Thunderbolt over Texas (8 page)

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.”

It didn't matter. “She's seventy years old.”

“She's tough as nails.”

“The stress could kill her.”

Sydney stared at him levelly with those penetrating green eyes. “It's not going to kill her.”

They were intelligent eyes, Cole acknowledged. Clear-thinking, logical eyes. He'd never doubted she was smart. Never doubted she was capable. And this was definitely her field of expertise.

Damn.

If he wanted to keep the police out of it, he needed to keep Sydney and Gwen in, which meant he needed to take their advice.

He hated it, but there it was.

“Okay,” he said. “Fine. We'll talk to Grandma.”

“Tonight?” asked Sydney.

“Tomorrow,” said Cole. He wasn't waking Grandma out of a sound sleep to give her bad news.

Gwen plucked her purse from the desktop. “In that case, I'd better get back to New York.”

Cole quickly crossed the room and held out his hand. “Thank you very, very much for coming on such short notice.” He was a lot more grateful to Gwen than he'd probably let on.

“Thanks for chartering the plane,” said Gwen with a shake.

“Whatever you need,” said Cole. “You just call me. Anything. Anytime.”

Gwen nodded. “For now, I'll just be making phone calls. But I'll keep you guys posted.” She glanced at her watch. “It'll be morning in London by the time I get home.”

“You think the brooch is overseas?” asked Cole, his stomach hollowing out all over again. They were looking for a needle in a haystack.

“I'm going to check every possibility,” said Gwen.

Sydney moved between them to give Gwen a hug. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Happy to help,” said Gwen, glancing sideways at Cole and giving him a final once-over. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

As Gwen left the office, Sydney sucked in a deep breath, blinking her exhaustion-filled eyes. But instead of complaining, she touched Cole's shoulder. His muscle instantly contracted beneath his jacket.

“We'll break it to her gently,” she said.

Cole felt the weight of forty generations pressing down on him. “I don't see how we'll manage that.”

 

Grandma greeted Sydney with a hug in the octagonal entryway. “Well? Did he do it? Did he pop the question?”

“Grandma,” Cole warned.

“I hope he had a ring.”

“He didn't have a ring,” said Sydney.

Grandma glanced from one to the other. “But Katie said it was love at first sight. I'd hoped that was the point of this special trip.”

“We are getting married,” said Cole, although Sydney couldn't imagine why he bothered keeping up the charade. Katie knew their secret, and the Thunderbolt might never be found. A quickie wedding sure didn't matter anymore.

She hadn't let the full impact of that sink in yet. The odds of finding the Thunderbolt in time for the show one month away were almost nonexistent. She'd have to call it off. She'd lose her job, and her reputation would be ruined. She'd be lucky to get a position as a tour guide.

“I knew it,” said Grandma, clasping her hands together. “I could tell by the way you looked at her.”

“Grandma.”

“Come in, come in.” She backed into the living room. “I'll make tea. Tell me everything. What's the date? Where's the ceremony? Sydney, dear, you'll have to give me a guest list.”

“We don't need tea. And there is no date.”

“Of course we need tea. There are arrangements to make, plans to finalize. Thank goodness we already picked out the house.” She took a deep breath and her grin widened.

Sydney felt sick. This should have been a happy occasion. It should have been a celebration.

“Can we please sit down?” asked Cole in a grave tone.

“Of course.” Grandma gestured toward the burgundy couch. “You sit down. I'll be right back.”

“Grandma.” Cole's tone was sharp.

Sydney squeezed his arm, but he shook her off.

“What?” asked Grandma, blinking.

Sydney shifted between them and took Grandma's hand, trying to diffuse the building tension.

“Grandma,” she said, looking into her blue eyes. She tried to let her tone give away the mood of the upcoming conversation. “We need to talk to you about something.”

Grandma glanced at Cole then back to Sydney. A sly grin grew on her face. “Will it be a…quick…wedding?”

“You're not helping.” Cole ground the words out from behind Sydney.

“We have some…unsettling news,” said Sydney.

Grandma glanced from one to the other again. The expectant glimmer in her eyes dimmed slightly. “Oh?”

Sydney eased Grandma onto the couch. Cole crouched down in front of them and took a breath. “There's no easy way to say this,” he began.

“Is someone sick?” asked Grandma, looking worried.

“No. Everybody's fine. Grandma. It's the Thunderbolt.”

She stilled. After a silent heartbeat, her eyes went wide and her lips paled a shade.

“We stopped at Joseph's office,” Cole continued. “The real Thunderbolt is missing. The one that's in the safe is a fake.”

Grandma's hand went to her chest and her cheeks turned white as paper.

Cole jumped up. “Grandma?”

Sydney stood, too, mentally cursing herself for not taking Cole's advice. The shock really was too much for Grandma.

“Grandma?” Cole repeated.

But she still didn't answer.

“Let's lay her down,” said Sydney, tossing a pillow to the far end of the couch. “Grandma? We should elevate your feet.”

Cole stood back while Sydney gently repositioned her.

“I'm calling Dr. Diers,” he said.

“Good idea,” Sydney agreed, mentally berating herself.

Why had she thought Grandma could take this? The woman's heritage had been stolen. They should have looked for it themselves, exhausted all other possibilities. But, no, Sydney had gone for speed, and she might have harmed a wonderful woman in the process.

