Marc was among the FBI operatives for one reason. The Russian theft ring would be in attendance, and he believed a takedown was the only way to keep Heatherlee and others safe. He still felt the need to apologize to Heatherlee for going undercover as Yuri. What would I say? You were right from the beginning. I wanted to take down the theft ring and didn’t care how. He didn’t think love could be true in one place but not another, but their commitment was about to become more complex.
It was an hour past opening, and buyers walked about the International Jewelry Trade Expo in Los Angeles. Some were small time hobbyists. Those with big purses were both buyers and sellers at the Century Hotel, having traveled to attend. He glanced at his partner on their trade show platform.
Special Agent Bob was taking a quick inventory of opals on a skirted table. Dressed identically in a sport coat with knife-edge creases in gray slacks, he walked over to him and blew into the tiny microphone positioned under the buttonhole of his lapel. “It’s good. Glad we’re set up near the elevator. Mitvolsky and company will use it.” Bob walked away to adjust a banner stand featuring opals and then studied his watch. “It’s time for another run.”
Twice, “Yuri Baronov” had rehearsed his spiel with his salesman bellow. Another half hour had passed, and their routine was about to be repeated. He added another brochure to the literature stand when the elevator light blinked on. He knew a couple of operatives, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, would step out.
There they were. Plain clothed FBI agent Martha and a thin man, wearing an abundance of gold like any jeweler, came from the elevator. These “man and wife store owners” smooched their way toward the opal platform. The man said, “Mutha, Mutha,” and held her hand.
Marc smirked at them, entertained by their overacting. In another moment his earpiece beeped, a signal that Mitvolsky was within range. Marc knew to speak loudly. “Our mission is to share knowledge about the opal. Nothing is more elegant.”
Martha shrieked, “That’s Yuri Baronov. He’s selling opals.” The thin man’s eyes didn’t leave her face. “You’re right, Mutha. It’s him.”
“Hello, friends. I’m Yuri Baronov, trusted sales rep. I’d be pleased to answer any questions you may have.” Marc ran his fingers through his streaked hair, the signal to continue.
On cue the thin man came closer to the platform. “What happened, Yuri?”
“We heard you were dead.” Martha sounded horrified.
“Must have been someone else,” Marc said. “Good to see you, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson.” To his right, an older woman wearing thick eyeglasses ambled up. She tilted her ear toward their trade show booth. Marc didn’t recognize her as an operative. When she picked up a brochure, he noticed her nails were unpolished, and her hands were roughened by work. She wore no makeup except for a touch of bright red lipstick. You were at the barbeque. I hope to hell you don’t blow my cover. She glanced through it and then stood there smiling at him. Wrinkles appeared around her eyes and mouth. She took a cell phone from her purse and dialed. She took another brochure, stepped toward Starbucks, and made another call. With a job to do, he couldn’t become distracted.
“I’d like to see your opals,” Martha said with the thin man at her side.
“Happy to oblige, Mrs. Johnson,” Marc answered. Standing in his practiced Yuri-stance, he placed opals on a mirrored tray as Mitvolsky strutted over.
The short, pockmark faced Russian pushed his way in front. “Let’s have coffee, Yuri. Over there.” He nodded toward Starbucks. “You come.”
“Mit, we’ll talk, as soon as I finish with my customer.”
Martha feigned a strong interest by looking over the opals. “How much are your lower end opals?”
“Opals are opals. The smaller ones are more affordable.”
Mit started walking away, toward Starbucks. Agent Bob took over with the Johnsons, and Marc walked briskly toward the coffee shop. He coughed into a napkin and realized he had a wheeze that sounded like bronchial pneumonia. He slipped into line behind Mitvolsky. “Go sit, Mit.”
“You pay, Baronov. And then, you tell me what happened.”
Marc was bending his knees to make himself appear shorter, relieved that they’d be sitting at a table. He waited in line, bought coffee, and set Mitvolsky’s tall cup with a sugar packet in front of him. He pulled out a business card and set it down. The phone number of Yuri Baronov would go to an answering machine set up at the Santa Ana branch of the FBI. “Mit, the Feds were on to me.”
“I know, I know.” Mit picked up the business card. “You went to Mexico?”
“Never underestimate the wealth in Mexico City. I have a new life. Doubt if my American wife would understand.” This was an FBI conceived line.
“With enough money, she will.” Mit chuckled and put sugar in his coffee. “Can’t remember how you died. Switch bodies?”
