Sex, Lies & Diamonds (Sex and Lies Book 7) Read online

  An original etching in black on laid paper, it was signed and dated in the left plate center, Rembrandt 1641. Only slightly smaller than the etching above it, it looked like Leonardo da Vinci shuffling cards.

  Staring at the etching, I paused. Now what? Still crammed behind the grand piano, I took the frame off the wall, held it over my head and shimmied out of the corner where it had been hidden.

  Sitting back on the couch, I held it in my hands and examined it closely. My eyes washed over every last pen stroke on the three-inch piece of artwork. It was beautiful, but it said nothing to me. Tucking it under my arm, I turned out the light in the parlor and shut the door. Taking the stairs two by two, I rushed back to the master suite. Maybe there was something more in the book that would explain the etching?

  I closed the door behind me. Leo’s suit lay strewn across the bed, his underwear on the floor. “You’re home,” I whispered.

  It was even more reason for me to figure out the next step—and fast. I could feel how close I was. I could feel it like I felt my own heart thrumming in my chest. Opening the book to the section marked by the ace of diamonds, I scanned the pages looking for a reference to The Card Player. There was nothing. Puzzles were one of my strong suits. Anagrams were nothing for me and riddles mindless fodder. I bit down on my lip. What if I was manufacturing a tornado just to blow out a match? The clues were straightforward when I knew what to look for. Was I making it all too difficult?

  Picking up the frame, I turned it over and over—front to back, side to side. It was just a regular frame. I stared at the etching, willing it to talk to me.

  “Cher?”

  I blenched at the sound of my name, inhaling sharply and grabbing at my chest.

  “Jesus. You scared me,” Leo said, closing the door behind him.

  “I scared you?”

  He nodded and came to me, his eyes tired, his usually strong shoulders heavy with concern. “Are you okay?”

  Leo laid across the bed, propping himself up on his arm. Running his hands along the top of my leg, he tugged at the cashmere sweater I’d pinched from his closet. “I—” He stopped and sighed. I fingered the loose dark curls of his shoulder-length hair, brushing the back of my fingertips across his forehead and down his face. He nuzzled into my hand. Contentment filled his troubled expression.

  “What is it?” I asked, bringing my voice down to match his weary yet restless demeanor.

  Pulling me to him, his strong hands dug into my hip and I fell onto the bed, lying by his side. “Do you know what you mean to me? How much I love you?”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. Leo could make me weak in the knees with his kind and sincere words. When I felt his love radiate across time and space—when we weren’t naked and wrapped up in each other’s bodies—I was wrecked by him. I never knew love could be so strong, so all-encompassing. He was my everything. And I knew I was his. His love for me was palpable in moments like this. The tiny snapshots of our life and love that made everything we had to sacrifice worth it.

  “I want to be the best version of myself for you. I do. And I’m sorry if I’m falling short of that.”

  He ran his thumb across my bottom lip before taking me by the chin to kiss me. His lips soft against my mouth, I surrendered to him and felt a rush through my core when a quiet moan escaped his lips. I lived for these moments. A world of chaos melted away around us and a universe of two emerged. Working his hands along my backside, he pulled me close to him, rolling our bodies until I was on top.

  Sitting up, I straddled his waist and stared down at him, stroking his tight chest beneath my open palms. My long hair cascaded around his face. Through a hooded gaze, he smiled up at me, his mouthful of white teeth peeking out of his mischievous grin. Pushing my hair away with his hand, he started to pull me closer.

  I stopped him. Taking him by the wrist, I examined his right hand and gasped. Swollen and bruised, his knuckles were raw. “You’ve been fighting.” The words came out in a breathless huff.

  Leo wriggled out of my grip, taking my hands into his to kiss them. “I’m fine.”

  Again, I turned his hand over for a closer look. “Tell me what happened.”

  With an enormous sigh, he sat up and I climbed off of him. Plumping the pillows, he piled two behind his head and got comfortable.

  “Have you seen Oscar?” he asked, changing the subject.

  I nodded. “Only for a moment. He’s sleeping. Have you seen him?”

