hair was black and wound into a big messy bun with what looked like chopsticks stuck through to hold it in place.
Her eyes were glued to a magnifier and he watched her hands. Those small, efficient hands. Using some kind of tool that looked like small pliers, she was twirling a strand of hot metal as though it were a piece of cooked spaghettini, draping it around a colored stone. He knew the moment she felt his presence. Those glorious hips slowed, her back stiffened.
Still, she finished the meticulous draping of the metal before setting the ring into a clamp. Then she raised her head and turned to him. Too fast for him to pretend he hadn’t been watching her.
He couldn’t have pretended anything, anyway. He was too stunned.
The woman was gorgeous. Cool gray eyes of a tilted almond shape that suggested there was Asian blood in her. Pale skin, full, sexy lips that begged to be painted red, but which she’d only touched with some kind of gloss.
He didn’t have time for lust. He had a job to do.
And yet somehow he couldn’t help himself. He’d come on to her. Enjoyed flustering her, finding an excuse to touch her.
And now, he was preparing to steal from her.
He had a bad feeling about this. A bad feeling that he was going to break every rule he lived by and get to know one of his marks. After the dust had settled, obviously, a few weeks from now when she’d have moved on and wouldn’t think to connect a missing set of jewels with a visit from Charles Pendegraff.
He called himself every kind of fool as he made his preparations, but he knew he was going to be stupid.
As crazy as it was, he was going to see Lexy Drake again.
2
AT SIX, AMANDA PEEKED into Lexy’s work space. “I’ve closed up. I’m heading out now.”
Lexy glanced up and rubbed her tired eyes. “Good day?”
“Three engagement rings, a few pairs of earrings and about a hundred of those bracelets that were featured on Party Girls of Manhattan.”
Lexy laughed. It was amazing how slavish people could be when they saw their favorite star wearing something distinctive on a television show. She only had a small number of mass-produced designs, but since one of the women on the newest semireality show had discovered her work, her designs—especially the ones that appeared on the show—were snapped up.
“Party Girls will do for you what Sex and the City did for Manolo Blahnik,” Amanda prophesied.
“Fine with me.”
Her assistant glanced around the crowded space. “You planning to work all night?”
She rubbed the back of her neck. “No. A little longer. I want to finish this ring set, then I’ll take a break.”
“What did that woman and her daughter bring you, by the way? You seemed pretty excited. You know, that stylish woman with the perfect gray hair and her thin, pretty daughter.”
“Mrs. Grayson and her daughter—” What was the daughter’s name? She recalled the emeralds and diamonds with vivid clarity; she’d never seen such a perfect set, but recalling the details of the owners was always trickier. She closed her eyes for a second. “Judith, that was the daughter’s name.”
Lexy was becoming accustomed to the whims of rich people, and she was the first in line to recommend redesigning antique jewels into settings that would breathe new life into them, but as she’d opened the faded blue velvet box she’d had to suppress the urge to argue mother and daughter out of their idea to have this set broken down and reset.
The gems themselves were exquisite. Emeralds were funny things. The larger they came the more flawed they were likely to be. A few occlusions were expected but when she’d studied these gems through her loupe, she’d been astonished at the near perfection. And the color. Dark, clear green that she’d rarely seen outside a museum.
The setting was antique, no question. Like any personal ornamentation, jewelry went through fashions. But every age had its classics and this set was one of the most inherently beautiful she’d ever seen. Delicate strands of gold held the emeralds and diamonds in place but didn’t compete, so the green fire flashed from the necklace. “These are exquisite. Are you sure you want to reset them?” she’d finally asked.
Mother and daughter exchanged a quick look. “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Grayson had answered. “The set’s a gift to Judith, and she wants a more modern look. We both love your work. We’re excited to see what you could do with these. You are such an artist and with these emeralds, I believe Judith will be breathtaking when she wears the jewels at the diabetes fundraiser next month.” She smiled at her daughter. “I’d planned to give them to her when she got married, but now that she’s twenty-five, and unmarried, I’m going ahead. Why wait? They’ve been in the family forever, and they really don’t suit my coloring.”
Lexy suspected what the older woman really intended was to display some of the family wealth around her daughter’s throat in an unsubtle hint to potential suitors.
“You know, these emeralds are quite rare, and I suspect the pieces are hundreds of years old. You will compromise their value as antiques.”
“Oh, they’ve been in the family forever. It’s time they had a new look.”
Lexy had accepted the commission, of course. It wasn’t her business to talk clients out of her services and as lovely as the current set was, she knew she’d likely never have an opportunity to work with emeralds like this again.
Opening the safe, she withdrew the box and showed the emeralds to Amanda, who said, “Wow.” They both studied the sparkle of diamond and deep, gorgeous green.
Amanda touched the edge of the swirled gold setting. “I’ve never seen emeralds that color. They’re so rich-looking.”
“I know. The color’s spectacular. I think it’s because they are so old. They must have come out of South America centuries ago. Mayan stones are considered the purest and best.”
“How much do you think they’re worth?”
“Hard to say. But with the almost perfect diamonds and the unusual color and clarity of those emeralds, I’m guessing around a million.”
“A million dollars?” Amanda squeaked.
“Yeah.”
So Lexy had at least a million bucks worth of emeralds in her safe and a free hand to design settings that would help an unmarried twenty-five-year-old attract a rich man. Might be a little old-fashioned, not to mention Machiavellian, but this was also by far her largest commission ever.
“Don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”
She knew she could trust Amanda. They’d worked together for about eighteen months. In her early twenties, Amanda Sanford was tall and thin, had slightly more than the fashionable number of tattoos and piercings and a penchant for painted leggings and army boots. She was also great with customers and seemed happy in her work.
Lately she’d been letting Amanda help her with some of the simpler settings. When she was swamped, it was amazing how useful an extra pair of hands could be. Amanda also possessed an artistic eye and Lexy often sought out her assistant’s opinion when she was unsure.
AFTER AMANDA LEFT, Lexy finished the ruby wedding set. On a whim, she called her customer and let them know. As she’d half suspected the woman was so excited she wanted to come right over and pick up the rings.
So, her workday ended with a nice fat check, a happy and excited customer and one more peek at the emeralds.
Then, realizing she was starving, she opened the barely visible door that led upstairs to her living space. It wasn’t nearly as fancy as the downstairs since she’d put every cent of her savings and a good