“That’s what I did.”
Mit sipped his coffee. “This isn’t enough sugar. I’ll get more.” His chair screeched as he pushed himself up and walked to the Starbucks’ counter. He stood sideways, picked up a sugar packet with his left hand. His right elbow jutted outward.
A voice came from Marc’s earpiece. “Mit is making a call, probably to his front men.”
“I see that.”
Mit returned to their table. “Let’s go up. Talk in hotel room. Talk business.”
* * * *
With the twins at preschool, Heatherlee didn’t have to hide her sharp scissors. She held a one-foot topiary tree by its brass container and evened up the ivy that grew through the wire sheep form. She made out a card to Anna and Marcellus. She’d ordered a matching set of mugs for them and read one caption, “Ewes ain’t fat, ewes fluffy.” Hokey, she thought. Next she set out various sized bags with holiday scenes. Using silvery tissue paper, she wrapped a sheepskin jacket and black Stetson hat, tucking each into bags. She put the Angels’ tickets in a large Christmas card. She placed the gifts under the lopsided tree she’d bought at the church lot close-out sale. At least it smelled nice, and lights twinkled. She walked to the hall closet to get toys, boxes, and long rolls of wrap, her house phone rang. Clearwater had given out her number, it seemed. She didn’t care who it was as long as it wasn’t the media. A reporter by the name of Barker had phoned earlier, wanting to rehash the night of the robbery. She braced herself and said, “Hello.”
“Heatherlee, Ilia here. I’m calling from the trade show. It’s at the Century Hotel. You need to come right away.”
“Are you finding some nice stones?”
“I’m not calling about stones. Yuri Baronov is here. He’s selling opals. I’m holding a brochure with his business card. He works for an outfit from Mexico City. He’s alive, Heatherlee.”
“Yuri died, Ilia.” She’d packed his ashes carefully when they’d moved. “What makes you think he’s alive?”
“I was eavesdropping. Yuri was talking to someone at Starbucks. Bodies were switched.”
“What does he look like?”
“He looks the same, not a day older. He’s wearing a red sport coat. Drive up. See for yourself.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you at the Starbucks inside the Century Hotel.” She phoned Corky who was still working the desk at Clearwater. She explained the surfacing of Yuri, courtesy of her new best friend.
Corky said, “I’d be curious, too. The brochure with his name is spooky.”
“Thanks, Cork. The twins leave at three. I’ll put the key to the house in the poinsettia plant by the front door.” Already wearing jeans, she grabbed a navy corduroy jacket.
* * * *
Belinda O’Connell was having an excellent day. Max was at home when his wife’s friend had phoned with shocking news. Yuri Baronov was selling Mexican opals. Was he really alive? Well, it didn’t matter. Heatherlee was on her way to Los Angeles to find out. How perfect! Grandma looked so much like daughter. It wouldn’t matter if the twins didn’t recognize her. She’d just bought sodas and the cutest plastic candy canes with M&M’s inside. Max had agreed to drive her after she’d spelled out her plan for their kidnapping and ransom.
Belinda walked toward his dented pickup, opened the passenger door, and hopped in, taking notice of the wave of worry coming across his forehead. Max’s growing distrust had forced her to lace his beers. “Max, think about what you’re going to buy. I’m splitting everything with you. Heatherlee is a cunning bitch. She deserves to worry a couple of hours.”
“Nothing can happen to the kids.” Max wore more than a weary expression. His complexion was gray. He was getting sick. “Where would we take them?”
“I have keys to an apartment at the Capri.”
“I’ll drive you there, but that’s it, Belinda. I’m not feeling well.”
* * * *
Walking into the Century Hotel, Heatherlee saw that the expo had taken over the grand lobby. She headed to Starbucks, wondering again how Galen and Annie’s day was going. She glanced at her watch. It was naptime at preschool. In another hour Corky would pick them up. She longed for the day to be over so that she could have dinner with them, play with them while they took a bath, read to them, and tuck them in.
Running toward her, Ilia was calling her name. “Yuri is upstairs with some people, Russians, I think.” She spoke in a huff. “I followed them to the twentieth floor and saw them go into a suite at the end of a hall.”
“Let’s go.” She and Ilia made their way into an elevator full of strangers. She had the sense that she’d stumbled into the wrong time. She was about to meet the wrong man. She didn’t plan to do battle. For his sake, she hoped he was alive.