  Leo shook his head.

  I picked up his hand again for closer inspection. “Tell me what’s going on. Why haven’t you checked on Oscar?”

  “Aw hell.” It was a reluctant beginning and it meant he didn’t want to talk about it. “Vito Balivino came to the funeral today. He tried to—”

  “Tried to what?” I knew the answer was kill me. Still, I waited for Leo’s explanation.

  “Don’t know exactly what he had in mind, but he brought a knife to a gunfight. Tristan, Bea and I knocked him out—actually—Bea knocked him out. We dragged him into the car and now he’s tied up downstairs.”

  “What?” My breath caught and I sat up straight.

  Leo blinked slowly, affirming what I’d already deduced. He’d beaten Vito up. “Is he still alive down there?”

  Leo furrowed his brow. “Of course he’s alive. He’s not conscious, but he’s breathing.”

  “Did you ask him what—”

  Leo stretched out his arms, taking me by the wrists to pull me into his chest. “Come here, cher. I need you close.”

  Nuzzling into his neck, I repeated my question. “Did you ask him what they wanted? Is it the diamond?” Now that I understood so much more about the ring, I was suddenly desperate to know how well versed Balivino and his sons were in Kostas’ game of hide and seek.

  “For the record, cher, you were right. You’ve been right all along.”

  I smiled, hooking my arms around his hard torso and kissed his flexed pec muscle through the grey cotton t-shirt. Breathing him in, I was reminded that only one thing smelled better than my husband—the smell of victory and I had been right from the beginning.

  “What does he know about the diamond? Did you beat anything out of him?”

  I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he was smiling. He let out a quick laugh, and kissed me on the top of my head. “That’s my girl. And yes, I did beat some intel out of him.”

  Pulling away, I caught his darkened gaze. “What?”

  “Alphonso, Jr. seems to think the numbers on the girdle of your ring are latitude and longitude. They want it to see where it leads.”

  Unhurried and full of pompous confidence, I shook my head. “Nope.”

  A twinkle of intrigue showed in Leo’s eyes. “What?”

  Pulling back to sit away from him, I began my explanation of how I’d unraveled Kostas’ trail thus far.

  “The Dewey decimal number was to a book in the safe room—The Story of Art.” I pulled the book from the nightstand and showed it to him, opening to the dedication in the front. “See? For the Soul’s Eye. You have taken more than my soul—you are the one thought of my life. Seven five zero, dot zero four.”

  “The Soul’s Eye?”

  I nodded, but kept going. “I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I fanned through the pages and found this,” I said, opening the book to page three seventeen. The ace of diamonds stood at attention in the gutter, just as it had for me.

  “The ace of diamonds.”

  Leo caught my gaze. The look of astonishment on his face only made me prouder.

  Taking the card between his bruised fingers he asked, “What does it mean? We need Oscar to wake up so we can ask him.”

  “Wait.” I picked up the frame that sat at the end of the bed. “Look.”

  Leo held the Rembrandt etching in his hands. Giving it a fleeting glance, he looked back to me, his eyebrows raised, his shoulders knitted. “What?”

  “Page three seventeen is all about Rembrandt. I decided
I wasn’t supposed to be looking for a what, but a who. I called our insurance broker. There are two Rembrandts at Jackson House. They both hung in the parlor with Ephraim Jackson. You’re holding one. It’s entitled The Card Player.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  I tucked my lips inside my mouth tightly, trying to contain my vain satisfaction and shook my head.

  “Cher, this is remarkable.”

  “Right? I know.”

  “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “What does the Rembrandt etching mean?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Leo’s shoulders dropped.

  “Hey,” I said climbing off the bed. “If it weren’t for me, you’d still be in the dark thinking my engagement ring was something stolen from a museum collection.”

  Leo tossed a playful glare over his shoulder as he stood by the edge of the bed and examined the etching closely. “That’s not—entirely true.”

  “Whatever.” I didn’t need to push the subject any further. He knew I was right. I knew I was right.

  “Now what?”

