Page 69 of Ravaged With You

He held the door open for Jo, then followed her in. “The police are right, you know. We three were equal before, but now this place is more yours than mine.”

She slid into his arms. “Does that bother you?”

“Not as long as you’re mine, too.”

Her smile bloomed. “You know I am.”

He looked around the business that he and Mel had spent so many hours planning and growing. Those long years before they even had a whiskey ready for market. The hours sanding and polishing the bar to get it exactly the way they wanted. The floors they’d debated for a week. Everything down to the logo. It had been an adventure. And dammit, he missed his friend.

“I wonder if he’s haunting this place.” He said the question more to himself than Jo, but she answered anyway.

“If he is, it’s because he wants us to avenge him. Not because he’s angry with us. I’m certain of that.”

They’d been traversing the tasting room, but now he paused. He hooked a finger under her chin, then tilted her head back. “I don’t begrudge Mel his time with you, and I would give anything to have him back. But I agree. I think that wherever he is, he’s happy for us.”

“He is,” she assured him, then leaned in to kiss him. “And he’ll be happier when we avenge him.” She glanced around, her voice rising as she said, “You hear that, Mel? I don’t know what you got yourself into, but if you want to help us take these fuckers down, then give us a sign or something. They killed you and they’re setting me up and if there’s anything you can tell us, then now’s the time.”

She fell silent, and they both listened, as if their friend really was able to help them. But the room stayed silent. No small rumbles of the bottles behind the bar. No mysterious messages appearing on the glass.

Jo shot him a sideways glance. “Guess that means we’re already on the right track.” She took his hand. “Come on.”

“The set-up won’t stick,” he said as they continued toward Mel’s office. “You know that, right? They did it to push you harder to find this thing, but ultimately, the life insurance bullshit will fall apart.” They hadn’t talked about it on the drive because she hadn’t wanted to. But he knew she was freaked out that someone had gone so far as to try to make her look dirty.

“I know. Or, at least, I think I know.” They paused outside Mel’s office. “I’m not worried about that. Not much anyway.” Her lips pursed, and he could tell she was fighting tears. “All I want is to know what happened to Mel. To be safe and for this to be over. And once it is, I can worry about whatever evidence the cops think they have. It won’t stick. How could it?”

A lump filled his throat, and he pulled her close, then kissed her strawberry-scented hair. He’d worked with a lot of brave, strong women. Women with intense training and hard-fought skills learned in the field. But right then, he was certain that Jo could match them all.

When they separated, her hand went to the doorknob. “I’m scared we’re wrong,” she admitted. “What if this MacGuffin isn’t in the book?”

“Then we’ll come up with a new plan. Find a new clue.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Right. Of course, we will.” She pushed open the door and flipped on the light. The office looked as it had on Monday, but Red barely acknowledged it. Instead, he headed straight to the bookshelf and the oversized canvas-covered dictionary that he’d noticed a time or two but had never thought about.

He pulled it down, noting the weight of it. He opened the cover. Just like Anna Karenina, there was a metal plate inside the book with a six-digit combination code.

“Go ahead,” Jo whispered.

He moved to the desk, then manipulated the lock, using the passcode from Mel’s phone. He didn’t expect it to work—most likely, they’d need to pry the thing open—but as soon as he turned the tiny handle, the interior lid popped up.

“Holy shit,” he said as Jo gasped.

“Are those—”

“Diamonds,” he said, pulling out the clear bag and testing the weight in his hand. “Three, four pounds, I’d guess. At least five-hundred carats, probably six.”

“Good God, Mel. What the hell were you doing?”

“If he double-crossed someone—and it sure as hell sounds like he did—then this is one hell of a motive for murder.”

“They must be worth a fortune.” Both fear and awe tinged Jo’s voice.

“About five million minimum retail,” Red guessed. “Probably half that on the black market.”

“Can they be traced?”

He put the diamonds back in the book. “No idea. Not an area I’ve ever worked in. But let's go see what we can find out.”

Less than an hour later they were in Santa Monica at Stark Security. They’d called Ryan from the car, and now they were seated in his office as agents and staff worked in the main area.