Thunderbolt over Texas

Her voice went up an octave. “Cole, you’re not reacting.”

He lifted it, holding the glittering gold to the light, speaking to himself. “Who would fake it?”

“We need more information,” said Sydney, squinting at the jewel. “I have a friend who’s a conservator. She could pinpoint the date more closely, give us somewhere to start.”

Ah. Okay. There it was. He could see the scam now.

“You have a friend,” he mocked, palming the brooch.

“Gwen Parks. She’s worked at the Laurent for-”

“And your friend is going to come out and value my brooch?”

Sydney’s eyes narrowed. “She’s not going to value it-”

Cole let out a chopped laugh. “Let me guess.” He took a pace forward. “It’ll be worthless. You’ll offer to take it off my hands. And the next thing I know it’ll be on display in New York.”

Sydney’s expression lengthened in apparent horror. “Cole, I’d never-”

“Never what?” He stepped closer to her again. “Never try anything and everything to get your hands on the Thunderbolt? Never lie? Never cheat? Never marry me or sleep with me?”

She clenched her hands into small fists. “I really don’t give a damn what you think of me right now. But the brooch is a fake. Get my expert. Get your own expert. Take it to the Louvre. But if you don’t find out when it was faked, you’re never going to find out why it was faked, you are never, ever going to have a hope in hell of getting the real one back.”

Cole stared at her in silence. Was she serious? She looked serious.

He opened his palm and inspected the brooch.

“Think about it, Cole,” she stressed. “Run it through your suspicious, little mind. How could I possibly get away with it? How, in the world, could I think for one minute that I could get away pretending the Thunderbolt was a fake?”

Cole closed his hand again, letting the points of the brooch dig into his palm.

She was right. But who would fake it? Who could fake it? And who could do it so well that nobody had ever noticed?

There were no pictures of it in circulation. It would have to be somebody who had access to it for more than-

A light bulb exploded in his brain. He stomped his way to the office door, flinging it open.

“Joseph!” he bellowed.

The lawyer appeared almost immediately, bustling his way down the corridor. “Mr. Erickson?” His voice betrayed his obvious concern.

Cole stepped back into the office and closed the door for privacy. “We need an appraiser. Now.”

“A conservator,” said Sydney.

Both men turned to look at her.

“A museum conservator,” she repeated. “One who specializes in gems and jewelry.”

“Is something wrong?” asked Joseph Neely.

“The brooch has been faked,” said Cole, watching the man closely. Somebody at the firm could easily be the culprit.

Neely was silent for a long moment. He didn’t look guilty, but his lawyer brain was obviously clicking through the implications. When he finally spoke, his voice was a rasp. “I don’t see how it could have-”

“We need to find out when and how and why,” said Cole, accepting that Sydney was telling the truth.

This was a catastrophe.

His chest tightened at the thought of his grandmother’s distress. He had to help her. He had to protect her.

No matter what happened, she could never find out.

In Neely’s office eight hours later, the words on the newly penned conservator’s report blurred in front of Cole’s tired eyes. Joseph had offered the use of the facilities as long as they needed them. It was probably half generosity, half concern for the firm’s liability. Cole didn’t particularly care which one. He just wanted some answers.

After gauging the level of expertise at the local museum, he’d given in and flown Sydney’s colleague Gwen Parks down from New York. The two women had talked technical for a couple of hours, quickly losing Cole. But it didn’t matter. The only thing important to him was the final verdict.

Gwen had just confirmed that the brooch was indeed a reproduction, and that it was made sometime between nineteen fifty and nineteen seventy-five. It didn’t tell them who, and it didn’t tell them why, but it did tell them that they had at least a small hope of finding the real one.

“I can put out some feelers,” Gwen was saying to Sydney while Joseph put the brooch back in its box to be returned to the safe.

Cole dimly wondered why he bothered. Sure the jewels themselves were valuable, but they were also replaceable. A fifty-year-old ruby, emerald and diamond reproduction was hardly something to lock up in titanium.

He clenched his fist, crumpling it around the report.

“If anybody’s ever sold it, or offered it for sale…” Gwen continued, leaning against Joseph’s wide mahogany desk “…somebody out there will know something.”

Gwen might be dressed in blue jeans and a Mets T-shirt, but the woman had convinced Cole she knew her stuff.

“You got a way into the black market?” asked Sydney.

Gwen nodded her pixie blond head.

Both women were silent for a moment. Sydney didn’t ask any questions, and Gwen didn’t offer an explanation.

Sydney turned her attention to Cole. “I think we should go talk to Grandma now.”

Cole jerked his head up. “What?”

“Gwen’s going to try her contacts, but we need to get information from Grandma. The sooner, the better.”

“We’re not telling Grandma.” That point was nonnegotiable.

Sydney brought her hands to her hips. “Of course we are.”

Cole dropped the report on the desk. “Do you have any idea how much this will upset her?”

Sydney took a couple of paces toward him, gesturing with an open palm. “Of course it’ll upset her. But never finding the Thunderbolt will upset her a whole lot more.”

Cole clenched his jaw. “We’ll find it without her.”

“She had it during the years it was copied. She’s our best lead.”

“No.”

“Cole. Be reasonable. She can tell us where it was, during what time periods.”

“The lawyer’s records will tell us that.”

“All they can tell us is when it was or was not in their safe. Grandma can tell us if it was ever missing, if anybody borrowed it-”

“My answer is no.”

Sydney moved directly in front of him and crossed her arms over her chest. “What makes this your decision?”

A pulse leaped to life in Cole’s temple. He straightened to his full height, matching her posture. “You will not go behind my back and talk to my grandmother.”

“The police might. A crime has been committed here, Cole.”

“We’ll take care of it privately.” There was no way in the world Cole was losing control of the investigation, having it dumped into the lap of some overworked police precinct.

“Cole,” came Gwen’s voice.

Sydney and Cole both turned. Gwen straightened away from the desk, tucking her blond hair behind her ears and moving her small frame into the thick of the conversation.

“Sydney’s right. No matter who you talk to, who you ask for help, public, private or otherwise, the first thing they’re going to want to do is talk to your grandma. And if they don’t, you should fire them for incompetence.”

Sydney spoke up again. “She’s our only lead.”