Perhaps the e-mail was about art. But maybe it was actually about something else. After all, how many $5,000 paintings did you have to move to equal $10 million? A fuck ton, that was how many. And paintings took up a helluva lot more space on a plane than gems did. Especially when they required safe transport.
Jake’s instincts were telling him something. To pay attention to the little details, too—the name of Eli’s nightclub, the bling on the woman, the tint of the diamonds, and the timing of the jewel trade.
Was Eli ferrying something else entirely from the United States to the Caymans?
He called Andrew and ran the new possibility past him.
“My team is still working on deciphering those other documents to see if we can get any more intel, but I’m looking at the e-mail now to Constantine,” Andrew said in a focused tone. “And if that’s what he took to the Caymans, they’d be the rightful property of the Eli Fund.”
“Let’s get ’em back, then.”
“Let’s do it.”
Jake located International Diamonds, a sprawling shop that occupied a huge street corner. The sign said OPEN TOMORROW.
Looked like he was free to rendezvous with the mermaid for now.
CHAPTER NINE
Her stepfather held his arms out wide, beaming as Steph walked up the steps to Tristan’s, his favorite brunch spot on the island. No surprise that brunch was his favorite meal. That was a fitting choice for a man who liked the finer things in life. Wine, art, caviar, trips, and very pretty women.
But he also liked his kids. He practically bounced on his sandaled feet as Steph headed to him. The second she reached the top step, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.
Like he’d missed her.
Like she was his precious girl.
She caught a faint whiff of his woodsy aftershave, a familiar scent from her youth. His arms wrapped around her were the definition of safety. So many times growing up, he’d comforted her with a hug when she’d fallen, gotten hurt, lost a game, and so, some kind of muscle memory kicked in as he embraced her.
Family.
She’d never known her own father. Eli was as close as she’d ever come to a dad. Perhaps that’s why the way it ended hurt even more, knowing he’d absconded with the money her mom had given him to start his business. Steph’s brain told her Eli was a con man, a thief. Trouble was that standing there in his strong, warm hug, she desperately wanted her brain to be wrong. How could she love and loathe this man so much at once? Her muscles tensed with simmering frustration over how he’d hurt the person she loved most at the same damn time that she was actually happy to see him, too. She was tired of the push-and-pull tug-of-war inside her heart, of trying to sort the truth from the lies. If she was to have any peace, she had to find out which was the real Eli.
“It’s been too long,” he declared, breaking the embrace and dropping his hands to her arms, smiling widely as he seemed to drink her in. “You don’t look a day over twenty. How old are you now? Eighteen? Fifteen?”
“Eli,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“I know you’re twenty-eight, sweetheart. Let’s catch up on everything. I want to hear every detail of what you’ve been up to,” he said, and in mere seconds, the maître d’ swooped by and seated them at the best table on the terrace. The restaurant had just opened for brunch and was already bustling.
As soon as he walked away, the restaurant owner marched over and beamed. “Hello again, Mr. Thompson,” he said.
“Good to see you, Tristan. I’m still noodling on our conversation from this morning.”
“Excellent. Let it marinate some more. As long as you need. I do think it can be good for both of us.” The tall, salt-and-pepper-haired man turned to Steph and dropped a chaste kiss on her cheek. “And welcome back, Miss Steph. What a pleasure to see you again, too.”
“Thank you so much, Tristan. I see you’re as busy as ever,” she said, flashing a quick smile to the man she’d known for years—a local friend of her stepdad’s.
“I can’t complain one bit,” he said, handing them menus, then bowing briefly before he scuttled away.
“Can’t complain my butt,” Eli muttered.
She arched an eyebrow in question.
“He complains about everything,” Eli whispered.
“Are you doing business with Tristan?” Steph asked.
Eli flicked open his cloth napkin and waved it once, before spreading it across his lap. “Potentially. He wants me to back a new venture of his, but then again, doesn’t everyone?” he said, with an it’s-good-to-be-the-king look in his eyes.
“I don’t know. Does everyone?” she asked drily, her lips quirking up as she teased him.
“Some days, my dear, it seems that way. Everyone lining up to ask for a little of this, a little of that,” he said, rubbing his thumb across two fingers.
“Do you ever say yes?” she asked as she spread a champagne-colored napkin over her lap.
He lowered his voice to a thread. “Rarely. I’m actually trying to be retired. To devote my energy to my charitable endeavors.”
She furrowed her brow. Two things didn’t add up. She’d never known him to be terribly interested in charity, plus, he was still working. “But you run a nightclub,” she said, zeroing in on one logical fallacy.
“The club is hardly work. That’s nothing but passion. I’m usually there in my office every day at this time, and it feels like pure pleasure.”