Becca followed the ponytailed man to the Flore salon, where he produced a signature card to identify himself to the cashier. She couldn’t get close enough to snap a picture.
Bank account information was entered into a laptop computer and within five minutes the transaction was complete. He refused the proffered security escort—not the burly Polynesian, thank goodness—and insisting he hadn’t the time for delivery, took the stone immediately into possession. He slipped the diamond into his suit pocket.
“Idiot,” Becca muttered. But most definitely their man.
Had they expected the stone to leave immediately, the CIA would surely have posted more agents. This was not a good surprise. “He’s on the move with the diamond,” Becca communicated to Zeek.
Walking out into the hallway that led to the salon foyer, the winner headed toward the stairway descending to the Place des Pyramides outside.
His path was suddenly blocked by the blonde. He stepped back, spreading his arms in question as Pink moved in closer. She was coming on strong to him and soon maneuvered them both against the wall by the stairs.
Did they know one another? The man seemed to flinch when she touched his arm.
“We’ve got interference,” Becca communicated to Zeek. “The blonde. She’s miffed about not winning. I’ll wait it out. Any details on her yet?”
“Nope. But I’ll search the international databases. I should get some help if I drop Agent Dane’s name. Don’t let the diamond out of your sight.”
Feeling the brush of a hand across her back, Becca did not turn. “Dane, you toddling up behind?”
“It’s your lack of underwear, love. Compels me like a magnet. You got the mark?”
She nodded across the foyer. “He’s talking to the woman who lost the bid. Pink. She’s working her charms on him. I suppose if she couldn’t convince her sugar daddy to buy a treat for her she’ll just come on to the next idiot.”
“If she thinks she can flirt that stone off him…” Dane whistled under his breath. He was close enough to Becca that their shoulders touched.
She whispered, “Maybe she’s making him promises that can only be kept in the dark?”
Dane’s fingers slid across her back; it seemed an absentminded move as he kept an eye to the mark. “Something occurred to me while I was watching the rich suck back their champagne and the old buzzards fondle their young trophies.”
“That you’re one trophy short?”
“You’re getting better, love. Huzzah to you.” He leaned in, resting one palm on the white-painted chair rail behind her and pointing to her earring with his other hand. Receiving a confirming nod that yes, their conversation was being recorded, he spoke in a low tone. “What puzzles me is why the thief would pay so much for what doesn’t seem to be the ultimate prize.”
“I had the same thought.”
“Thinking alike? We’ve been spending far too much time together. Maybe the thief has the same idea as us. He or she isn’t going to pay for any information that can simply be taken. He is a thief, after all.”
“Which means it’s likely the winner is not our target?”
“And the real target is currently seducing the winner?”
Dane leaned in close and looked down her body. His eyes touched her more profoundly than a finger could. “You think you can run in those heels?”
“Now you want my help?”
“I don’t think it’s possible. What are they, three inches high? Manolo Blahniks, black patent leather. Sexy, but not track shoes.”
“They’re four inches, with a reinforced steel heel. And I can outrun anyone who tries to take them from me.”
From the corner of her eye Becca noticed a change to the scenario. The man who had won the bid suddenly collapsed. His palms slid down the yellow wall. He sprawled on the floor as the blonde turned and scampered toward the stairway.
“She’s got it,” Dane said as he started across the foyer.
“What’s going on?” Zeek asked calmly. “Becca?”
Becca rushed after Dane. “Wrong target. The diamond has changed hands.”