The elevator stopped at the twelfth floor. Ilia dragged her down the hall and knocked on the door. The man in the mug shot opened the door. “Yuri, your wife is here with a friend.” His expression was one of amusement. He stepped aside and gestured for them to enter the luxurious suite.
Heatherlee starred at Yuri, more handsome than ever. He’d dumped himself in a club chair as if he owned the place. He looked at her and then looked at the floor. She studied his face. It took several minutes to realize she was looking at Marc disguised as Yuri. His moonlighting centered on going undercover, she realized. Ilia believed he was Yuri Baronov. Heatherlee hoped the Russians did, too. Like any wife whose husband played her for a fool, she walked over to him and gave him swift kick in the shins. “Bastard,” she said and then winked.
Behind her, Mit said, “Bet that hurt.” He retrieved a bottle and poured two glasses. “Drink vodka, babushkas.”
She picked up a glass and handed the other one to Ilia. “Yuri, you’ve got some explaining to do. For now, I’ll sit over there with my friend.” Ilia plopped near the end of a long sofa. Heatherlee sat next to her and watched Ilia dump her liquor in a potted fichus tree. Since it only looked real, vodka dripped through the Styrofoam and leaked out the bottom of the pot.
Heatherlee cringed, but Mit was looking directly at her. “Yuri has Mexican woman now. I sit by you, Babe.” He put his thumbs under the lapel of her corduroy jacket and slipped it off her shoulders. “You beautiful woman.” He pulled the jacket sleeves off her arms and tossed it aside.
Wearing a V-neck shell, she crossed her arms, and then realizing she’d recoiled, uncrossed them.
Ilia looked nervous, brought out a clump of heavy thread, and began weaving.
Mit sat down next to Heatherlee, too close for comfort. “Yuri is good worker, and Svetlana loyal.”
Marc said, “Svetlana’s death caught me off guard.” Marc leaned forward. He’d just about lost his voice.
“I don’t know how she died. You and Svetlana close. Very close lovers, sorry, Babe.” Mit took a gulp of vodka and leaned back.
“Did she have any friends who visited her?”
“Svetlana met woman in prison. Got out same time. I like her American friend.” His gaze fell onto Heatherlee’s legs, clad in fitted jeans. “Older but tall like this one.”
“You’re a short man, but you like your women tall, huh, Mit?” Marc was pretty good at talking like a thug.
“I like long legs all the way to there. I like you, Babe.” His eyes roamed up her legs to her crotch.
“Maybe I should phone my pimp.” She drew herself up and retrieved her jacket. When she put it on, she buttoned it all the way up. Mit laughed. “I like feisty ones. You victim, too, Babe. We robbed your place. I tell all victims I sorry.”
A single knock, two more, and the door opened. Two men came in. One pulled a chair from a desk and sat backwards. He carried a revolver. The other sat on the window ledge and watched the street. She noted that they didn’t speak to Mit. They were his underlings.
Mit said, “We’re hitting the penthouse suite. You will help, Yuri. We go through roof like old days.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Diamonds. Drill through cement. That part done already when we had coffee.”
The brawny man near the window moved toward the closet and opened it. He pulled out an automatic rifle. “What you say, Boss?”
Mit said, “Give to Yuri.”
Marc took it when it was handed to him. “Right, my pet AK-47. Loaded and ready.”
Mit said, “You go with boys now. You back in half-hour.”
Marc said, “Fine. Heatherlee, I owe you. Whatever I make on this job, I’ll give to you. She doesn’t need to be here, Mit.”
“I like Babe here. When job done, she go. Maybe go home with me.”
Heatherlee said, “Fine, Mit. Babe will stay. Babe wants to hear all about Russia. It must be a magical place. Tell me and my friend all about it.”
It was a stressful thirty minutes hearing about Mit’s boyhood in the factory town of Borysek, a port city on the Caspian Sea. He’d sprinkled his tale with violence.
Ilia had kept her hands busy the entire time. Now it looked she’d completed a macramé bracelet. She handed it to him. “I made this for you, Mit.” She must have realized that he was a dangerous man.
“Nice,” he said and tied it on his wrist.
* * * *
The door rattled open. Mit’s boys burst in. Behind them Marc held the front of his shoulder. There was no blood, but he was clearly injured.
Heatherlee needed to act out the part of the defiant wife, she knew. Mitvolsky had to trust that she wouldn’t buckle stress. Otherwise, she and Ilia were expendable. “What stupid thing did you do, Yuri?”
