Chapter 30

 

Freshly showered and wearing a crisp linen suit he’d picked up a half hour earlier in the hotel gift shop, Frank took the elevators at the west end of the building. He knew the credit card he’d used to secure his room, one of the fanciest penthouse suites, would soon come into question and he didn’t want to pass directly by the front desk where someone might have an eye out for him. Although he could use another one, the game became chancier as time went on.

Two thousand in cash, the diamond necklace and a passport in the name of Franklin Woodrow lay securely tucked next to his belly in the money belt. Things could get dicey in a hurry and he was prepared to hop into a taxi and be on the next plane or boat if necessary.

But the evening was young—no sense in borrowing trouble that didn’t yet exist. He didn’t even know the names of his marks, but he was pretty confident about earning that lobster dinner. The elevator halted and Frankie put on his most carefree smile as the door opened.

The bar at the end of the corridor opened onto the beach, with those grassy roof overhangs and some kind of twisty tropical wood pillars supporting them. Lava rocks cemented together formed a low wall and flowering bushes added spots of brilliant color. A good choice to put his quarry in a nice, relaxed mood.

The place was still nearly empty, Frank noticed as he scanned the tables. Perfect. He ordered at the bar, a glass of water with a sprig of mint. He took one of the tables beside the lava wall, stretched out his legs and leaned back as if he hadn’t a care in the world, and stared out toward the sea. Less than ten minutes later, he sensed motion nearby.

“Mr. Coddington?” His mark, right on schedule.

Frank stood quickly, extending his hand, remembering at the last second that he was English. He put on the accent just in time.

“Right-o. I’m afraid I was terribly remiss in not getting your name, sir?”

“Tom Anderson.” The man shook Frank’s hand. “And my wife, Danielle.”

She wore a strapless dress in a bright tropical print and Frank had to work to keep his eyes above her shoulders. The tanned skin held great appeal but the necklace of heavy gold strands was almost equally enticing. He took her hand and noticed she wore an exquisite sapphire ring, in addition to the monster diamond engagement ring. He wondered if she remembered to lock their in-room safe each time she went out. He stopped the speculation—back to current business.

“My pleasure,” he said truthfully. “Join me? We’ll get those drinks on order.”

Frank signaled a young black man with a tray and the Andersons placed their orders. Before he’d quite settled in his chair, his cell phone rang inside his jacket pocket, startling him. He plucked it out and looked at the readout. A Phoenix area code. Shit! He’d meant to toss this phone days ago. He must have left his real one back in the room. He declined the call and put the phone away.

“Problems?” Anderson asked.

“Business. The New York office,” Frank said.

Anderson was nodding. “I know. Employees. You tell them you’re on vacation, not to disturb you …”

“Exactly.” He shook his head dolefully. “What line are you in?”

“Auto parts. You?”

“Jewelry. In fact, I couldn’t help but admire your wife’s rings.” He lowered his voice, even though he hadn’t been speaking loudly at all. “I’d guess that little beauty runs upwards of five carats.”

Danielle held her hand at arm’s length, admiring her own stone.

“Four-point-eight,” Tom Anderson said.

“May I?” Frank reached toward Danielle. She placed her hand in his.

“Oh my. A princess cut, and even without my loupe I’d say it’s nearly flawless. You are definitely a couple with very discriminating taste.”

Their drinks arrived just then and Frank offered a toast. “To excellent taste, and to an entire holiday without a call from the office.”

He sipped his water, as if it were vodka, letting the couple down their fruity drinks quickly, ordering them another round. The Market would be the con, he decided after thirty minutes’ conversation. Anderson had already boasted of his gains in stocks last year and bragged how he did it all himself. No sense in paying a broker, he said.

“Absolutely,” said Frank in his posher-by-the-moment accent. “I place all my own trades. I do, however, follow the tips I get from my one friend. Was with the London Exchange for a number of years, you know, but he’s broken away from the establishment now. Does a bit of, shall we say, his own research.”

He waggled his eyebrows, letting Tom know he was referring to things slightly outside the strict rules of the law.

“You’ve done well with this advisor?” Tom asked.

“His advice bought me the jet I flew in on. My girlfriend, back in London, loves it. She took the plane when I located a forty-carat Burmese ruby awhile back and she wanted to go pick it up herself.”

Danielle’s lovely blue eyes went a little wider. A private plane and a forty-carat ruby! She looked toward her husband. He lifted his chin and gave her a smug smile.

“Tell me more about this guy you invest with, Mr. Coddington.”

“Oh, enough about business for now,” Frank said, carefully timing his moves. You didn’t dare reel them in too quickly. “Let me treat you to a lobster dinner. I know this wonderful place just up the beach.”

This guy was the type; the ones who felt they knew a bit about investing were ripe for Frank’s insider tips. And Tom was clearly a man who thought he was smarter than he really was. This could shape up nicely.