the stones don’t have the right heat and depths and glow.
And this woman… This fucking cat burglar, MG Rossi, should be able to tell the difference between a fake and the real deal.
Even a good one.
She’s talking.
The soft silk of her voice washes over me, and I really don’t care that the burn of the timber of her voice that likes to whisper filth to my subconscious when she talks is there. I can’t even process the words.
They don’t matter.
What matters is she got me a fake.
Oh, I don’t expect her to know all the tiny things I know about this necklace. The things no one else alive knows…except maybe Hendrick who’s had it…but I expect her to know enough about this infamous, storied piece to be able to tell.
Someone of her caliber?
She should be able to tell a perfect replica from the real deal.
This ain’t that. Not even close.
A dark thought hooks into me.
Fuck. The bruises on her throat, the dazed look to her when I saw her in the great room tonight before she left.
