Lane headed for the sink across the way and Lenghe fell into step right with him. As he turned on the water, soaped up his hands, and passed the bar to the Grain God, he had to smile. Only Miss Aurora wouldn’t blink an eye at a poker game with over fifty million at stake—and just as blithely order a billionaire to wash his hands before sitting at her table.

Indeed, he loved his momma so.

FORTY-NINE

As Ryan Berkley took his time at the microscope, Gin went back for her flute and returned to sip at the Dom Pérignon as she waited. From time to time, she glanced into the cases there in the private area, where the diamonds were even larger than the ones displayed out in the open. Still, they were but chips compared to what Richard had gotten for her.

Assuming it wasn’t a CZ.

When Ryan finally straightened from the equipment, she said, “Well?”

“You’re right. VVS1. H—or maybe an I with medium blue fluorescents kicking the color up a grade.”

He went to another machine, an infrared light flashed, and he nodded. “No, it’s an H. You’ve got a hell of an eye, Gin.”

“Thank you.”

Ryan took a deep breath. “Okay. You have yourself a deal.”

To hide her relief, she took another draw from the champagne. “Good. That’s good.”

“You realize that five hundred thousand in gold is going to weigh just over twenty-five pounds?”

“Two bags. Twelve and a half in each. I can carry them just fine.” Her jeweler frowned. “That’s a lot of money just to walk out of here with. Are you going to be okay? Where are you going to put it?”

“It’s all taken care of. Not to worry.”

Ryan inclined his head. “All right. I’m going to have to split it between bars and coins. I don’t have enough of one or the other. And according to APMEX, the current price per kilo is forty thousand, one hundred eighty-eight dollars, and forty cents. Do you want to see the report?”

“No. And I’m not going to nickel-and-dime you.”

“Fair enough.”

It took him a good forty-five minutes to get everything organized, and then he brought her into the cellar where he did the weighing and measuring of the gold in front of her at a long worktable. The kilo bars clocked in at just over two pounds apiece, and she liked the feel of them in her hand. Stamped with EMIRATES GOLD in a crest and engraved with 1 KILO, GOLD, and serial numbers, the thin blocks were about the size of her iPhone and he had seven of them to give her.

The rest of the price was made up of South African Krugerrands, which were one troy ounce of twenty-two-karat gold, even though, Ryan explained, they weighed a little more because of the almost three grams of copper alloy added to make the coins harder and therefore more durable.

Lots of coins. A pirate’s booty of coins.

The sacks were of a heavy nylon, and under the caged lights over the worktable, the glow of the pile gradually decreased as the gold was shifted into the bags.

When it was all apportioned, she signed the paperwork and stood up to leave.

“Wait,” he said. “We need to put the CZ in the setting.”

Gin closed her eyes as she imagined Richard’s reaction to her showing up with an empty ring. “But of course.”

Ryan made fast work of it, finding a suitable fake emerald-cut “diamond” and securing it in the platinum cage. Then he steam-cleaned the thing and gave it back to her.

As she slid the ring back onto her finger on top of her wedding band, she fanned out her hand. “Perfect.”

“You’re going to have to keep that really clean if you want it to look real. The CZs are great, but any oil from the skin or soap residue and they dull immediately.”

She nodded and went for the bags. With a grunt, she lifted them. “Heavy—”

“Will you please let me take them to your car for you?”

“Actually, I think I will. Thank you.”

She followed him out of the cellar and back into the fancy part of the store. And they almost made it to the rear door.

But Ryan stopped. “I can’t … Gin, this really isn’t safe. I know that St. Michael’s is a relatively safe area of town, but please, let me see you home with these. Or call a security detail you. Please.”

“I’m not going home.”

His blue eyes were grave. “I’m licensed to carry. I have a gun on me at all times and two in my car. Let me get you wherever you’re going in one piece—I will never forgive myself otherwise, especially if something happens.”

She looked at the two bags and thought of how much value was in them.

Funny, she had spent her whole life around huge amounts of money … but it had been mostly represented by numbers in bank accounts, charge cards that fit in her wallet, and wads of cash that hadn’t come anywhere close to equaling half a million dollars. Even the value in the artwork, antiques, and silver in the house, or the jewels in the vault seemed different, more statements of style, decor, and grand living than worth.

There was something very nuts-and-bolts about bags of gold.

“I can drive you in my SUV,” Ryan pushed, “which is retrofitted for security. And then bring you back here for your car.”

“Are you sure?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m a good Catholic boy whose father is about to turn in his grave if I let you walk out of this store by yourself. So yes, I’m sure.”

“All right. Thank you. Thank you very much.”

Minutes later, he had backed the SUV right up to the rear door, got her settled in the passenger seat … and put the two bags in her lap.

“We’re just going up to the bank,” she told him as he reversed.

“Thank you, Jesus,” he muttered.

The local PNC branch was just up the road a little, and as soon as they pulled up, the manager, who was an attractive blond woman, opened the delivery door in the back.

She was in yoga-wear and had her hair in a ponytail, looking far younger than she did in her business suits.

“Hi there,” she said as they got out with him, lugging the weight once again. “Ryan, this is a pleasant surprise. I left your Stacy in class about twenty minutes ago.”

“Can I just tell you how happy I am to see you?” he said as he dropped a kiss on the woman’s cheek.