Chapter 1.
Previously…
Trust had stayed up late watching movies, and she had planned to sleep in. The last thing she expected was an early-morning call on her burner phone. Only two people had that number, Kent and Marty, her long-term associates in crime. The early call was strangely welcome. It had saved her from the nightmare she was having about Ryan Castle. He was still on the run from the police, and in her dream, he was strangling her in a car.
She leaned over and fumbled through the drawer of her bedside table, hoping to grab the phone before it stopped ringing.
"Hello."
"It's me." It was Kent.
"I'm asleep. Or, I was asleep."
Kent didn't care, he just kept talking. "Vale is looking for you. I just got an email."
Merrick Vale was her main fence, her mover of stolen gems and jewelry. Merrick wasn't his real name. He'd dropped his first name back in the seventies in an effort to sound more American. It seemed no one had told him that Merrick wasn't a common American name. His jewelry store was now the destination for New York City's rich and famous. He'd also opened a second store.
"Thanks, Kent. I'll call him when I wake up."
"It's nine. I thought you were an early riser. Don't you run in the park first thing?"
"Sometimes... except when I'm sleeping."
"Sorry to—"
Trust pressed 'end call' and tossed the phone back in the drawer, slamming it closed.
She sat up, realizing she might drift back into the same nightmare—it had happened to her before. Then she ripped the covers off and headed out to the kitchen. Once the coffee machine purred into action, she hit the remote to raise her blinds. The morning sun streamed in, waking her further.
Maybe watching those movies so late hadn't been a good idea.
Trust hated being woken up, and that was the main reason she didn't have a pet. She'd recently begun toying with the idea of getting a small dog to take running with her, on walks, or even out for coffee. She'd been watching dog owners interact with their pets lately and couldn't help feeling she was missing out.
There had to be more for her in life. Here she was on the wrong side of thirty with no man, no pets, and no close friends. A pet would keep her company, but then there were the logistics of looking after a living being. For now, the idea of a pet was on hold.
Jack Fletcher wouldn't be needing her for several days. He was giving lectures to new FBI recruits in Virginia. The whole thing had sounded boring as he was telling her the details, and Trust had stopped listening somewhere along the way.
Monica Blaze wasn't going with him, and that was all Trust had cared about. That woman would do anything to get her hands on Jack. Monica still hadn't returned to active service after she'd been shot in the shoulder.
Trust poured herself a cup of coffee and then took it over to the couch. Once she took the first sip, she was ready to face whatever drama Vale had. It would definitely be a drama, or some kind of problem. They weren't social acquaintances or friends.
Trust had a bad feeling. Something wasn't right. There was only one way to find out what Merrick wanted.
She picked up her cell phone and hit the number. He answered immediately, which was unusual.
"Hey, what's up?" Trust asked.
"Okay..."
"Is something wrong?" She could tell by his breathing that he was pacing. That was what he did when he was upset.
"The dagger," was all he said.
She knew what he was talking about right away. There'd been so much on her mind lately she'd forgotten about it. It was reportedly owned by a Tsar of Russia. She'd stolen it years ago on her way out of a museum after she'd taken a suite of diamond jewelry. It had caught her eye.
"You've got a buyer?"
"Well, yes and no."
"Which one is it? It can't be both. What's it been, two years now?" Trust asked.
"I was nearly going to suggest to you that we break it up for scrap, but I found a buyer. He made us an offer."
Trust was intrigued. "Let's hear it."
"One point five to you after I take my cut."
Vale was a harsh negotiator. She'd learned long ago never to take his first offer.
"No way in the world. It's worth a lot more than that."
"No, it's not."
"There's more to this story. The money was supposed to transfer to me today, but it didn't happen. I called the buyer, and he's claiming the diamonds are fake."
"No. It's not possible."
"They're fake, Trust."
It took a moment for his words to sink in. "So you let him take it before paying for it and he's told you the stones are fake and you believe him?"
"Yes. I've let him pay later before, and I believe him because I didn't test the diamonds like I normally do."
She hadn't taken a close look at those diamonds; she'd just assumed... And they had looked like the real deal to her practiced eyes. There had been no reason to doubt them. "They can't be fake."
"Did you test the stones?" Vale asked. "Maybe you should come here so we can talk in person."
"We can talk now. I didn't get them from some random bank vault. I got them from a museum. I didn't even think to test them."
"Fake."
"The rest of the haul was okay," Trust stated, still trying to wrap her mind around it.
"I know, but the dagger is not."
Trust was thinking of all the possible scenarios. "Someone must've..."
"Done a switch in the museum? It's possible. And it could've happened at any time. Unfortunately, I had to tell my client we'd made an error."
Did he say 'we'? "Oh, please tell me you kept my name out of it."
"Of course I did."
She didn't believe him.
