THROUGHOUT HIS LIFE, Jake had been constantly amazed at the people his mother knew and had forgotten to tell him about. It’s part of the job, she’d say. I meet everyone, darling.
But how the hell did she know this one? He didn’t even know the girl’s name, he realized.
“Your son?” A smile played on those full, glossy lips of hers. “He has forgotten his manners,” the younger woman replied, looking haughty.
His mother patted her arm conspiratorially. “Jake never learned the savoir faire necessary for Hollywood. He’s in insurance. Like my late husband.”
“I know a lot more than you give me credit for, Mom,” Jake said, offering his arm to his mother, but never taking his eyes from the ravishing creature on her other arm. Annoying is what she was, with that short, sassy brown hair. With the most incredible earrings that dusted her exquisite neck. Dazzling stones suspended from a long platinum thread. And that necklace…
He peered closer. Not sapphire, not tanzanite. They had remarkable depth and fiery brilliance. If he were to guess, those stones looked like rare blue diamonds. If they were—and if they were genuine—they were probably bought for her by some unsuspecting billionaire geek. He had to know.
Jake nodded toward her necklace nestled in the hollow of her neck. “A blue diamond?”
Her glossy lips parted in surprise. She slid her fingers over it, dipping her head slightly.
Before he received a reply, his mother slipped her hand onto his crooked arm and tilted her head toward the younger woman. “He’s my date.”
Jake noticed a discreet flower tattoo just behind the young woman’s ear. And a nose-stud. His curiosity piqued, he wondered about her. However, answers would have to wait.
“Afraid I have to do some work tonight, Mom.” Jake extended his hand, waiting. “It was…interesting meeting you. And you are?”
Ignoring him, she merely pressed those lips together. The ones that tilted at the edges in a perpetual pout.
His mother said, “What is your name, darling? I’d love to see more of your work.”
“Elena Eaton.” She kissed his mother on the cheek and thanked her before gliding away like a star.
“Isn’t she lovely?” His mother watched her. “And she takes direction well. She could act.” She raised an eyebrow at him.
“The answer is still no.”
“It’s a shame to let those good looks go to waste.” His mother sniffed, but after a moment, she brightened. “Now where are those handsome policemen? I want to tell them everything I saw.”
“Mom,” Jake began in warning. “A serious crime was committed this evening. You will not waste officers’ time flirting with them.”
“The heck I won’t,” she replied with a petulant look. “My first husband was a police officer. I adore men on the force,” she added with a wink.
“Look out number seven,” Jake muttered, still watching Elena strut through the room. The black velvet dress she wore hugged her in all the right places. She was curvier than most of the fashionably thin women in the room. He liked what his mother called the full-figured 1950s look, though she wasn’t plump, just nicely curved. But that was where the comparison stopped. Elena’s blue eyes blazed with every word she spoke in that put-on Australian accent she was trying to pull off.
He should know. His mother could mimic a perfect Australian accent, thanks to intense voice coaching she’d had for one of her films. She’d received an Academy Award for best actress for that role about settling the Australian outback.
“This will be all over the press by tomorrow,” his mother said, lowering her voice to him. “I’m so glad we were here when it happened. Such drama.” She waved to two women. “Look, there’s Aimee Winterhaus and Lele Rose, the designer who made me look gorgeous in The Last Train from Paris.” She blew a kiss to the pair.
“That’s not hard, Mom.” Jake kissed her cheek. Being the son of Barbara Charles—who’d been born Batse Chonachowicz in Poland—had been like growing up with Auntie Mame.
He knew his mother worried about aging in an industry that valued youth. Acting—conveying a story, whether real or fictional—was what she had been born to do. She’d often told him the story of how her parents had come to the U.S. and she’d had her first commercial at the age of five, her first movie at six, and her first theatre role at seven. By the age of ten, she was a seasoned pro working with all the great actors and stealing scenes and hearts around the world. She simply loved acting and bringing stories to life.
He was her only child. Adopted, that is. Her third husband, Jakub Greyson II had insisted that they adopt the child her sister had borne out of wedlock. She’d died before Jake was even old enough to remember her, so Barbara Charles was the only mother he’d ever known.
His mother clucked her tongue. “I’m just sorry that poor girl had to suffer such a loss at the hands of thieves.”
“Who?”
“Elena.”
Jake tugged his earlobe, confused. What had Elena told her? “She wasn’t robbed. Didn’t you see the rocks on her ears?”
His mother gave him a stern look. “She designed the jewelry parure that Penelope Plessen was wearing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Parure. A suite of jewels. A set.” She waved a graceful hand across her ears and red silk enrobed décolletage, as she called her ample cleavage. “Suitable for queens and empresses.”
