Page 35 of Merciless Heir
For the next few minutes, he studies the photos in silence, but there’s a thickening in the air, and the way he sits up straight and focuses like a laser on the pictures tells me everything.
“So it’s true…”
“Are they real?”
He looks at me. “I’d have to see them in person. If they’re not, then they’re brilliant. Mininchi wasn’t the only one in his family who designed and made jewels. But he had a way with them. And these look early, a light touch. Sinclair, aren’t they?”
It’s not really a question. “I don’t have the final piece. It’s missing.”
“I didn’t take it.”
“I’m not saying you did, but interesting you went there.”
He frowns. “You’re the kind of person who thinks everyone’s involved until you can prove they’re not.”
“I don’t usually chase down stolen things.”
“You used to be the one stealing them, that’s why.” But there’s no rancor in his voice.
“Stolen,” I say, “or deliberately missing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m here because I wanted a list of who’d be interested. Not the usual suspects, the hardcore collectors with real ties in certain circles. And why you gave my name to Faye Sinclair.”
He nods. “It isn’t a crime.” Damon runs a hand over his face. “How did you know?”
“I know when Damon Reed’s put in security,” I say. “You have a certain way with your work, one I can spot. And don’t worry, I don’t think anyone else can. It’s just…you.”
“I’m flattered.”
“Use that flattery wave and tell me everything you know.”
Some might think the Bowery, back when it was full of the homeless and punks or now where it’s full of the rich, is a strange place for someone to have a security firm. But it’s perfect. It’s still a crossroads area, and Damon can keep things on the downlow, which is what a lot of his clientele like.
Not because they’re up to something, although some are, but because it allows those who want to keep their business to themselves to do so. Especially those who want something other than just security.
Like me, Damon knows a lot of people. And that includes, well, people like me.
So, my question is this: did Faye Sinclair go to him to find me specifically, in a way that was below the radar to her peers and children deliberately, or did the missing jewel spark it?
I have a lot of questions.
My fingers itch to call Kingston to discuss it. My body yearns for that.
My brain says no.
So I head to the source.
Faye herself.
“I’m not sure,” Faye Sinclair says in her home office on the East Side, “that you coming here is a good idea.”
“I saw your security man, Damon Reed, today.”
She rests her chin in her hand. “How is that working on the job at hand?”
“I like to explore all options.”