He continued, "I've never told anyone about you. Naturally, he was upset when he learned the dagger was fake. He had his heart set on it. I can't afford to upset him. He's my biggest client, and that makes him an important person to you."
She wondered where he was going with this. "To me?"
"Yes. I know you wouldn't like to be the direct cause of my reputation being ruined."
"I'm sorry, but I'm out of the game."
"'Sorry' won't cut it, Trust."
"Hey, I'm the one who took all the risk. Just tell him it won't happen again. Tell him to keep the fake dagger, end of story."
"That won't work with a man like him. He's one of the wealthiest men in New York and one of the most powerful. I had to work out a deal."
"Good. I'm glad you were able to work it out. Goodbye."
"Wait!"
She had her finger over the 'end call' button, but somehow, she knew this was far from over. "What?"
"I had to offer him something."
"I don't understand. He hasn't paid, so what's he upset about?"
"I just told you he's one of my biggest clients. He's disappointed with me and with good reason."
Trust heaved a sigh. "Oh well, boo hoo. Disappointed? He should try living my life. It's full of disappointments."
"If I don't keep him happy, he could turn his whole social set against me. I asked him what I could do to make it up to him. He figured out a way, and I agreed to it."
"Go on, and I hope it doesn't involve me."
"Neither of us can afford to get on this man's bad side. He's powerful. If I told you who he is, you'd understand. He's one of the most influential men in New York. He gets what he wants—always."
"So I'm guessing he wants something so you want me to steal something. I'm sorry. I don't do that anymore. Get someone else."
"There is no one else. You're the best. Do it for me, for all the deals we've done in the past. I've made you a rich woman."
"And I've made you a rich man," Trust shot back.
"Trust, just do this one thing for me. I need it. Help out an old friend. Just listen first before you say no again."
Trust sighed. If things went south and she landed back in the slammer, the inmates she'd met on her first visit would kill her... or at the very least, they'd make her life so unbearable she'd wish she were dead. "Whatever it is, I can't do it."
"You must. I relied on you when you gave me that dagger. I never thought you'd give me something fake to sell. It's bad for both of us."
He knew how to get at her. She hated being let down. That had happened too many times in her life. Trust always did her best to do the right thing with others.
"Just tell me what the job is. I don't need all the ins and outs. What's the target?"
"Igotchis."
"I... What?"
"They are small gold and jewel-encrusted jade statues. The Incas used them as gods, prayed to them."
"Never heard of them."
"There's no reason you would've."
Trust was silent for a moment. "Where are they? I can't leave the country with the restrictions they've placed on me. Anyway, tell me everything. I know I won't get off the phone until I've heard the full scenario."
"You won't have to leave the country. They're on a boat."
"What kind of boat?"
"The kind a billionaire would own."
"A yacht?" Trust asked.
"The items you need to steal reside in a safe on what they call a mega yacht."
"And is your client one hundred percent sure that's where they are? What if they've been moved? How would he know?"
"He knows. I trust him. It's a party boat. Bring your bikini."
"I will not."
"Why all the negativity? You would've jumped at this two years ago. You would've seen this as a challenge."
"I've put that life behind me. I keep telling you."
"There's a story to all this, Trust, and I haven't told you about it."
"Make it a short story, not War and Peace. I've got things to do today." She was getting her nails done and maybe her hair if her stylist could squeeze her in on short notice. She picked up the ends of her hair and held them up to the light, looking for split ends.
"My client owned the Igotchis, and Franklin Carver stole them from him when he was staying at his house in the Hamptons over Christmas."
Trust forgot all about her hair and sat up straight. Now he had her attention. "Franklin Carver. I've heard of him. He's a billionaire."
"That's what I said. My client has bought some things from me before, knowing that they haven't always come from the right places, if you know what I mean. He had the Igotchis for years. He knew Carver was a collector of Incan artifacts, so he showed them to him. Then, the Igotchis left with Carver."
"How does he know for sure Carver stole them?"
"Carver later gloated to someone else that he had them, knowing my client couldn't do a thing about it. He couldn't go to the cops, as he's got things he's hiding too. He couldn't afford the cops looking too closely at him."
"So your client and Carver are both criminals?" Trust asked.
"Don't be judgmental. It depends on your definition of being a criminal."
She spanned her forehead with one hand, feeling an oncoming headache. Ridding herself of her past wasn't easy. She took another mouthful of coffee, trying to get the whole picture. "I'm just making a statement. I'm not happy, obviously, about misleading you and your client regarding the dagger. It wasn't intentional."
"This is your fault. I'm telling you, if this guy takes me down, I'm taking you down with me."
Trust was trapped. What she needed was facts.
"I'm not saying yes. Give me thirty minutes to get organized, and I'll come and see you." She ended the call.
