Alan gaped. “What?”
“I invited the Turkish prince, Dimitri Boratav, aka Dimitri Nazarova. The prince was top of my list when the invites went out three weeks ago. I didn’t think anything of it, only that he was on the A list. I always invite A-listers.”
“Of course. And we can hope he still thinks he’s got cover as the prince.”
“He doesn’t know me, and may believe I was with the French police in Paris. Unless the SVR has traced me.”
“A trace will only tell them about the heiress.” Alan brushed his fingers through the dark brown hair coiffed in a side part over his forehead. “Don’t worry about it. This might make things a little easier. So, Sabrina is secure, and Uther—”
“The Nordic beauty,” Becca said absently, then, more focused, asked, “Alan, do you have a file on Sabrina Morgan?”
“I’m sure I do.”
“Bring it up, will you?”
“All right.” He spun about and tapped on the computer keys. A file of names scrolled before him, while Becca continued her thoughts.
“So, just wait-staff undercover tonight?”
“About half a dozen,” he said over his shoulder
“We’ll need more.”
“What about that Brit I hear you toted back to New York?” Kristi arrived to display a delicious couture gown with a thick froth of brilliant red fox fur edging the collar. “So you’ve already picked a dance partner for the evening?”
“It’s his case, too,” Becca said. “But don’t expect us to be pulling any Fred and Ginger moves.”
“Uh-huh.” Kristi smirked and exchanged a look with her brother.
“What about you?” Becca petted the fox fur. “You going to be twirling on the dance floor?”
Kristi sighed. “Not tonight.”
“Trying to convince her to give Internet dating a go,” Alan whispered conspiratorially behind his hand. At Kristi’s scathing look, he spoke up, “As for myself, I’ve a sweetie waiting to meet me later and we’ll trip across the ballroom. It is Valentine’s Day.”
“I had forgotten,” Becca said as she pushed her fingers deep into the fur. No romance or roses for her tonight. “You find anything yet, Alan?”
“Strangely, no. There are five Sabrina Morgans in the city, but none match with the one we’ve got sitting in a safe house. This is most curious.”
“Keep looking. I’m going to change.”
“Hurry back,” Alan called. “You do want to see the pièce de résistance!”
The dressing room behind Kristi’s office was ultramodern and scented with vanilla oil. Two walls were lined with gowns, shoes and accessories such as purses, scarves and hats. Behind gossamer white drapes was a well-lit dressing room.
Becca slipped in and quickly stripped and pulled up the red gown. Stepping out to stand before a three-way floor-length mirror, she studied her image. Funny how a well-fit designer dress made one’s confidence level soar.
The froth of luscious fur nestled against her neck and veed down to her décolletage, where it caught up the slinky red silk sheath. The fur was actually detachable. One simply had to decide how much cleavage one wanted to reveal. Not too much, to begin with. This was a charity function.
Smirking at her silliness, Becca sat on a sleek white leather chaise to slip on her shoes—sexy red numbers with straps and sparkles. There were little crystals sewn along the strap that crossed over her toes. Dane would appreciate them.
Dane. Becca would miss the man of many talents, including his remarkable ability to recognize designer footwear.
Too bad he played for the wrong team. Or did he even play for a team? And now to know Dimitri was really SVR, as Dane had suggested early on…
Kristi entered the dressing room, toting her makeup case with two hands. She set it up on the vanity next to a shampoo sink with a thunk.
“You’re going to need some makeup to cover those bruises. Yikes, Becca, what have you been up to?”
Becca twisted toward the mirror to check the bruise on her elbow Kristi was looking at.
“Dodging flying cars. Fleeing drunk Russians. Swinging from an nine-story cable over a giant fishbowl.”
“Oh. Well then. To be expected.”
Laughter felt so right, and the two of them shared a couple bursts.
After a session of makeup, not too midnight-sultry, but understated glamour, Alan invited them back out to his workshop. He fastened the chandelier earrings to Becca’s ears and explained how they worked. They were similar to the pair she’d worn in Paris, but without a camera.
“Let me guess,” Becca said, “the earrings have microphones in them?”
“Actually, these nifty pretties are your audio output, through which you’ll hear me. The Waldorf ballroom is a WiFi hot spot. We just checked it out before you arrived. You can’t go anywhere without standing in a hot zone. We’ll pick up your transmissions wherever you go. Even the ladies’ room.”
“Comforting. I think. So where’s the microphone?”
Alan ran the back of his hand over the fur at her collar and waggled his eyebrows flirtatiously. “Microfilaments embedded within the fur. It’s a stunning achievement, if I don’t say so myself.”
“Took him days,” Kristi said over his shoulder. “And despite the fact that I’m against fur, I had to do the happy dance with him when it was complete.”
“The tiny filaments within the fur are so thin you won’t be able to detect them. Each contains a nanosize microtransmitter at the tip,” Alan continued enthusiastically. “Kind of like those prelit Christmas trees, but without the gaudy flashing colors.”
“Cool.” Becca ran her palms over the fur. “Will it crackle with interference if I do this?”
“Shouldn’t, but don’t get nervous and start rubbing,” Alan cautioned. “It’s got a close range, less than a foot, so only your voice will be transmitted. Unless someone whispers in your ear or invades your personal space.”
“Hmm,” Kristi purred, “like a certain blond Brit?”
Becca rolled her eyes. “So what’s the MO on Sabrina Morgan?”
“Zilch.”
“What? Don’t you find that strange?”
“Very strange. I’ve contacted Zeek who’s crosschecking her database. I’m sure it’s a glitch, but I will leave no stone unturned.”
“Speaking of stones… Where’s the star of the show?”
Alan clapped his hands together and rubbed them gleefully. “It’s a beauty!”
After a search of the Park Avenue apartment, Dane came up with nothing beyond that the woman liked her silky La Perla underwear and fruity smelling creams.
But he didn’t believe she would tote the diamonds around the city with her. One option was turning them in to evidence; an agent could yet be on the way to retrieve them. The other…
He pushed open the pocket doors to her bedroom closet and kicked aside a scattering of shoes that would likely pay his rent for an entire year.
“But pretty,” he muttered as he eyed them. “On her gams, nothing but the best.”
The smile that creased his face caught him so off guard, Dane knelt there for a moment just taking it all in. He pressed a palm over his heart. The woman had imprinted herself onto his psyche. And erasing her wasn’t an option.
But he wasn’t about to let a sexy laugh and killer gams throw him off his game.
As suspected, behind the shoes stood a small black trauma safe, utilized for storing jewels and documents by the wealthy set.
With a crack of his fingers and a loosening shake of his hand, Dane set to work.
“You said you had the diamond.”
“It was…misplaced. I will get it back.”
“Veld!”
“Dimitri, do not raise your voice to me. I’ve been playing nice with the CIA the past eighteen hours. I had no choice but to let it go. Did you get the scientist?”
“Da, but he is useless without the information on the diamond. Claims it would take months to recreate the formula without his notes.”
“We will have the diamond before tonight is over. You stay hidden until I bring it to you. Did you go online and read the New York gossip columns? They are going to attempt to draw you out by using the diamond as bait. Foolish Americans.”
“Bring it to me, then I shall reward you.”