Rose Quartz by Sandra Cox Page A

sugar, and I’ll kill you myself.”
    Johnny slipped the gun back into his shoulder holster. “As a gesture of good faith. Now will you invite me in? We need to talk.”
    Bella gestured toward the living room.
    Johnny looked pointedly at the cat.
    Bella bent and sat her pan on the floor. “Puss–Puss.” She patted her chest then held out her arms. With a graceful leap, the cat landed in them. “Gentlemen, shall we?” She led the way into the living room.
    Johnny followed her in while Hank strode to the kitchen. He came back with the derringer tucked into the waistband of his jeans.
    Johnny looked at the gun and sneered.
    Correctly interpreting Johnny’s expression, Hank said, “From this range you’ll be just as dead as if I’d used your Glock.”
    “That’s going on the assumption you get to it faster than I get to my Glock.”
    Bella rolled her eyes. “Y’all, does this look like the OK Corral?”
    Johnny gave Hank one last hard stare then sat down in one of the overstuffed apricot and latte tweed chairs. “Very nice. Very classy.”
    He looked around and studied a large painting over the marble mantel of the fireplace. A garden scene set at the height of summer. Crimson poppies vied with blue larkspur. Tall stalks of hollyhock bloomed vigorously in the back and creamy-tinted foxglove was interspersed throughout. A Monarch butterfly flitted by a large white cat. Johnny frowned in concentration. “It’s similar but it’s not your work.”
    “Very perceptive of you,” Bella said.
    “Me, I can be perceptive.” He grimaced in what Bella was sure he felt passed for a smile.
    “And the cat?”
    Bella shook her head, “Not mine. The artist is Sarah Miles. The cat is named Monet and he belongs to Sarah.”
    His gaze slid to Puss–Puss, who stared at him unblinkingly from his mistress’s lap.
    “Artists and their cats.” Once again Johnny’s gaze drifted around the room. This time stopping on a small, ten-by-fourteen head portrait of Bella, her expression pensive as she gazed into the distance. It was framed in a wide muted gold frame. “Breathtaking,” Johnny breathed. “Who is the artist?”
    Bella’s gaze softened as she looked at the portrait, her lips tipped up at the ends. “Sarah’s niece Meghan. She is an up-and-coming portrait painter. Mark my words, in the future you will hear her name mentioned often.”
    Apparently tired of the chitchat Hank cut in. “Why are you here, Morelly?”
    Johnny turned to Hank, his features hardened. “You put four of my best men in the hospital. I owe you for that.”
    Hank’s stony gray eyes narrowed.
    They were like gazing into a stormy sea, Bella thought then brought her mind back to the matter at hand.
    “Any time, any place.” Hank’s voice was dangerously quiet.
    Bella’d had enough. “Stop it. Just stop it.” She could feel fire shooting behind her eyes. Taking a deep, calming breath, she straightened and looked directly at Johnny Morelly. “Mr. Morelly, I must admit, what little respect I had for you disintegrated when you tried to kill me.”
    Hank made a low growling sound in his throat and leaned forward.
    Sensing the tension, Puss–Puss growled too.
    Bella turned and looked at Hank. “Sugar, shut up.” She looked at Morelly. “What did you want to talk to us about?”
    He nodded, his expression respectful. “We are at a stalemate. I have no desire to kill you but a favor was called in.” He shrugged. “I could not refuse.”
    Hank leaned forward, his expression hard, his body rigid, “By whom?”
    “An associate.”
    “Is that associate’s name Victor Price?” Hank asked.
    “No. But Price’s name was mentioned.” He swiveled toward Bella and looked at her amulet. “He wants a piece of your jewelry. Why, I wonder?”
    Absently, Bella touched the amulet, making her beautiful complexion glow and Johnny’s eyes cross. Her breasts rose and fell as she shrugged. “I don’t pretend to know what goes on in the mind of a