“I know what that is.” His mother sometimes drove him crazy with the stories she constantly told. He shook his head. “She’s a jewelry designer?”
“Oy vey, you’re not listening.”
“Her work—” He smacked his forehead. “Aw hell…Penelope Plessen. I didn’t know.”
“You should listen to your mother.” She patted her blond hair and slid a conspiratorial gaze in his direction. “I think I need to consider another jewelry acquisition, wouldn’t you say?”
“You have plenty, Mom.”
She blew out an exasperated sigh. “How else am I going to get you two together? Did you see her figure? Grandchildren, for sure. Not like your skinny Jenny in Boston.”
Jake stopped and stepped in front of his mother. “Mom. No. Not interested.” A gorgeous woman like Elena was nothing but trouble. He should know.
She poked out her bottom lip in her famous pout. “Not even a little?”
“Not my type.”
“As if the last one was.”
“Jenny was a well-respected professor.”
“And I admire that. I do. Your grandfather was a professor. It’s just that she’s not for you. And you should get over her.”
“I have, Mom.” Or had he? They’d dated for a couple of years before she’d moved to Boston to teach. She wasn’t ready to commit, she’d told him, and he wasn’t ready to follow her.
His specialty was investigation, and he’d made a name for himself as an investigator around the world. He told himself his hours weren’t conducive to maintaining a relationship with Jenny or taking it to the next level.
Their relationship hadn’t so much exploded as it had fizzled over the mountains and plains and oceans that separated them. Calls and texts became less frequent and more superficial, as if they both had something else on their mind, but called at the appointed hour because that’s what they had agreed upon. Finally, Jenny called it quits, but the relationship had already withered and died.
A well-known producer angled his way toward them, catching his mother’s eye. “Darling, we both have work to do,” his mother said, patting his arm in a signal. “But tell the police to wait for me.”
“I’m sure they will.” Jake kissed her on the cheek before turning his attention back to the VIP room where the heist had occurred. Police officers had arrived, secured the building, and set about questioning guests, most of whom hadn’t seen anything. He leaned against the VIP doorway, watching and listening.
His mother had lived in London when Jake was a teenager, and after completing public school, he’d decided to try something different. He’d become enamored with the Flying Squad, elite detectives who’d solved England’s most high profile thefts, from the Great Train Robbery to Brinks-Mat, Millennium Dome, and Graff—all legendary heists. He’d apprenticed with the Flying Squad while he was studying law enforcement and a couple of years ago had worked to help catch the Over-the-Hill Gang in the Hatton Garden heist.
There’d been chatter in the network of villains and thieves centered on Los Angeles, but nothing had been pinned down. Old-fashioned sleuthing was often inadequate, while his work with digital investigating and surveillance was increasingly important.
Waiting for the police to question guests, Jake observed the celebrities and industry insiders. He’d look first to an inside job, to someone who knew the timing and lay-outs of the after-parties and of this one in particular. Fortunately, there would be ample photos and video of the evening to sift through.
He peered through the crowd, watching Penelope and Elena. Penelope might not have owned the jewelry she was wearing, but she was probably insured. As was standard procedure in the jewelry industry, she had undoubtedly signed documents rendering her liable if anything happened to the jewelry.
Most of the celebrities in attendance had either borrowed jewelry from major jewelers, or they were wearing their own. Bulgari, Tiffany, Cartier, and others had lent jewels to the stars in the room. But many stars owned their baubles. Elizabeth Taylor had been known for her collection, as was Ellen Barkin, who’d lately sold pieces from her collection. Today, it was Beyoncé, Kim Kardashian, and Mariah Carey who flaunted their expensive jewelry at parties like these.
Jake’s gaze drifted to Elena again. Something didn’t add up. Where had she acquired such costly stones? Who had insured her? And why had Elena lent such expensive pieces to Penelope?
He’d seen her talking to a server earlier. Who was the grungy guy? Jake pulled his phone from his pocket and zeroed in on him, snapping a quick photo. He swung around and caught an image of Elena, who was talking to Penelope, focusing on the nape of her neck beneath her short, sassy haircut. Click. She turned slightly. Click. Those expressive eyes. Click. He shoved his phone back into his pocket, feeling a little creepy for doing that.
Questions naturally ran through his mind. Either Penelope or Elena would undoubtedly make a claim, and he’d probably be called in to investigate this or other claims since he was on the scene. He lived to solve cases like this.
His adrenaline flowing, Jake scoured the restaurant, noting anyone who looked or acted suspiciously. Annoying him even more was the twinge in his chest he felt every time he looked at Elena.