His mouth fel open in shock and I cackled, too pleased with the reaction to help myself.
Jared smiled and nodded, complaisant to my playful badgering. He crawled into bed and propped his head up with his hand.
I sat against the headboard and sighed. “She wasn’t serious, right? About the half-the-police-force thing?”
His face fel . “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said, sliding his fingers between mine.
“Why are they after me?”
Jared cursed in Spanish under his breath resulting in Claire giggling from somewhere downstairs.
“They’re not after you, sweetheart. They’re after something of Jack’s. They just think you know where it is.”
“They’re after the Port of Providence file?”
“Dawson said they want to dispose of the evidence Jack compiled that proves they’re dirty, but they’re looking for something else—something that’s contained within the file.”
“So, we go to my parents’ house, figure it out and get rid of it. Toss it off of a bridge or something.”
“That wouldn’t help us, Nina,” Jared said, shaking his head.
“Why not?” I grimaced.
“Whatever it is, it was worth going after Jack Grey. No one does that unless it’s…it’s something big, Nina. Something we don’t want to be caught without.”
“What are you talking about?” I was frustrated with the circles we seemed to be talking in.
“I shouldn’t tel you this.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.
“Do it, anyway,” I snapped.
A heavy expression settled on his face. “Jack didn’t die from the car accident. He died of complications from a gunshot wound to the chest.”
It took a moment for my brain to wrap around what he’d said, but once I processed the words, I was instantly angry. “What?”
Jared put his hand on mine. “Gabe did everything in his power to try to save him, but Jack was in over his head.”
“I thought Gabe was indestructible. Wasn’t he one-hundred percent angel?”
“They threatened the only thing more important to him than Jack.”
“More important than his own life?” I asked, skeptical.
Jared nodded; the severity in his face was a bit frightening. “My mother. They were in my home the day Jack was shot. Claire and I had taken Bex to the airport, so Gabe had no choice but to leave him. My father knew what would happen if he left Jack alone, but his life meant nothing without my mother. Jack was shot en route to his office downtown. He did crash into a guard rail, but it was the bul et that led to his death.”
“You’re saying the men that want this package murdered my father?” Jared confirmed with a nod and I felt heat burn from every pore in my face. “I don’t care what it is. We’re getting rid of it. They wil never get their hands on it.”
“Nina, I know you’re upset, but we need to think about this. They want something in that file so badly they went up against Jack and my father, and they knew what Gabe was capable of. I’d rather have it in our possession so we have something to barter with if need be.”
Tears fil ed my eyes and Jared wrapped his arms around me. I mourned once again for my father. I kept losing him over and over again, with one horrible truth after another.
I cried myself asleep, and when I awoke, Jared comforted me once again when the news from the night before replayed in my memory.
“I need to do something. I can’t just sit here,” I said, rushing over to my suitcase.
“I’m going to figure this out, Nina. Just give me a day or two to decide our next move.”
“I can’t wait another second,” I said, my mind racing to form a plan. When the idea struck, I paused. “I’m going back to my parents’. The answers are there.” I yanked a t-shirt over my head and the first pair of jeans I touched.
“We don’t have to go now,” he argued.
“Yes we do,” I said, pul ing on my shoes while hopping to the stairs.
Jared scrambled from the bed. The hangers in his closet clanged against each other, and within seconds he was behind me, ful y dressed. “Not exactly how I wanted to spend the weekend,” he said, frowning.
“C’mon. Let’s go. Vaminos!” I said, rushing him out the door.
In my parents’ home, Jared fol owed me up the stairs to Jack’s office. He watched me locate the keys to Cynthia’s safe, fol owed me to her study, and then pul ed the plant to the floor without effort. I used the key to gain access to the papers and files inside, placing them in somewhat organized piles.
For two hours we searched the documents, separating what we thought would be useful. One photo caught my eye. I held it out in front of me, staring at it, hoping I would recognize what it was that drew me in.
“He looks familiar to you?” Jared prompted.
“Something about his eyes…I can’t put my finger on it.”
Jared pul ed a black wal et from his jacket pocket and tossed it into my lap; it was the one he had taken the night Ryan was stabbed. I took a closer look at the metal object embedded into the black leather. It was a badge.
I gasped, pointing at the picture. “This is the man that wanted my ring. This is Grahm.”
Jared nodded.
“They were al cops?” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “But why would they…?” My eyes wandered to my hand.
Jared stared at it as wel . “The ring must be the key to something.”
“It doesn’t make any sense,” I whispered. I looked at the papers for a moment and then rifled through them.
“What is it?” Jared asked.
“There’s a receipt in here for the purchase of my ring. I didn’t think about it before, but there has to be a connection,” I said, impatient with the endless stacks. “Why else would it be here with important business documents?”
My eyes widened with excitement when I found the thin carbon copy. Jared leaned over my shoulder to take a look for himself.
“There’s an engraving charge,” he pointed out. “Is your ring engraved?”
“No. I don’t…Jack never said anything, I’ve never noticed,” I said, looking at my ring.
Slowly pul ing it off my finger, I held it up, rotated it, and narrowed my eyes, looking for any words. “There’s nothing,”
Jared held out his hand, and I handed it to him. My finger felt naked in its absence. Jared lifted it up, looked at it from every angle, and then returned it to my finger.
“There’s nothing,” he confirmed. He eyed the receipt once more. “I say we go to the designer. Maybe they have a copy of this receipt.”
I nodded, prompting Jared to gather the information and return it to the safe.
Jared and I drove to the address on the receipt, and I nervously twisted the ring around my finger as we pul ed to a stop beside the curb. At first glance it appeared to be a typical jewelry store, not the underground, surreptitious establishment I had expected.
The bel on the door announced our arrival and a short, pudgy, elderly man with round glasses greeted us. Jared took my hand as we walked toward the glass display cases the man stood behind.
“Good morning. I am Vincent! You like diamonds? Sapphires? Rubies? Emeralds? Semi-precious stones? I have them al ,” he gushed with a thick accent.