The thug who’d given him the rifle said, “I do it. Not know guys in there. Yuri in my way. I knocked him with the butt of my rifle. Broke bone.”
She said, “I’ll take Yuri to the hospital. Mit, you heard what Yuri said. You can pay me directly.”
Mit said, “We go. Pay you later, Babe. I find you.” Like lightning Mit and his boys dashed for the elevator.
Marc stumbled, and she glided his collapse to the sofa. His cell rang. She brought it to his ear and flipped it open.
“Martha here. In two seconds you’re going to see a couple of medics. We’ve got Mitvolsky and his two fronts.”
Heatherlee said, “Marc, the sting worked. The FBI has them.”
Ilia asked, “Did you say a sting?”
Heatherlee launched into an explanation, figuring part of it out as she spoke. Marc was wearing a wire. A quiet fury was settling in on her heart. Marc had put himself out on a limb. He’d gotten the job done, but could have been killed.
“My, this has been exciting.” Ilia looked exhausted but rather pleased.
Two men in white shoved a gurney into the room. In another moment she and Ilia followed the medics with Marc down the hall and into an open elevator. When they reached lobby level, she and Ilia ran to keep up with the gurney’s rapid movement. The exit door opened automatically, and they rushed through to see an ambulance in front of the hotel. An attendant threw open the rear doors. The medics popped up the gurney and slid Marc inside. They would rush him to Mount Sinai.
Heatherlee and Ilia were in the midst of the bustle. Mitvolsky and his men stood cuffed near and FBI armed vehicle. Men wearing FBI jackets loaded them in.
Ilia said, “Do you see the OCTV van over there? The cameraman is coming this way.” In another moment Ilia was talking with the voice of Orange County, Jack Barker, with the camera angled toward them.
Heatherlee turned to the ambulance attendant, “May we ride with you? We’re FBI,” she lied. She wanted to make sure Marc was going to be all right. Then she’d take a taxi from the hospital to the hotel parking structure, and then drive home
“Of course. We’re heading for Cedar Sinai.” One of the male nurses helped her up and then held out his hand to Ilia.
“No thank you,” Ilia said. “I have my car here.”
Waving to her, Heatherlee eased onto a built-in metal chest, painted white with an embossed red cross. Outside the ambulance, the cameraman returned to the news van, but Barker sneaked into the ambulance. Totally dedicated to his job, she thought.
“Excuse me,” he said as he stepped past her, making adjustments to his phone. He crouched in the corner. “I’ve got the new Samsung. Video streaming with sound is compatible with a new satellite broadcasting service.”
The ambulance sped out, and the siren’s blare was deafening.
Heatherlee sat close enough to Marc to see that he was fighting to keep his eyes open. The medics were cutting away clothing on his upper body. They examined his left shoulder and placed a cold compress on it.
The cameraman was capturing every action. “Jack Barker here with OCTV. The FBI has arrested Mitvolsky, the kingpin in a jewelry theft ring. Two others have been taken into custody. In this sting operation, Marc Duarte worked undercover as the late Yuri Baronov and has been injured. Two civilians, Heatherlee Baronova and Ilia Zubiate also took part in the operation.”
Heatherlee recalled that Ilia had spoken with Barker. He turned his attention to the male nurses. “Two registered nurses are onboard our ambulance. Can you tell us about injuries sustained by Marc Duarte?”
One of them said, “His clavicle was smashed by the butt of a gun. Hit directly. Fortunately, the subclavian artery is intact.”
The other nurse examined the area. “His clavicle can be reconstructed.”
The newsman leaned toward Heatherlee. “I have my cell on speaker and would like to ask you some questions.”
“Go ahead. Ask.” She decided that she’d have more control if she spoke herself.
“This is Jack Barker speaking with Heatherlee Baronova. Rumors are circulating that your late husband, Yuri Baronov was mixed up with the Russian jewelry theft ring.”
She gathered strength. “Information points to that.”
Barker leaned in. “It’s hard to believe that you didn’t know anything about the jewelry theft ring until then. It’s obvious that you’ve benefited financially over the years.”
Marc jerked. His eyes blinked open and he grabbed Barker’s cell phone. “Get the hell away from her. There will be no more questions without her lawyer present. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I’ll let you know when it’s okay to broadcast.” Marc handed the cell back to Barker. “Heatherlee, get out your phone and call Tara.”
