Page 102 of Gem Warfare

“I don’t know you at all,” I said. “Ben Rafferty never existed.”

“He did for a little while. I’ve thought about you a lot. You changed me.” Gideon reached to stroke my cheek but I stepped back. His face fell, just ever so slightly but I wasn’t fooled. He wasn’t disappointed; it was just another manipulation. A trickle of disgust slithered down my spine. He wanted me to want him. Or to feel sorry for him. “That was forward of me. I apologize. I hoped I would see you again. Not under these circumstances, of course,” he added with a small lift of his shoulder as he glanced around.

“What circumstances would these be?”

“My father’s death. Or rather, its discovery.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. For a moment, it didn’t matter what Gideon had done, or his father. He was still a man who’d lost his parent. There was still a man who had been murdered.

“Thank you. It means a lot to me, coming from you.”

I ignored that. If Gideon were trying to build a connection, hewasn’t going to find me susceptible. His words meant nothing. How could they? He was a proven liar. “Did you know he was here? That he lived here?” I asked.

“No, that was news, but I knew he’d been here. He moved around a lot and he wasn’t always honest about where. I figured that out in my teens. I figureda lotout in my teens,” he said, holding my gaze with a look so knowing that I knew he knew exactly what kind of man his father was. “It took a long time to track my dad’s movements but I found out what I needed to know.”

“Was that why you came to Montgomery before?” I asked, curious.

“Yes, originally. It won’t come as a surprise to you that I ended up in Alabama first. Wrong Montgomery. You’d think the powers that be would call one of them New Montgomery at least.” He shrugged. “Easy mistake to make. Only thousands of miles between the two.”

“How did you know you got it right when you pitched up here last time?”

“I couldn’t be sure at first. I won’t bore you with the details but I knew soon enough. The discovery of my father’s remains now absolutely solidifies it. I wonder if he liked it here.” Gideon cast a look around the street but I knew he didn’t meanhere, here. He meant down the street from my parents, Charlie Black living his life like the traveling salesman he purported to be. Had “Joe Smithson” lived a life here, visiting our museum? Our grocery stores? Did he take walks in the parks? Just close enough to get to his son, but far enough away that his anonymity was guaranteed? “Not his usual sort of place. He liked excitement,” said Gideon. “He lived for the thrills.”

“The kind of excitement you get robbing museums?” I asked, taking my chance.

Gideon smiled broadly and wagged his finger at me. “I alwaysliked you. So direct. Pretty too.”

“I know. You don’t have to butter me up.”

“Confident too. Sassy. Well, to answer your question, yes, my father did like robbing museums amongst other places. As you’ve probably guessed, he was very good at it too.”

“Until someone shot him.”

There it was. The bullseye.

“No need to rub it in,” said Gideon, his face falling.

For a moment I felt guilty. “Sorry.”

Gideon stepped closer and I retreated, finding my back against the wall, my escape blocked. “I need your help,” he said, brushing back a lock of hair that slipped over my shoulder. A waft of expensive aftershave, fresh and masculine, reached me. It should be against the law for criminals to smell this good.

“Have you tried the police?” I thumbed over my shoulder to the very building we were adjacent to.

“I don’t think they will help me. I needyourhelp, Lexi.”

“Stop by the office in the morning. We’ll listen to your case.” Probably with the police listening next door, but I didn’t tell him that. “There will be paperwork. Bring your checkbook.”

“I’m here now. I need you to get something for me.”

“Like what?”

“The police have something of mine. I want it back.”

“You want the jewels found with your father.” Not a question. A statement.

“I do.”

“They’re not yours.”