  I put my hands on my hips and bit down on my lip. “There’s something here I’m missing. Something easy.”

  “Why do you think it’s easy?” he asked.

  “Because everything up to this point has been straightforward. Once you know what you’re looking for, it’s not complicated.”

  “Okay…” Leo drawled. “Let’s think about this logically. If this is the next clue to God only knows what, is it the end or just another clue?”

  “Why would it matter?” I asked.

  “Because if it’s as simple as you say, the etching is either the clue or the answer.”

  “But there’s nothing there.”

  Leo picked up the frame and looked at the card player in the etching thoughtfully. “My grandfather always said in life and cards, you never show your hand.”

  I bobbled my head in agreement. “Okay. Everyone knows that.”

  “Meaning, you should keep what you don’t want known hidden.”

  “For the record,” I said as I began to pace the room, “He’s done a damn good job of that.”

  Leo turned the frame over and over. It was a simple gold frame that matched the other downstairs. There was plain black paper on the back to protect the artwork from dust and insects and a braided copper wire. Without saying a word, he stuck two fingers through the black paper, ripping a hole across the back of the gold frame.

  “What are you doing? That’s a Rembrandt!”

  “The art inside is Rembrandt,” he mumbled. “This is just paper. Kostas wouldn’t be literal with everything he’s given us to suddenly stop here.”

  The thin black paper shredded in his hands. Placing the exposed back of the frame on the bed, Leo turned on the nightstand lamp.

  I gasped. Tucked into the corner between the back of the matt board and the frame was a yellowed envelope with three words: The Soul’s Eye.

  22

  LEO

  My wife was a genius. I looked to Polly, her pink cheeks flushed with astonishment. She reached for the envelope and whispered. “The Soul’s Eye.”

  I went still, my mind racing and yet blank. I was at a loss. “This is what Balivino was willing to kill Oscar over?”

  I watched Polly tug at the corner of the yellowed envelope, releasing it from its trap beneath a brass spring clip. Together we sat on the edge of the bed. It was an A2, notecard size envelope, so flat it could hold no more than one sheet of paper, and yet it carried the weight of the world inside it.

  “Here.” Polly brushed her fingers over the words written in my grandfather’s handwriting and handed it to me. “You should open it.”

  The back flap was closed with an X stamped in red wax. It was my grandfather’s seal—the red sealing wax could still be found in the top drawer of my writing desk. I pictured him sitting at the desk, melting the wax and sealing the envelope just as he’d sealed the love letter to Yaya. Was it intended for me? My mind was blown wide open to any possibility, my mouth agape.

  Hesitant, I licked my bottom lip before biting down hard. I was bracing myself for the unknown. And in my family, the unknown usually wasn’t a good thing. The envelope cracked with age as I broke the wax seal. Inside was a single sheet of parchment paper.

  “Dated August, eighteen forty-one,” I read aloud. “The death bed confession of Henry Allock. Dictated to and scribed by Father Mark Drury.”

  “What?” Polly leaned in to have a better look. “Upon my death at ninety and one half years I must confess the deeds for which I require absolution. As part of the mutinous crew of the barque Hispaniola, commanded by Jean Lafitte, I have stolen, raped and pillaged. One of six, I am the sole survivor and possess the only living knowledge of the resting place of Lafitte’s riches. One third of the French royal treasure, this map leads to Jean Lafitte’s share from Napoleon Bonaparte. Whosoever locates the treasure, may they use it in good health, I only enclose The Soul’s Eye as proof to my story.”

  “The Soul’s Eye—” she stuttered. “Is the diamond? My diamond?” Polly rose from the bed, hurrying to the laptop on the desk. As I continued to read aloud, she tapped on the keyboard.

  “Hidden from the world in the year of our Lord, 1816, I swear upon my life, the riches exist for whomever is brave enough to disturb the prizes of Lafitte.”

