Midnight in Ruby Bayou Read Free Page B

for the duration of the storm.
    The room was a lush haven from the terrible white winter outside. Richly colored rugs that had once graced an Ottoman sultan’s palace covered the walnut floor. Pictures that had once hung in the offices of Jewish financiers brought a glow of grace and serenity to the walls. The desk itself was massive, a masterpiece of baroque carving said to have belonged to a czar’s cousin. Six cellular phones lay scattered along its polished surface.
    The man whose American passport stated that he was Ivan Ivanovitch lit a Cuban cigar to conceal the anger that was making his hands shake.
    Idiots. Shitheads. Dog turds. Do I not pay them twice what they are worth?
    But all he said aloud was, “Marat Borisovitch Tarasov is very unhappy with your bumbling.”
    The black-haired woman was sweating so heavily that her makeup bled down her face like muddy tears. “You know I would never cheat you or him. I took only what was ordered. I never saw this ruby pendant you speak of.”
    â€œThe Heart of Midnight. As big as a baby’s fist. As red as the blood that will gush out of your lying throat when I slit it. Where is the necklace! If you tell me now, I will be merciful.” A lie, but perhaps a useful one. In any case, he didn’t care about the smaller rubies on the necklace, only the Heart of Midnight. “If you tell me later—and you will tell me—you will suffer.”
    â€œTruly, sir.” She was shaking, but it wasn’t with anger. Raw fear glazed her eyes. Hers would not be the first throat Tarasov’s pet assassin had slit, nor would it be the last. And worse, he was famous for torturing his victims first. “We were in the vault, yes, but I gave the same orders as always.”
    â€œThere was no rummaging? Did no one open those center drawers?” Eyes as pale and opaque as stones noted her every twitch, the jerk of her pulse. “Did you watch each of your miserable thieves closely?”
    â€œOnly once did it happen. Yuri opened the wrong drawer and he closed it again very quickly when I told him to. The jewels were tagged and numbered, part of a royal inventory.”
    â€œYes, shithead, I know. So does Marat Borisovitch.” And so did Tarasov’s worst enemy, Dmitry Sergeyev Solokov, the rival for power who was trying to shove the stupid theft down Tarasov’s throat until he choked to death. Stealing was one thing, common enough not to make ripples. Stealing so that your enemies could hang you was quite another.
    If the Heart of Midnight wasn’t returned before the new wing of the Hermitage opened, Tarasov would hang. But first he would kill the man known as Ivan Ivanovitch Ivanov.
    â€œSend Yuri to me,” Ivanovitch demanded.
    Yuri didn’t have the woman’s courage. After two minutes with Ivanovitch, the little thief was crying and begging and regretting the instant when greed had overcome fear.
    â€œI d-did not m-mean to,” Yuri stammered. “It—I—”
    â€œQuiet!”
    Yuri took a choked breath and waited for Ivanovitch to speak. In all his dreams, Yuri had never imagined standing in such a powerful man’s presence.
    Now he dreamed only of leaving it.
    â€œYou took the necklace.”
    Yuri whimpered.
    â€œWhere is it now? Speak truthfully or you die.”
    â€œWith the r-rest. I could not k-keep it.” A stone filled with blood and surrounded by pearls. It would bring death. He knew it. “I w-was afraid of it.”
    Ivanovitch wished he didn’t believe the little worm, but he did. The man hadn’t the brains to lie. “Which shipment?”
    â€œTo America, s-sir. I h-hid it with the rest.”
    â€œWhen?” Ivanovitch asked sharply.
    Yuri swallowed but still couldn’t speak. Instead, he looked at his second cousin, who had told him how easy it was to get rich working for Marat Borisovitch Tarasov.
    The black-haired woman, who had stood mute