"When I do, I'll be a whole lot closer to finding out who killed the technician and stole the relic."
"That's all you're going to do? Have your security people keep watch on Fairstead's gallery?"
"Well, there is one other pressing item on my agenda at the moment."
"What?"
"I've got a major family gig coming up at the end of the week. My grandfather's birthday party. I could use a date."
She stared at him, dumbfounded. "Me?"
"I'd consider it a huge favor."
"For heaven's sake, why?"
"Because everyone in the family is feeling sorry for me, and it's a little embarrassing, to tell you the truth. They think I'm depressed."
"Why?" she demanded a second time, suspicious now.
"Because you broke my heart three months ago."
"Good grief, Cruz. You don't expect me to believe that."
"Believe what you want. In our family we take broken hearts seriously."
"Hmm. What's in it for me?"
Chapter 21
THEY WALKED THROUGH THE DOOR OF LYRA'S APARTMENT an hour later. Vincent scurried into the kitchen, tumbled up onto the counter, and gazed worshipfully at the cookie jar.
"We've got a deal, then?" Lyra asked. She went into the kitchen and raised the lid of the jar. "If I go with you to your grandfather's birthday celebration, you promise to let me keep the pyramids until I can figure out how to de-rez them?"
There had been little chance to discuss the terms of the bargain since they had left the antechamber. As soon as they had reached the surface, Cruz was on his phone issuing a string of terse orders to Garrett Flagg, setting up the twenty-four-hour surveillance of the Fairstead Gallery. He hadn't finished making the arrangements until they had arrived at her apartment building.
"You have my word that I'll let you decide what to do with them." He went around the counter and took down the bottle of Amber Dew. "Meanwhile, I won't tell anyone else about those stones."
"Okay, I guess," she said.
"Your enthusiasm is heartwarming," Cruz said.
Vincent chose a cookie with the air of a connoisseur selecting a fine wine. When he had picked out the perfect treat, he bounced up to the top of the refrigerator to eat it.
Lyra replaced the lid. "I still don't get it, though. Why are you suddenly so willing to leave me in possession of the pyramids?"
He poured a measure of the liqueur into two balloon glasses. "Think about it."
After a moment, it clicked.
"Of course. You've concluded that, at least for the time being, those stones are safer down there in my personal safe-deposit box than they would be in your company's lab," she said.
"One man is dead, and one relic has been stolen. Obviously the lab's security isn't as good as yours."
"In other words, you were planning to leave the pyramids down there, regardless of whether I agreed to go with you to Big Jake's party tomorrow night." She made a face. "I should have known better than to bargain with a Sweetwater."
"Well, sure. Sweetwater luck and all that. But that doesn't change one fact."
She took the glass of Amber Dew he held out to her.
"And what fact is that?" she asked.
"You really did break my heart, and everyone in my family knows it." He swallowed some of his drink. His eyes were as dark as midnight in the Quarter, green flames burning in the obsidian depths, just like the fire in his ring.
Her pulse skidded, and her senses fluttered. She could almost believe him. She desperately wanted to believe him. She sipped the heady liqueur and lowered the glass, trying to look cool and just a tad amused.
"You're good," she said. "You're really good."
"It's the truth." He turned and walked back out into the living area. "Heartbreak is bad enough. Knowing that your entire family is worrying about you and feeling nothing but pity for you doesn't help."
"Ah, the pride factor."
"It's the only thing you left me."
She grinned and held up one hand. "Stop. Now you're the one who's guilty of going way over the top."
"I thought I told you, in my family we don't have a problem with going over the top. Not when it comes to love." He stopped at the coffee table and looked at the vase of purple orchids. "Are those new? They don't look like the ones I saw here yesterday."
"Those were delivered this morning."
"Same damned note?"
"Same note," she agreed. "But I wouldn't necessarily use the word damned to describe it."
"Mind if I take a look?" He already had the envelope in hand and was extracting the card.
"Help yourself," she said dryly.
Vincent had finished his cookie. He tumbled down from the refrigerator and fluttered across the room to the corner where his current canvas lay atop the stack of newspapers. He hopped up onto the wooden chest that contained his painting supplies and made enthusiastic noises.
"All right," Lyra said. "You can play with your paints for a while."
Vincent jumped down from the chest and hovered eagerly while she took out his supplies.
Cruz contemplated the card with a grim expression.
" 'We were meant for each other, " he read aloud. He shoved the card back inside the envelope and dropped it onto the pile. "Same message as on all the others."
"Umm-hmm."
For a moment he stood there, looking at the orchids. "Does it strike you as a little weird that the orchids are always purple?"
She opened the lid of the chest. "At first, when I assumed they were from you, I thought that the color was meant to be a sentimental reference to amethyst amber."
"Maybe it is a reference to amethyst," he said, his voice low and very thoughtful.
Vincent jumped up onto the rim of the chest and surveyed the selection of brushes inside. After some deliberation, he chose a magenta one and bounced back down to the floor. He used two paws to remove the top of the paint tube, exposing the attached brush.
"Remember, we only paint on the canvas," Lyra said firmly. "Not the walls or the floor or the refrigerator."
Vincent chortled and began smearing paint on the canvas. She closed the lid of the chest and looked at Cruz.
"I don't think you can read too much into the color of the orchids," she said. "Not after the storm in the media during the lawsuit. The only way you could not connect me with amethyst would be if you were living in a cave."
"Maybe it's a stalker who fixated on you after the media frenzy."
A chill drifted through her. She winced. "Thanks. Take all the romance out of it for me, why don't you?"
"Who the hell is he, Lyra?"
She sighed. "I don't know. Since I found out you weren't the one sending them, I've been making a list of the men in my life. It's sort of a short list."
He drank some of the Amber Dew. "Good to know."
"I started with the deliveryman. He has been known to flirt with me from time to time. But somehow, I just can't see Dave sending such expensive flowers. I also considered Mr. Martinson."
"Who's Martinson?"
"He owns the bookstore next door to my tuning shop. But he must be eighty, if he's a day."
"Age doesn't have a thing to do with it," Cruz said. "Trust me."
"I suppose that's true. But, again, we come back to the cost of the flowers. I doubt that Mr. Martinson could afford twice-weekly deliveries of rare orchids, either." She paused. "I've got a few male clients who might be possibilities, I suppose. You know how some guys are about tuners."
"I'll need a list."
"Forget it." She laughed. "I'm not ready to turn you loose on any of my customers. Got a feeling that would be real bad for business."
"Damn it, Lyra—"
She held up a hand, palm out. "To tell you the truth, I'm starting to wonder about the plumber."
"What plumber?"
"The one the landlord sent to check out my bathroom sink last month. Something about a problem with a leak in the empty apartment next door. He told me that he thought the trouble was here."