  “Leo,” Polly unhooked the laptop and brought it to the bed. “The Soul’s Eye, a diamond said to be part of the missing French national treasure, was a gift from Napoleon Bonaparte to his beloved Josephine.” Polly’s breath hitched, her hand covering her mouth. “In a love letter to Josephine, Bonaparte wrote: ‘You have taken more than my soul—you are the one thought of my life.’ That’s what you said to me when you proposed.”

  “It’s what my grandfather said to Yaya when he gave her the ring. I heard the story thousands of times. I just thought—”

  Polly and I both stared down at the four carat emerald cut stone on her finger. It seemed to sparkle a little brighter at the present moment. “My ring was given to Josephine? By Napoleon?”

  I heard what she was saying, but my mind wandered elsewhere. “According to this, there’s a pirate’s treasure in gold, diamonds and jewels buried somewhere between New Orleans and Galveston. And not just any pirate, Lafitte, The Pirate.”

  Polly’s voice was dry and hoarse. “That’s what Balivino and his sons want. They think the diamond has the latitude and longitude of the location.”

  I sat back, trying to comprehend the gravity of the situation. How did my grandfather ever come by this diamond? How did he ever end up with this letter of confession and map? “Balivinos need this money to fund their drug ring. But they’ve got it all wrong.”

  “What else does it say?” Polly asked, slipping the weathered paper from my unsteady hand.

  “Just some obscure markers. Three trees, and a list of what’s supposed to be there,” I replied.

  “Seventy thousand doubloons, a bar of silver seven feet long, diamonds, emeralds, rubies. It says: it is buried under six feet of sod and marked with an unnecked pirate’s skull.” Polly’s brows arched in confusion. “Unnecked? A skull and crossbones?”

  I shrugged, taking back the ancient paper, careful not to tear it. “At this point, cher, your guess is as good as mine.”

  We both sat in silence, Polly staring at her ring, me reading the words again as if they would say something new. I turned it over. “There’s more.”

  Polly looked away from the laptop. “More?”

  “It’s not the same handwriting. It’s Kostas’. Just like the front of the envelope. It’s a Bible verse.”

  “A Bible verse?”

  “Then I looked and heard the voice of many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand.”

  Polly shook her head. “Angels? Like the ones on the mantel?” she asked, nodding with her head to the massive fireplace in the bedroom.
/>   I stood and began to pace, making my way to it. Running my hands across the cool cut stone, I remembered the verse. “That Bible verse is written on the outside of the Xanthus mausoleum. I saw it today.”

  Polly’s chin dropped. “What? Leo, what are you saying?”

  My jaw tightened. “Kostas Xanthus didn’t leave anything to chance.”

  “Well, you certainly got that trait from him.” Polly’s words dripped in sarcasm.

  “I’m being serious, cher. You’ve figured all of this out on your own up until this point. The Balivinos think your ring is the key to Lafitte’s treasure—I mean, if there really is one.”

  “You think your grandfather did all this to hide a bunch of nothing?”

  I shook my head. “What I do know is he was smart—too smart for his own good.”

  Polly rolled her hand into her body, urging me to make my point. “And?”

  “The Bible verse is another step.”

  “You mean the angels? The verse on the mausoleum?”

  I nodded. “What if Kostas followed the map himself? What if he found the treasure a long time ago?”

  Polly twisted her mouth. “Are you serious? Where would he put it? It’s not in any of the safes here, right?”

  “No.” Still inspecting the angels on the mantle, my finger instinctively went to the bullet hole. “He would never keep it here.”

  Polly walked to me, lovingly stroking my shoulder. I didn’t know who she was trying to calm, me or herself. “Then where?”

  “I don’t know, but we’ve come this far. I know he’d want us to find whatever it is. But that map isn’t it,” I said pointing to the parchment in her hand.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because of the clue. He’s literally saying, come to my grave.”

  “We need Oscar.” Polly whispered the words and dropped her head. “Just like they needed Oscar.”

  I let all the air escape from my lungs in a giant sigh. I felt like I hadn’t taken a full breath since opening the letter. Enclosing Polly’s tiny frame inside my arms, I brushed my lips across her temple and breathed into her. “Whatever this is, cher. We’ll tackle it together.”