She dialed. “Tara, it’s me.”
“We were just about to phone you,” Tara said. “We’re both at the preschool. Corky went to pick up the twins. The teacher on duty said their grandmother picked them up. They drove off in a pickup. We know your mother has been released from Pocola. She’d managed to get Corky’s number from Clearwater. She’s asking for a ransom of a million dollars. Corky told her he had the money and would pay it.”
“Does Leviticus know about this?” she asked.
“Yes, there’s an Amber Alert out on a dark, two-door pickup.”
Marc gave Barker a signal to begin broadcasting.
She said, “If it’s the one I’ve seen around, Sergeant Ditzman knows the owner.” In case she was wrong, she didn’t want to say since Jack Barker’s phone was again on speaker.
The ambulance pulled to the emergency room entrance of Cedar Sinai. Marc said. “Change of plans, guys. Head to Landings Beach. Heatherlee’s twins have been kidnapped.”
The driver said, “Hold on folks.” He spun out with lights flashing. When they hit the 405 South, their siren blared.
Marc said, “We have to pick up a couple of tracking dogs. When you see an exit for beach cities, take it until you get to a fork in the road. Swing up the bluff. Watch for a sign. Duarte Canyon Road will take you to my ranch.”
One of the medics said, “I’d like to give you something for the pain.”
“A local’s fine. Don’t want to dull my senses.” He coughed. Besides his injury, Marc was sick.
The medic said, “You’re pretty congested. How long have you had this cough?”
“A week or so. I’ll be fine.” Marc didn’t sound fine.
The phone rang. Heatherlee flipped it open and leaned close as she held it to his ear.
“Marc, Leviticus here. Ditzman and I are talking with Max Duarte’s wife, Estelle. He’d looked so sick that she insisted on driving him to the hospital. On the way he’d mentioned to Estelle that he’d picked up a hitchhiking grandmother and her grandchildren along the PCH and had dropped them off at the Capri. That was two hours ago. Cops are combing the area, but no one has spotted them.”
“With Max, have the doctors considered poisoning?” Marc asked.
Leviticus said, “They have now. The salt poisoning is being managed with intravenous fluids and insulin to manage his severe hyperglycemia. Estelle believes Max will be normalized slowly over several days.”
Marc said, “I hope she’s not overly optimistic.”
Heatherlee’s panic didn’t allow her to focus beyond her children. “What will she do to them?” Her erratic mother, her volatile and jealous mother was capable of anything. She sagged against the inside of the ambulance. When the phone rang again, her brother’s name appeared on the panel. “Corky?”
“Heatherlee, I left a manila envelope with a million cash in the Winslow Gazebo. That was the designated place, under an old basket of garden tools.”
She knew the location of the Victorian gazebo. Once a part of the Winslow estate, a strip of property had been donated to the town. Winslow Gardens nestled against a cliff that skirted the back bay. “I know a fast way to get to it. Tara’s boathouse leads down to the shore. If it’s high tide, seals swim off the outcroppings. Seals are territorial and known for their biting.”
“That’s why the public doesn’t go there,” Corky said.
Marc took the phone and spoke to her brother. “Charles, we’re pulling into the ranch to get the dogs. I think they’ll help us find the twins.” His next phone call went along with his response. “Leviticus, we’re heading to the Capri. Send some cops down to the Winslow Gazebo. That’s the ransom drop.”
* * * *
Arriving at the ranch, the ambulance stopped in front of the side gate. Two puppies jumped against the fence.
The driver came around, opened the rear doors of the ambulance, and asked, “Where are the tracking dogs?”
“Right there.” Heatherlee jumped out, opened the gate, and gathered the puppies in her arms. She scooted into the ambulance with them.
The driver shook his head like she was crazy. “You’re kidding me.”
Barker caught their conversation on his cell.
Heatherlee was back on the medical supply chest. “These puppies will track. The twins wear dog whistles around their necks. If they blow them, their puppies will find them.”
“What makes you think the kids will blow the whistles?” Barker asked.
She said, “If little kids get nervous, they put things in their mouths.”
The driver closed the rear doors and hopped back into the driver’s seat. “Where are we going?”
Marc said, “Go back to the fork and head south on the PCH. Take the Landings Beach exit on Cliff. First, we’ll check around the stucco apartment buildings. Keep the siren off.”
Fifteen minutes later, the ambulance pulled up to the maze of buildings called Stucco City Park by the locals.
