The Diamond Secret by Ruth Wind Page B

to Ayr. I'll find you."
    I yanked free. "Stop with the Last of the Mohicans crap, all right?" From the hook where I'd left it, I grabbed my coat, and without thinking, put my hand over the knot in my bra, reassuring myself that the Katerina was still there beneath my left breast.
    Luca saw the gesture and smiled bitterly. "Do not let it seduce you, love."
    I shoved my hands into my coat sleeves. "Don't worry. I can handle it. I'm not going to go to Ayr. I have too much family there."
    "You must get away. Now. As fast as you can."
    "Where, then, do you want to meet?"
    I cast around in my mind. "Troon," I said. I had a cousin who'd been working the hospitality industry there. It was renowned for its golf, and boasted a famous old pub. "The Ship's Inn."
    "I'll—"
    There was a racket at the front door. "I'll try to come behind you," Luca said, and with a cry, he slammed his elbow into the glass of the window. It was strong, tempered or something, and didn't break. "Go!" he cried.
    "Where?" I cried. "That's the only door."
    From the front of the caravan came a slamming sound—maybe the door giving way. I thought fleetingly that my cousin Alan was going to kill me, but then Luca was slamming his elbow into the glass of the bedroom window.
    One—slam! Two, slam! Three, slam, slam!
    He swore. "It won't break!'
    I looked around for something heavy. In the front of the caravan was a crashing sound. I thought I could feel the whole building rock, as if they'd bashed it sideways. They weren't in yet, anyway—they were no more successful than we were at breaking the slatted glass. That was something.
    The room was tidy as a pin, but there was a trophy of some kind on the dresser. A big fish was on top—fishing trophies? Who knew?—but the base was a very heavy lead-feeling thing.
    From the front room came a very loud crash and the sound of voices. The baseball bat had obviously done the trick.
    I grabbed the trophy. "Get out of the way!"
    Luca ducked. I swung the trophy as hard as I could into the window. It gave way with a somehow sibilant tinkling of safety glass, and the night came rushing in—soaking wet and cold.
    "Let's get out!" I said in a low, urgent voice, and turned back to the door, trying to think of ways to get through that bedroom door to the kitchen where my purse—and thus, my keys—was.
    Luca must have made it through the window, because I felt a gust of rain slap the back of my head as the door to the bedroom burst open. Without letting the intruder have a chance, or even getting much of a look at him, I barreled forward, swinging the trophy. It caught him squarely across the nose, the fish fins doing an admirable job of slashing his skin.
    He slammed backward with a roar, and even in the dark, I saw the line of blood spring open across his face. I didn't wait to see if he'd recover, but slammed him again a second time, and turned around to climb out the window.
    With a roar, he grabbed for me, catching my coat as I tried to dive out the window. He was a big guy, all right, and it didn't take a lot for him to yank me upward, clear off my feet.
    It took even less for him to toss me toward the wall. My shoulder slammed into the dresser and I nearly dropped the trophy. I managed to shift sideways soon enough to avoid smashing my entire face into the drawers.
    I knew how to fight, thanks to a stint in a truly dangerous school in Rio when I was fifteen, where "gangs" took on an entirely new meaning. My father was at the worst of his decline that year, blaming himself for my mother's death, drinking and carousing and generally attempting self-destruction. It was very nearly successful. When he finally emerged from his insanity, he had to spend two weeks in the hospital, recovering from "exhaustion."
    It very nearly killed me, as well. The neighborhood required more than a girl of fourteen is generally required to deliver. Luckily, I wasn't a quitter, and I'd at least had the advantage of living in many places, fitting