Shelby glared at him for a minute. Then she started to smile back. “Ah, but He’s everywhere. And you know what?”

“What’s that?”

“I’m glad He brought you and me together.”

Edward shook his head. “That was your father, remember.”

“Maybe it was Father with a capital ‘F.’”

“You say tomato, I say tah-mato.”

“Well …” She looked around. “I’m going to head back over to the apartment. Unless you need anything? I left lunch leftovers in your fridge for your dinner.”

“That was good of you, thank you. And nope, I’m good. But again, thanks.”

With her hand on the door latch, Shelby looked over her shoulder. “You going to be here in the morning?”

“Of course I will.” He let his head fall back and took a mental picture of her. “Where else would I be?”

He gave her ample time to measure his expression, read his energy, assess his intent with all of her horse sense—and he must have passed the test because she nodded and scooted out and into the storm.

To Joey.

It was good to be where you belong, Edward thought as he stared at all the trophies. And best to do the things you can live with.

Even if it killed you in the short run.

FORTY-EIGHT

Berkley Sedgwick Jewelers was the third-oldest jewelry story in all of the United States. Nestled in a neighborhood that mixed residential housing with commercial endeavors, the establishment was ensconced in a charming old Victorian home … which had bars on every window, security cameras on all the eaves, and an ex–Army Ranger who patrolled the premises.

Gin had been a faithful customer for years—and had also enjoyed learning more about that particular man in uniform.

As well as out of it.

But all of those fun and games seemed like a million years in the past, however, as she parked the Drophead in the back lot. It was eight o’clock, so the other spaces were empty—except for a huge black-on-black SUV that had, quite tragically, a Kentucky University plate on its tail.

It was really the only thing she didn’t like about Ryan Berkley, the owner.

The business was closed to regular customers, but it wasn’t the first time she had come in after hours, and before she could even knock on the bolted, metal rear door, Ryan opened it for her.

“I’m so glad you called me,” he said as she came over.

Ryan was a direct descendant of one side of the founders, and sharing that in regard to her own family’s business, she had always felt a kinship with him. That was the extent of their affiliation, however, apart from her buying things from time to time: Even though Ryan was tall and muscular, still fit as the Division I basketball player he’d been in college—for Kentucky University, pity—and in spite of the fact that he had a handsome face, a great haircut, and blue eyes that matched his school colors, there had never been anything between them.

Ryan was a good man, married to a former Miss Kentucky, and interested only in his wife, his four children, and his store.

“As if I would trust anyone else,” Gin said as she entered.

After locking them in, Ryan hustled her through the office and storage space, as if he hated any customer seeing the less formal parts of his establishment. Past all that, the store proper was done in royal blue with thick carpet and heavy drapes that were closed for privacy. Glass cases extended down both sides of the long, thin, high-ceiling’ed space, and vintage chandeliers and discreet track lighting made the incredible gems sparkle and wink for attention.

Ryan clapped his big hands together. “So tell me, what may I do for you?”

“Do you have any champagne?”

“For you? Always. DP Rosé?”

“You know what I like.”

As he disappeared into the back again, she strolled along, pausing at the estate cases. Millions of dollars were for sale in the forms of tutti-frutti bracelets by Cartier, bar pins by Tiffany, rings that had center stones as big as thumbnails.

There was even a particularly stunning Schlumberger necklace of pink and yellow sapphires with turquoise and diamonds accents. Late sixties. Had to be.

“You always know the best,” Ryan said as he came up to her with a flute. “And I just got that in.”

“Is this the one from the Christie’s sale last month?”

“It is.”

“You paid nine hundred eighty thousand and change with the buyer’s premium. What’s the mark-up? Because I think you overpaid for it.”

He laughed. “You know, if being a socialite ever bores you, you can always come consult for me.”

“It’s just a hobby.”

Although he was right, jewelry was an obsession of hers, and throughout the year, she poured over all the Christie’s and Sotheby’s catalogues for the houses’ New York, Geneva, and Hong Kong sales. Often, in the past, she had been a buyer.

No more, though.

Gin looked up at him. “I need you to handle something discreetly for me.”

“Always.” He indicated a pair of chairs that had been pulled up by the diamond case. “Come, tell me what you require.”

Following him over, she sat down and put the flute on the glass case. Taking off her engagement ring, she held the thing out.

“I want you to remove this stone and replace it with a cubic zirconia.”

Ryan took the diamond but didn’t look at it. “Why don’t we just make you a travel copy? I can have one ready for you tomorrow by ten a.m.—”

“I want you to buy the stone from me. Tonight. For gold.”

Ryan sat back, shifting the ring onto the tip of his forefinger. And yet he still didn’t look at the thing. “Gin, you and I have done a lot of business together, but I’m not sure—”

“I believe it’s an H color. VVS2. Harry Winston on the shank, and I think he got it new. Carat weight has to be high teens, low twenties. The value is around a million and a half, retail, a million at auction. I’m asking five hundred thousand—which is slightly higher than wholesale, I know, but I’m a loyal customer of yours, number one, and number two, I know you’ve read the newspapers. I may be in a position of having to liquidate some of my mother’s collection, and if you don’t want me going up to New York to the auction houses, you have to do right by me on this deal.”