He thought about Tiffany Joy and wondered whether she’d taken his advice. He did hope so. Chao-tak was not in the habit of leaving loose ends, and Miss Joy didn’t deserve the fate of her heartless lover.
He thought about General Alan McPhee, and about Aahil Hafeez, and about the collector in Switzerland who was eagerly awaiting the arrival of his treasure.
He thought about Tracy, and how nothing was quite as much fun without her.
Then he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER 11
OH MY GOD! THAT’S Zayn Malik!”
Nicholas’s eyes were on stalks. He’d never been to Los Angeles before, or to any big city other than Denver, and that was only for a day-trip. His mother had brought him to Cecconi’s on Melrose for lunch, a celebrity watcher’s heaven.
“Who’s Zayn Malik?” Tracy asked.
“Zayn Malik? One Direction?”
Tracy looked blank. Nicholas gave her a look that was half pity, half disdain.
“Oh, never mind. Can I have another sundae?”
It was July and ninety degrees outside. While the Angelenos wisely headed to the beach, or locked themselves inside their air-conditioned cars and offices, Tracy and Nicholas had spent the morning pounding the streets, rushing from one tourist attraction to the next. In prior years, Tracy had sent her son to a local summer camp in Colorado called Beaver Creek. Nick spent his vacations swimming and fishing and kayaking and camping, and always had a great time. But this year she decided it was time he saw a bit more of the world.
Blake Carter was against the idea.
“I don’t see what Los Angeles has to offer that Steamboat doesn’t.”
Tracy raised an eyebrow. “Variety?”
“Them freaks on Venice Beach, you mean?”
“Come on, Blake. I know you’re not a city person. But there’s Hollywood, all that movie history. There’s museums and theme parks. I’ll take him to Universal Studios and maybe a Lakers game. He’s so sheltered here.”
“Kids are supposed to be sheltered,” grumbled Blake. “Maybe if he were a teenager. But he’s too young, Tracy. You mark my words. He won’t enjoy it.”
Nicholas loved it.
Everything about L.A. excited him, from the food and the blazing heat to the streets full of Lamborghinis and Ferraris and Bugattis and Teslas and the Venice Beach freaks that Blake Carter so despised: silver-sprayed mimes and snake charmers and transvestite stilt walkers and fortune-tellers with their faces covered in exotic tattoos.
“This place is awesome!” he told Tracy, night after night in their suite at the Hotel Bel-Air. “Can we move here, Mom? Please?”
A sundae arrived, Nicholas’s second. He attacked the mountain of whipped cream and fudge with the same enthusiasm he’d shown its predecessor. Tracy was sipping her coffee, content simply to watch him, when a party walked in and caught her attention.
The first thing Tracy saw was the necklace. Once a jewel thief, always a jewel thief. Although in all honesty, this one was hard to miss: a string of rubies, each one the size of a baby’s fist, hung around the scrawny neck of an otherwise unattractive, middle-aged woman. It was the most dazzling, over-the-top piece of jewelry that Tracy had ever seen. And she’d seen quite a few.
The woman was with her husband, a squat, toad of a man with bulging eyes whom Tracy was sure she recognized but couldn’t quite place. Another, younger woman completed the group. From behind, Tracy could see that this second woman was tall, slender and elegant. Then she turned around.
Tracy choked, scalding jets of coffee burning the back of her throat and making her eyes water.
“Are you okay, Mom?”
“I’m fine, honey.” Tracy dabbed her eyes with the napkin, simultaneously using it to hide her face. “Finish your dessert.”
It couldn’t be.
It couldn’t be.
But it was.