Grandma gripped Sydney's hand, trembling slightly. “I don't need a doctor.”

“Don't try to talk,” Sydney whispered.

The old woman's eyes fluttered closed. Her wrinkled skin looked frail and transparent. Her gray hair was thin, and there were age spots dotted over her forehead.

Cole hung up the phone. “Dr. Diers is on his way. How is she?”

Grandma's breathing was shallow but steady.

“I don't need a doctor,” she rasped.

Cole moved forward. “Well, you're getting one anyway.”

“Waste of time,” said Grandma.

He crouched down and Sydney shifted out of the way. “Grandma,” he said in a gentle voice, taking her hand. “We're going to find it.”

Her eyes opened and she stared at him in silence for a long moment. “I know you will.” And then tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

 

“She's resting comfortably,” said Dr. Diers, quietly closing the door to Grandma's bedroom. “She's obviously had a shock.”

“We gave her some bad news,” said Cole, turning from the big picture window. “Probably should have kept our mouths shut.”

His shoulders were tense and Sydney knew he blamed himself. But it was her fault. Trying to salvage her career on the back of an old woman was unforgivable.

“I've given her a light sedative,” said Dr. Diers. “She's going to be fine. She'd like to see you.”

Cole nodded and made a move toward the bedroom.

“Sydney,” said the doctor.

“Yes?” asked Sydney.

“Your grandma asked to see Sydney.”

Sydney straightened in surprise and Cole blinked.

“Why does she want to see Sydney?”

The doctor gave a slight shrug. “Maybe she'd rather talk to a woman?”

“I can go get Katie,” he said.

“She did ask for Sydney.”

“I'll go in,” Sydney agreed.

Cole took a jerking step toward her.

“I promise,” said Sydney, holding up her palm. “I'll just listen to what she has to say.”

“I can't let you upset her,” said Cole. “We've made enough mistakes already.”

“I'm not going to upset her.”

Cole's mouth was taut and his knuckles were white; guilt was obviously eating him up.

“We had no choice,” said Sydney, trying to reassure him.

“Oh, yes, we did.”

True enough. She wasn't about to take on that debate. “I'll go find out what she wants, then we can talk, okay?”

Before he could tell her no, she cut through the entrance foyer to the bedroom door, turning the cut-glass knob as quietly as possible, just in case Grandma had fallen asleep.

Grandma's eyes were open, but the sparkle was gone from their blue depths. The harsh, noonday sun streamed in through the paned window, making her look small and frail beneath the patchwork quilt.

“Sydney,” she whispered, reaching for a hankie.

Sydney clicked the door shut and came to her side. “Can I get you anything? A drink of water? An aspirin?”

“I've done something terrible, Sydney,” said Grandma, dabbing the hankie beneath her nose.

“Grandma?” Sydney crouched down by the bed. “What's wrong?”

“Everything's wrong.”

“Tell me.”

Grandma grasped Sydney's hand, searching her eyes. She drew a breath. “I have no right to ask.”

“Go ahead and ask.”

“What I did. What I'm going to say. Please don't tell my family.”

“Of course I won't.”

Grandma drew a breath, and there was a catch in her voice as her glance slid away from Sydney's. “It was me.”

“What was you?”

“I faked the Thunderbolt.”

A jolt of shock ricocheted through Sydney's body. “What? When? How?” Then she quickly shut her mouth, biting back more staccato questions.

She forced herself to moderate her voice. “Do you know where the real one is?”

Grandma shook her head miserably. “No.”

“I don't understand,” said Sydney, straining not to sound judgmental. Why on earth would Grandma fake her own heirloom? Did she need money?

“It was a long time ago.”

Sydney nodded, waiting for this to start making sense.

“I was young, only twenty.” Grandma's voice faded and a faraway look came into her eyes.

Sydney carefully lowered herself to the carpet, trying not to interrupt the flow of the story. She rested her back against the small bedside table, placing her hand on Grandma's.

“It was Harold's and my second anniversary, and I was pregnant with Neil. And there was this woman…”

Sydney's heart sank.

“She had a baby. A son.” Grandma's voice broke. “He was six months old…”

“I'm sorry.”

Grandma shook her head. “She said things. She knew things.” She looked into Sydney's eyes. “I could tell it was all true.”

Sydney groaned in heartfelt sympathy. What a hurtful secret. What a terrible thing for Grandma to experience. “I am
so
sorry.”

“Things weren't like they are now,” Grandma continued, “the neighbors would have gossiped, Neil would have been ostracized, sales from the ranch might have dropped.”

“Did you talk to him?” asked Sydney. It was Harold's responsibility to make it right.

Grandma shook her head.

“Why not?”

“We'd been through so much. We'd come so far.”

Sydney didn't understand.

“I was lonely that first year, and I blamed Harold, and we weren't…” The silence stretched.

“It wasn't your fault,” said Sydney. Infidelity was not justifiable, no matter what was going on in a relationship.

Grandma gave a watery smile. “The Thunderbolt was all my doing.” She stabbed a finger against her chest. “Me. I was young and inexperienced. Then I was afraid of what people might say. Bottom line, I wanted my husband and our life
more
than I wanted a piece of jewelry.”