One of the nurses said to Marc, “We can get you out, but you’ll have to stay on the gurney.”
Marc said, “Fine. Let’s go quietly toward the Capri.”
She carried the puppies, and Jack Barker followed with his cell.
The entourage stopped at the bottom of the steps that led to Svetlana’s old apartment. Marc said, “Heatherlee, let the puppies go.”
When the puppies didn’t run up the stairs, Heatherlee’s heart fell to her feet. She watched Fluffy and Spotty dart across the apartment lawn and up the street. She sat on the bottom step and buried her head on her knees. Tears flowed.
“Don’t be discouraged, Honey.” Marc said, “Follow the dogs.”
“Okay.” Heatherlee jumped from the step and dashed ahead with Jack Barker at her heels. The medics pushed Marc as fast as possible
The puppies were scampering toward the Albertson’s parking lot. “There they are, Jack Barker!” Heatherlee spotted her mother pushing a grocery cart across a side street with Galen and Annie walking alongside of her.
The twins bolted for their puppies.
She heard her mother scream. “Get back here, you rich brats!” She dumped the shopping cart and bolted after them smack into the clutches of Sergeant Ditzman.
The medics gave Marc a real sedative this time. It was wonderful hearing him talk to her, professing his love. She wanted to tell him that she loved him first. Drifting, he couldn’t seem to speak. The doors to the ambulance were pulled shut. She watched it turn and whir south to the Landings Beach Medical Center.
Curbside, Heatherlee cuddled Galen and Annie in her arms and watched Sergeant Ditzman haul off her mother, Belinda O’Connell. She pinched back the tears. Should she try to understand why her mother betrayed her? This time she couldn’t find it in her heart to forgive.
“There’s Uncle Corky!” Galen screamed.
Annie said, “Hi, Uncle Chase.”
Heatherlee stood and hugged them both. Their group moved to the grassy bank. Chase said, “Let’s all lean back and look at the stars. They’re bright tonight. Then we’ll have a sleepover at our place. Our apartment is right over there.”
Heatherlee leaned back against the bank. “Look at those stars. Every one of them is winking at our family through the trees.”
The twins must have blown their whistles because the puppies pounced on them. Usually, the twins would giggle. They stayed close and leaned against her. She closed her eyes and said, “I’ll never forget this wonderful moment.”
Corky said, “Looks like the OCTV news van has arrived.”
Heavy, black electrical cords wound their way from the news van. Jack Barker said, “Hello again, Heatherlee Baronova.” The journalist’s voice carried a happy lilt, and he had her cornered. “Now that you know your mother kidnapped your children for a ransom, how do you feel?”
“I’m overjoyed to hold my children in my arms.” Heatherlee kissed the tops of the twins’ heads. Coming from behind Barker, Mae and Tara appeared and rushed to her side.
Her friends sat beside them and began to pet the puppies. In Annie’s lap, Spotty draped her paws over her knees. Fluffy gave a sharp bark of protection from under Galen’s arm, the boy he owned.
When Barker’s mouth posed for another question, Mae smiled at him. “Jack Barker, I always enjoy seeing a former student doing well. You make me proud.”
“Thank you, Miss Han. I’m speaking with Miss Mae Han, who has been teacher of the year too many times to count.” He continued. “I understand there was a ransom note.”
Tara said, “Heatherlee’s brother, Charles, delivered the payment as requested.” She turned to Corky. “Charles, I hope you recovered it.”
Barker aimed the camera at him, caught his nod on camera and then focused it on Heatherlee. “Do you expect a class action law suit against your late husband’s estate?”
Tara stepped forward. “As Heatherlee’s lawyer, we have a plan in place with the Jewelers’ Security Alliance. They’re a nonprofit organization that leads the war on jewelry crime.”
Jack asked, “Folks, this is Attorney Tara Delacruz. Could you elaborate, Ms. Delacruz?”
“Certainly. The late Yuri Baronov’s financial records have been obtained. Suspicious money will be paid to the Alliance. They’ll work with the FBI to distribute it.”
Jack asked, “How much are we talking?”
Tara said, “About a million and a half.”
Jack said, “Will that sum be paid with installments?”
Heatherlee cleared her throat. “No, it will be paid in a lump sum. I’ve sold my business, Clearwater, along with my rowhouse in order to accomplish this.”
Jack said, “There we have it, folks. Heatherlee Baronova’s legal entanglement seems to be under control.”