Love is Murder Read Free

standards.”
    There were at least forty sizable stones, many that would be cut to make two or three multicarat diamonds. Pelletier had probably spent the past three days poring through hundreds and hundreds of rough-cut rocks delivered from Africa and Australia, his job as a sightholder to be the “eyes” for the parent jeweler back in Paris. A parent company with deep pockets, if they could manage this purchase.
    “You’ve chosen well,” Donovan said. Although it wasn’t his job to pass judgment on the diamonds Pelletier had purchased; his job was to safely deliver them to the Parisian jeweler whom he worked for. On time . “Is the paperwork complete?” If Pelletier had filled it out ahead of time, they were in luck.
    The man slid a packet toward Donovan. “Yes. I’ll need your signature in all the right places, while I pack this parcel and sign off on what you’ve taken.”
    The transaction was so standard, Donovan barely looked up from the pages he had to sign, flipping through each with just a cursory glance, until Pelletier pulled a cell phone from his pocket to take a call.
    “Excuse me,” he said softly before launching into rapid French. Unable to follow the foreign language spoken that fast, Donovan continued to sign, until a note of alarm in the other man’s voice made him look up.
    “Is there a problem?” he asked softly.
    Pelletier just held up one finger. “Très bien. Merci.” He hung up. “That was the CEO of Boisvert Jewelers.”
    “Really.”
    “We have an issue that I am obligated to bring to your attention. There has been a credible threat to this diamond delivery. Apparently, the details were leaked.”
    “By whom?”
    He shook his head, unable to hide disgust. “The CEO’s assistant. She’s been arrested and detained, but we don’t know how secure these diamonds will be between Antwerp and Paris.”
    “I have them,” Donovan said, scooping them into a red velvet pouch that would fit in his jacket pocket. “So you can assure Boisvert management that they will be quite secure.”
    The other man looked relieved, but dubious. “ Très bien, mais …a word of advice, Monsieur Rush?”
    “Don’t be late?”
    “Trust no one,” he replied. “ And don’t be late.”
    * * *
    He didn’t alter his travel plans. Whoever was tracking this diamond drop would assume that an experienced—and forewarned—courier would choose a different form of transportation back to Paris. But getting to the airport or renting a car would cause unnecessary delays and play right into a thief’s expectations.
    Instead, Donovan slipped back into the train station, and purchased a new Comfort One ticket on the high-speed Thalys to Paris using different identification. He boarded the first car the moment the giant red wedge-shaped train blew into the station, before most of the other passengers had even reached the platform. Strolling the length of the train, he memorized the face of every passenger already on board since Amsterdam or Rotterdam.
    Under the guise of a traveler looking for the most privacy and comfort, he perused nearly four hundred seats in a dozen connected cars, including the bar and café, and every lavatory. And he had no doubt where he would sit.
    The last set of glass doors whisked open with an automatic vacuum that responded to the slightest pressure. This small compartment seated only eight, with two rows of seats facing each other, separated by a narrow aisle. Well protected, away from most passengers, and with a single entrance that he could watch every minute of the hour and a half trip to Paris, it made the perfect place to detect a thief.
    But, shit, someone had beat him there. He could see the top of dark hair, not quite tall enough to extend above the orange headrest, facing the back seats. No matter. He drew his weapon. He would convince the passenger to leave.
    But the person shifted positions to cross a foot into the aisle. A foot wearing a platform peep toe with an