number. Nothing happened. The phone flipped back to the original icon of a flashing envelope. I tried it a second time, and the same thing happened.
I scowled, but I'd have time to figure it out later. I washed my hands and went back out front. Luca was counting out money to the bartender. While I waited for him, a short, sturdy-looking man at the bar said, "Hey, ain't you that race car driver's daughter? The one in papers all the time?"
I raised my brows. "'Fraid so."
"Yer mum's a local girl? I went to grammar school with her."
"Is that right?" I smiled. "I'm here to visit my grandmother."
"She was sweet, yer mum. I was wrecked to hear what happened to her."
"Thanks." Against my hip, my phone buzzed again, and I was about to pull it out when Luca came toward me, tucking pound coins in his jeans pocket. Time enough to check the message later—it was likely a cousin or aunt, anyway.
"Take care," I said to the man at the bar.
"You do the same, gerl."
Luca went out on the street into the dusk, but I remembered in time to duck my head out first and look for my cousin Keith, who'd been out here just a little while ago. No sign of him. No sign of anyone much, really. I stepped out. A small breeze buffeted my bare knees, and it would be cold later, but it wasn't bad yet.
"Which way?" I said to Luca.
"A car park by the station," he said, cocking his thumb. "Will you walk with me for a little while first, please? Let me tell you my story?"
A damp gloaming hung in the air, soft purple brushed with orange, and I did want to walk by the sea before I slept. This sea, which I'd traveled a very long way to visit. Birds with muscular wings flapped overhead, calling to their mates to come get supper amid the pools left behind by the tide. I could smell the muskiness of the water.
Beside me, Luca stood a head taller than I, his body lean and graceful, his shoulders a square evenness I wanted to touch. He tossed on a leather jacket, and I found my gaze lingering on his mouth again.
At the same time, I was aware that he'd used me, that he was a thief, that his life was not the sort I should get mixed up in.
But how boring would life be if we only did what was good for us? "All right," I said. "It better be good."
"That will be for you to decide."
I tucked my purse close and folded my arms over my chest as we headed west, down the street toward the sea. "You stole the jewel?" I prompted.
"Yes," he said. "I am, by profession, a thief."
"And where did it come from?"
He smiled slightly as we emerged onto the quiet promenade. "I imagined you had unraveled that by now."
"Ah. The Kingpin. The drug lord." I paused at the top of a short set of steps to the sand. The last fingers of light gave a backlight to the Goat Fells on Arran, and splashed against the windows of the expensive homes lining the beach.
Luca inclined his head. "You do not know who it is?"
"Who? You mean the drug lord?"
"Yes. They called him The Swede."
"Doesn't ring a bell. Should I know it?"
"Perhaps. It will explain the Maigny connection."
I waited, but he was savoring his moment. I spread my hands. "Well?"
"Henrik Gunnarsson."
"Still nothing," I said. "And while I know Maigny would not particularly care for a close examination of his business, I wouldn't think drugs would appeal to him." He preferred art, jewels, antiques. "Drugs would be too messy."
"Let's walk," Luca said, gesturing.
I frowned at his stalling, and stopped where I stood. Wind came off the water, brisk and invigorating, but it would soon be very cold. The wind skittered up my skirt and I shivered. "Let's not. We can stand here on the bridge."
"As you wish." He faced the sea, putting his face in profile, and I saw something ancient in the Semitic angle of his high-bridged nose, the fullness of his lips. A profile meant for an ancient Greek coin. No, not Greek. An ancient Romanian coin. Yes, that worked. A Gypsy prince, that was Luca, both wild and elegant. The wind gusted his scent of
I scowled, but I'd have time to figure it out later. I washed my hands and went back out front. Luca was counting out money to the bartender. While I waited for him, a short, sturdy-looking man at the bar said, "Hey, ain't you that race car driver's daughter? The one in papers all the time?"
I raised my brows. "'Fraid so."
"Yer mum's a local girl? I went to grammar school with her."
"Is that right?" I smiled. "I'm here to visit my grandmother."
"She was sweet, yer mum. I was wrecked to hear what happened to her."
"Thanks." Against my hip, my phone buzzed again, and I was about to pull it out when Luca came toward me, tucking pound coins in his jeans pocket. Time enough to check the message later—it was likely a cousin or aunt, anyway.
"Take care," I said to the man at the bar.
"You do the same, gerl."
Luca went out on the street into the dusk, but I remembered in time to duck my head out first and look for my cousin Keith, who'd been out here just a little while ago. No sign of him. No sign of anyone much, really. I stepped out. A small breeze buffeted my bare knees, and it would be cold later, but it wasn't bad yet.
"Which way?" I said to Luca.
"A car park by the station," he said, cocking his thumb. "Will you walk with me for a little while first, please? Let me tell you my story?"
A damp gloaming hung in the air, soft purple brushed with orange, and I did want to walk by the sea before I slept. This sea, which I'd traveled a very long way to visit. Birds with muscular wings flapped overhead, calling to their mates to come get supper amid the pools left behind by the tide. I could smell the muskiness of the water.
Beside me, Luca stood a head taller than I, his body lean and graceful, his shoulders a square evenness I wanted to touch. He tossed on a leather jacket, and I found my gaze lingering on his mouth again.
At the same time, I was aware that he'd used me, that he was a thief, that his life was not the sort I should get mixed up in.
But how boring would life be if we only did what was good for us? "All right," I said. "It better be good."
"That will be for you to decide."
I tucked my purse close and folded my arms over my chest as we headed west, down the street toward the sea. "You stole the jewel?" I prompted.
"Yes," he said. "I am, by profession, a thief."
"And where did it come from?"
He smiled slightly as we emerged onto the quiet promenade. "I imagined you had unraveled that by now."
"Ah. The Kingpin. The drug lord." I paused at the top of a short set of steps to the sand. The last fingers of light gave a backlight to the Goat Fells on Arran, and splashed against the windows of the expensive homes lining the beach.
Luca inclined his head. "You do not know who it is?"
"Who? You mean the drug lord?"
"Yes. They called him The Swede."
"Doesn't ring a bell. Should I know it?"
"Perhaps. It will explain the Maigny connection."
I waited, but he was savoring his moment. I spread my hands. "Well?"
"Henrik Gunnarsson."
"Still nothing," I said. "And while I know Maigny would not particularly care for a close examination of his business, I wouldn't think drugs would appeal to him." He preferred art, jewels, antiques. "Drugs would be too messy."
"Let's walk," Luca said, gesturing.
I frowned at his stalling, and stopped where I stood. Wind came off the water, brisk and invigorating, but it would soon be very cold. The wind skittered up my skirt and I shivered. "Let's not. We can stand here on the bridge."
"As you wish." He faced the sea, putting his face in profile, and I saw something ancient in the Semitic angle of his high-bridged nose, the fullness of his lips. A profile meant for an ancient Greek coin. No, not Greek. An ancient Romanian coin. Yes, that worked. A Gypsy prince, that was Luca, both wild and elegant. The wind gusted his scent of
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