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The grainy picture taunted. Even in the poor quality image, the woman was gorgeous and confident looking, even a little smug. That almost pissed him off more.
Sitting at his desk, Nash could only stare at it and fume. This was the last sighting of Blue before she disappeared AGAIN with evidence—the Heart of Eternity diamond—in her hot little hands.
Thoughts of her and the diamond—one which should be downstairs in the evidence locker—overtook his mind and focus. A half-empty cup of coffee sat at his elbow, untouched. Stacks of things littered his desk—mostly stacks of files from the cases he should work on. His dark hair stuck up at odd angles, he discarded his holster into a heap on the floor, and exhaustion bruised his hazel eyes.
Obsession. It evolved into an obsession, the constant need to finish this case. Ever since looking at the evidence and seeing the diamond missing from the list, and they—his partner and he—had raced across the city to her apartment. He stood staring, afterward, at a brilliant, glittering jewel, not caring that finding the item was considered a success to recover stolen property. This one wasn't the right piece in Nash's opinion. He wanted both. He expected a closed case, which meant turning over both items.
Nash spent weeks trying to track her down. They all had. The techs tried to use their magic fingers and electronic skills to scan facial recognition software, but not one image matched. His partner had followed every lead, most of them rumors. Nash took the time to comb through the reports over and over again and was no closer to figuring out her whereabouts.
Then they got a tip.
"Look, I got some information," the caller said. "But I don't want anyone to know I told you. This better not come back to me. I'm staying out of whatever is going on. You can't use me as a witness."
A guard stationed at the jail became suspicious when a woman had visited a convict. Not just any old convict either, but freaking Cruz, Nash thought. Banned, visitors couldn't see Cruz while he was waiting to be transferred to the federal prison. Nash wheedled with his boss in order to get them to give the orders, using their added weight to make sure it didn't happen.
Things didn't add up for the man, looking at the orders and the notes on the subject. The warden sending him to lunch early—the first red flag. He noticed someone tampered with his station and the surveillance video didn't have any sound when he returned. He told Nash the woman stood with her back toward the camera. No one had seen or heard anything that was going on around the holding cell.
But of course, Blue made an impression—not only for the strange meeting, but the way she looked as well. A high priced hooker, were the guard's words.
"Why would someone looking like sex, painted on dress and mile high heels, visit someone if they weren't here for a conjugal visit?" the guard asked Nash over the phone.
After round-the-clock threatening and phone calls to higher authorities—Nash's browbeating worked, and they granted him access to the videotapes. The techs in the lab had printed off a still from the video and delivered the picture to him. None of those images were any help. It only confirmed what he had thought.
Cruz refused to help. He sat opposite of Nash and Cam, wheezing and attempting to belly laugh while sucking in oxygen through his nose tube. Nash took a few minutes of ribbing—the told you so—before he stormed from the prison.
Not ready to give up yet, Nash still remained vigilant, watching the news and surfing the internet. They spread bolos far and wide, to police departments around the world. Notifications would come in at any hint of the thief's signature—of Blue's telltale calling card, the sprig of bluebells.
That was something else he kept from his partner. The small stem of flowers she left in his office while he sat alone inside the building and the ones found in Cruz's hotel room.
Blue used them to rub what she accomplished in his face. Realization slammed into him as soon as he had seen the photos of the pale blue flowers laying in the vent—where Cruz or Adams hid the diamond.
Now everyone understood they needed to be on the lookout for high end thefts with flowers in odd places. So far, it had been frustrating and unproductive, but he still hoped to arrive at the next crime scene fast enough to catch her. She hid for five years before showing up here to torment him. It could be just as long before she resurfaced again.
Nash looked up as Cam walked into the room. Cam sighed and dropped into the chair across from his desk. "You shouldn't keep punishing yourself. No one believed she would simply take off with the diamond." When Nash didn't answer him, he tried again. "Maybe there's another way to find her."
Nash sat immobile, but his eyes flickered up towards Cam's. "You should go now before I shoot you."
Cam rolled his eyes, sitting forward to bring Nash's attention toward him fully. "I get it. You're embarrassed. You are the big, bad agent who should have stopped the little thief lady," he said, being dramatic, which drew a snort from his boss. "All these girly feelings aren't helping."
Nash slumped against his desk, rubbing his hands over his face. Then he flipped the younger agent off. "Resorted to being an ass."
"Let's take a break from the files and come back fresh," Cam coaxed.
The first beer to cap off a shitty ending came in a crowded, dingy cop bar. Located farthest from the museum, they went clear to the other side of town to avoid the shit show about to begin. From any hint or reminder of the case or the people who were a part of it. The place was overflowing with other officers and agents, and they all minded their own business or were busy watching the game. That was the appeal.
No one wanted to talk about it.
"Don't look now." Tyler swirled a fry in the puddle of ketchup on his plate. "They are about to show it on TV."
Nash could see the signs of a revolt brewing as the reporters interrupted the game for a breaking news alert. They, however, knew what was coming. Before leaving headquarters, McCann gave them the heads-up, interrupting the calls made to invite the whole lab to go along.
They had purposely hidden in the booth the farthest away, just for that reason. He appeared on the screen, the golden boy of the museum, as glittery as the display he stood before. "The museum is pleased," he whipped off the velvet cover, "to announce that investigators recovered the long-lost necklace, The Comtesse de Vendome." He allowed a moment for lights to flash and for reporters to take their pictures. "It has been missing for five years, and now it will have a permanent home here at the Smithsonian museum."
Journalists shoved microphones into his face. Rapid-fire questions came hurtling out of the sizeable crowd. Gracious as ever, McCann gave them an indulgent smile and asked for one at a time.
"How much is the necklace believed to be worth in today's market?" one yelled from outside of the pack. "Twenty-four million dollars," he answered.
Nash ignored the intake of breath and wide-eyed looks he got from his team. He didn't take his eyes off the TV screen. Took a drink, so he wouldn't need to answer their unspoken questions.
"What about the Heart of Eternity? Was that recovered as well?" another hollered.
"We have not found the Heart. This office and the FBI are still processing information and evidence about the case." McCann hedged for now.
Nash turned around, tuning out the rest of the press release. He also tried to ignore the continued stares the others directed at him. He heaved a sigh before he snapped, "What?"
"Do you think you'll see her again, or the diamond?" Burgess asked.
Nash wanted to say no. That was the knee-jerk reaction. The diamond, he was positive he wouldn't. His wayward wife....was a whole different story.