With a sigh, she curbed her annoyance and focused on the situation again.
“I understand.” She stared at Thorpe, who merely raised an expectant brow at her. “Sir.”
“Better.” He smiled and turned Sean’s way. “Proceed.”
It was impossible not to smile back. “On it. What do you know about this egg?”
“Not a lot. My mom talked about it, of course. But I was so young. She started getting sick when I turned five. As time went on, she became quieter. Mostly, I remember her holding me and telling me how much she loved me and to never forget that.” Callie teared up, then sniffled. “Sorry. I haven’t let myself think about those times in forever.”
Thorpe stroked a hand down her spine in reassurance, then kissed the top of her head. There was no way he didn’t love her. Dumbass prick. Even when he held himself back, Thorpe’s devotion showed.
“So you don’t remember anything about the egg specifically?” Sean asked softly.
“I think she said this one was from Easter 1912 or 1913—somewhere around that time frame. Dad bought it for her from a collector in Europe shortly after they were married. I guess she’d seen one on their honeymoon and fallen in love. This one came up for sale, and Dad gave it to her as an anniversary gift or something. When I was really little, she had it on a display stand that lit up on the mantel in their bedroom. She redecorated their whole bedroom around it. The room looked very stately. But when she got really sick, Dad had everything redone. He couldn’t stand to see her lying in a bed surrounded by black.”
Sean understood that. If faced with the prospect of losing Callie, he’d want to throw away everything dark and see her in nothing but sunlight and smiles for as long as he could.
“After she died, Dad moved it to his home office,” she continued. “It sat on the corner of his desk for years. Charlotte and I weren’t allowed to touch it. Then one day, he brought it to me and said that since Mom had wanted me to have it, I could keep it in my room as long as I was responsible. I’ve been trying to pry it open since.”
“And you never succeeded?” Sean asked.
“Nope. I lied about how I gouged my finger bloody. I didn’t dare admit I’d taken a screwdriver to the egg. But I’d dreamed up this fantasy that my mother had written me a long letter or poem—something she intended me to have that she tucked inside her favorite object. It sounds silly, but when you’re doing things like getting your first period and surviving your first crush without a mother’s guidance, it’s rough.”
“I’m sure she was with you in spirit, lovely.” Sean wanted to hold her, wrap his arms around her. Hell, he wanted to carry her to bed and love her tenderly until he somehow convinced her that he meant to fill every void in her heart.
“And you’re not aware of anything else unusual about the egg?”
“Other than it being a rarity in general, no.”
“Tell me how else you’ve tried to open it.” Sean felt her eyes on him as he unzipped her backpack and peeked inside.
“Besides the screwdriver, I’ve tried soaking it in water and brute force. It’s, like, glued together or stuck. Something.”
“Hmm. The eggs were made to open. They often contained some jeweled surprise,” Thorpe pointed out.
“Right. I remember something inside the egg when I was a kid, but I can’t recall details. It was shiny and pretty. After Mom was gone, I know my dad stashed pictures of her around some of her favorite objects. Once he gave it to me, I wondered if he’d left a picture of her in here, but I never could get the damn thing open to see. That just made her feel more gone to me.” She sniffled again.
“We’ll see if we can do better.” Sean reached into Callie’s backpack and pulled out some clothes, a wig, makeup, her toiletries, a box of colored contacts. Then he encountered a wadded-up towel.
“It’s in there,” she said as she stood on her tiptoes and peeked in.
With a nod, Sean reached down to the bottom and braced his hands under the towel, then began lifting it up. It was bulky more than heavy, and he felt himself sweat a bit, knowing that he held millions of dollars and something infinitely precious to Callie in his hands.
Resting the towel on the table, they all peered over it as Sean unwrapped the bundle. An intricate black and gold design in diamond-shaped sections decorated the top half of the egg. The lower half was a smooth black lacquer with solid gold braiding edging the bottom. As he turned it in his hands, Sean held history. These had been made for the Russian tsars for fifty years. They’d been valuable even a century ago. Now that so few had survived the bloody October revolution that had changed Russia, as well as the upheaval and wars since, the object verged on priceless.
Maybe her family’s killers had sought this all along?
Thorpe dropped a comforting hand on her thigh, then looked his way. “Have any other ideas about how we might get this open?”
Sean winced. “As much as I hate to use more muscle on an object like this, I don’t know what else to do.” If there was nothing important about the egg itself or what might be inside, they were at a dead end. And he wouldn’t know how else to give Callie hope. “I’ve got a multi-tool with me. We can start there.”
Thorpe nodded. “Let’s do it. I’ll see if Werner keeps any tools lying around that might help, too. Callie, clear the table and put the dishes in the sink.”
She nodded. Sean watched Thorpe squeeze her hand before he disappeared from the room, presumably to search for Werner’s Craftsman collection on the boat, likely near the engine. He watched her forlorn face as she stared at the egg and touched it wistfully. He could plainly see how much it reminded her of the parent she’d loved and lost so young.
Jogging to the bedroom to pull the multi-tool from his bag, he grabbed a few other things and returned to find Callie rooted to the same spot.
He eased down into the chair beside her. “Lovely?”
“What if this doesn’t work? What if it’s nothing more than a pricey egg? If it’s empty and of no value to whoever is after me—”
“Then we examine all the evidence again. We keep trying. I refuse to fail. I will not give up until you’re safe. Do you hear me, Callie?”
She responded immediately to the sterner note in his voice with a valiant little nod. “Thank you, Sean.”
“Is that who I am to you now?” He pulled her collar from his pocket and dangled the glittering white gold with its petite lock from his finger, directly in her face. Something less delicate was more customary perhaps, but it didn’t suit her. “Is it?”
Hope lit her eyes. “No, Sir.”
“I mean to fasten this around your neck again. You should never have removed it in the first place. Believe me, I never relinquished you from our bond in my mind or heart. So you best not be doing that either, lovely.”
“I tried to,” she admitted in a soft, broken voice. “But I couldn’t. You’re impossible to stop loving.”
The words were difficult for her to speak, and he loved her all the more for finding the courage to say them. “If you want it back, ask me.”
Callie scooted closer and looked at him with earnest blue eyes in her naked face. Even without all the black eyeliner and glittering shadow, she was stunning. His own eyes were a darker shade than the crystal Caribbean waters hers resembled. He wanted to drown there.
“Please, Sir, will you return my collar to me?” She ended her plea with a submissive bow of her head.
Sean drew in a huge gulp of air. As much as Callie had been forced to fend for herself most of her life, she wore her armor of independence with pride. She fought making herself vulnerable—despite how badly she wanted and needed to. He sensed the soft side of her that craved not just a lover, but someone she could rely on day in and day out for the rest of her life.