I may have only had my cat and a DVR playlist of romantic comedies, but my life was absent of grief, and that additional force took loneliness and drenched it in agony.
I cleared my throat and moved down the wall, examining a baseball that looked like it had been put through a garbage disposal. He followed, his arm brushing mine, and I struggled not to reach out and touch him, to comfort him.
“Now, that ring”—he pointed to an antique emerald solitaire, one in a gold setting and surrounded by diamonds—“has an interesting story.”
I waited, afraid to ask if it had belonged to his wife.
He lifted the open ring box off its stand, removing it from the spotlight. “It’s over four hundred years old and has been lost to the sea twice. The first time was in 1622, when a Spanish treasure ship sank off the coast of Florida in a hurricane.”
“The Atocha,” I remarked, familiar with the history.
He raised an eyebrow, impressed. “That’s right. When hunters found the treasure in 1985, this ring was recovered, polished up, and gifted to the wife of a prominent investor, Debbie Stickelber, who wore it on her finger every day for ten years. Every single day, except for one.” He paused and I grinned up at him, enjoying the theatrics of the story. It was no wonder he was good in the courtroom. As a juror, I’d listen to him all day.
“The morning of October 4, 1995, Debbie was woken up by her husband, who screamed at her to get dressed and grab anything of value. A hurricane was coming. The umbrellas and patio furniture on the porch of their beachfront home had already smashed against the railings. Storm surge was beginning to creep up their sand.” His voice took on the dark tones of a ghost story. “She grabbed the small safe from his office and a Van Gogh that hung just outside their bedroom and ran for their car, leaving behind her wedding ring, watch, and this ring, still lying on the bedside table, where she took them off each night.”
“Why hadn’t they gotten out earlier? Don’t you know days in advance about a hurricane?”
“The Stickelbers were known for their parties and had decided to ride out the storm with a few dozen bottles of liquor and champagne. It wasn’t until that morning, when the husband woke up and realized the size of the storm, that he decided they needed to leave—and it was a good thing they did. Hurricane Opal destroyed their house, wiping it completely off the sand. When they returned one week later, the only thing left was the concrete pilings that their home had been tethered to. Along with their belongings, the hurricane took over five hundred Atocha coins, six silver bars, and her jewelry. A search party, complete with backhoes and divers, searched the shore and ocean for weeks, looking for the re-lost treasure.”
I looked down at the ring. “And they found this?”
“Yep. Four houses down, a hundred yards out, under two feet of sand. They eventually found two of the bars, and around half the coins. The rest was never recovered, or”—he gave me a wry grin—“I suspect some was pocketed by members of the search crew.”
“How did you end up with it?”
He chuckled. “Debbie Stickelber ended up leaving her vast estate—including the ring—to her dogs, a decision that infuriated her children and led to quite a legal battle.”
“I wasn’t aware you did estate litigation.”
His grin widened. “I don’t. But when one son tried to kill his sister over ownership of the teacup poodle with the net worth of some countries . . . that’s when I was hired. The assets were frozen by the court, but the sister slipped me this ring, and we called it a day.”
“I love that story.” I held the ring box out to him.
“You should keep it. Consider it my payment for the profile.”
I choked out a laugh. “Wha—what? No.” I pushed it toward him. The stone was two carats, if not three. The value of it . . . with the history . . . I couldn’t even fathom. “Don’t be absurd.”
“I don’t have anyone to give things to, Gwen.” His voice dropped. “Just take it. Please. I don’t want to be that guy who leaves everything to his goldfish.”
I met his eyes, and another protective layer was gone, his emotions exposed, the haunted look in his eyes almost unbearable. Impulsively, I reached forward and hugged him. His back was stiff, his body language tense, but I still wrapped my arms around him and squeezed. After a moment, he responded, softening into the embrace. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “It’s the nicest thing I’ll ever own. And there is no way that goldfish lives past the month.”
He laughed and kissed my forehead, a surprisingly sweet gesture that affected me more than it should. When he stepped away, my body ached to follow. “Just promise me you won’t lose it in a storm.”
“I won’t.” I closed the lid and glanced back at the empty space. “I’m going to get you something to replace it. It won’t be a priceless emerald, but I’ll find something. Something cool.”
“Cool,” he repeated, walking down the row, his attention already off the vacant spot. “I think I’m too old for cool.”
“Which is your favorite?” I shivered as I passed in front of the air vent, my thin dress not enough for the chilly room.
“It’s too hard to choose.” He glanced at me and moved closer, reaching out to rub his palms along my upper arms. “Do you want to go outside where it’s warmer?”
I couldn’t think of a response, because his attention had fallen to my mouth, his hands tightening on my arms, and when he tugged me forward, I sank into his chest, like one of those mindless heroines in a romance novel. Right into the arms of the vulnerable and lonely beast.
CHAPTER 35
I woke up naked in his bed, tucked underneath layers of silky sheets and down feathers. It felt like a cocoon, one that I never wanted to move out of. I closed my eyes and savored the moment before my brain would fully engage and I’d overthink this entire situation.
The mattress shifted, and I turned my head and found Robert seated at the edge of the bed, dressed in slacks and a button-up, his hair already in place, tie already knotted.
He was facing straight ahead, his eyes on the windows. “Tell me what John told you. How much you know about what he did.”
I worked myself up and onto my elbows, holding the covers to my chest. “Excuse me?”
“John Abbott.” He turned his head and stared into my eyes. “Tell me what you know.”
I swallowed, my brain trying desperately to wake up and perform. “I don’t really know anything. I mean, other than what he told me. But I—”
“You’ve been lying to me since the day I met you.” He swore, then ran his hands over his face. “Shit, Gwen.”
“Not lying,” I countered. “I haven’t lied to you.” I scooted farther back on the bed, so I was fully upright.
“You did. You knew all about John.” He measured and weighed his words carefully, as if he were grinding them through a stone. “The monster he was. You could have stopped him.”
I dropped my gaze, avoiding the judgment in his face but still hearing it in his words. Weeks together, and he’d known the truth of Brooke’s death the entire time. Had he been waiting for me to bring it up? Watching to see what I told police? “Yes,” I said softly. “I should have done more. I should have called the police.”