Family Jewels by Rita Sable Page B

a large, crinkly ball.
    He held out his palm. “Give me your key.”
    Cynthia didn’t hesitate. She held up the key in question and he took it from her. “Stand by the wall, away from the door.” She stepped back, eyes wide. He slipped his hand under his jacket and grabbed the butt of his gun. His heart had already shifted into high gear, prepared for any surprise. With a firm shove, he pushed the door open.
    Aside from being very cold inside her apartment, it was quiet. So far, so good. A large board nailed over her window blocked out all the daylight but not the frigid air. She reached over to the wall and flipped the switch.
    The lights flared on. “Damn,” she muttered behind him, rubbing her hands together. “It’s freezing in here.”
    The faint sheen of black powder used for fingerprinting coated the walls and most of her furniture. Broken glass still glittered on the carpet beneath her window.
    “Oh, this is just great,” she groaned, looking around with wide eyes. She placed her backpack and purse on the dining room table with care. “Do you think they could’ve cleaned up after themselves? What a freaking mess!”
    A quick tour of her small apartment told Trevor nobody lurked in the closets or under her bed. Satisfied, he took a more thorough look at the place. She stood by the kitchen entry and waited for him with her arms crossed.
    “Your apartment’s clear,” he confirmed. “I’m sorry you have to come home to this. Most times during an investigation, the focus is to collect evidence, not keep things tidy.”
    “Yeah, well, I pay my taxes. You’d think I could get that much from it.” She hugged herself and exhaled a ragged breath. “I’m gonna look for my cat. Make yourself comfy.” She moved off down the narrow hallway and called out, “Moses? Are you in here, baby?”
    Trevor took the opportunity to wander about while she went in search of her pet. He stepped inside a small bedroom that she’d transformed into a workroom dominated by a large desk. Pages of drawings fastened with tape adorned the wall, each one depicted a different ring with a large center stone inside. They were fanciful and unique designs, not the usual round band with prongs surrounding a gem that sold in countless jewelry stores in every shopping mall. No, these were creations for art, for museums. She’d colored some with markers to indicate the type of metal or stone. Behind her desk stood a small forge for melting gold or silver and an acetylene gas torch. Delicate hand tools hung from the walls or sat in an orderly fashion on shelves.
    After a few more minutes of calling for her cat, Cynthia returned, her shoulders drooped with sadness and what he could only guess was fatigue. Her arms were crossed again, her face pale. He wanted to gather her close and take the shock and pain away.
    “I have to call my landlord and let him know what happened, if he doesn’t know already. He’ll need to get that window fixed right away or I’ll freeze to death in here. And I should call Paul. At least leave a message for him since he’s out of the country traveling this week.”
    A ping of concern knocked on Trevor’s conscience at her mention of calling this man. Trying not to sound too jealous he managed to ask, “Who’s Paul?”
    Her surprised glance flew to his and softened for a moment. She smiled wearily. “He’s my brother. My fraternal twin. We’re very close, even though he lives in Chicago now. He’s an international finance lawyer and travels a lot out of the country. Lucky guy, he’s in Italy right now.”
    “I see.” Trevor caressed her soft, pale cheek with his knuckles. “Why don’t you collect some of your things? Clothes and any of your supplies you want to take. You’re not staying here.”
    She caught his hand from her face and held it, studying his palm, running her fingertip along his lifeline. “I, um, need to ask you something, Trevor, before we get involved any further than we are.” A