I can tell by the subtle, unique nicks and dings around the bands that come from a woman wearing her jewelry on the regular—not to mention, their styles are too eclectic to have been acquired through a legitimate source.
I know because our family has invested a lot of time and money in ensuring our merchandise could pass customs.
But that’s not what stops my heart in my chest. It’s the sizable solitaire emerald-cut diamond nestled right in the center of his display. I would recognize that rock anywhere. Reaching for the ring, I pluck it out, slipping it onto the tip of my pointer finger to confirm the size is right.
“Where did you get this?” I demand, turning my eyes on the vendor once more.
His saccharine smile fades as quick realization flickers behind his eyes, and in a flash, he slams the case closed to bolt in the opposite direction.
He doesn’t make it half a step before my fingers close around his throat, and I lift him bodily off the ground, slamming his back against the unyielding facade of Michigan Central Station.
He grunts as the air leaves his lungs, then drops the jewelry case as his hand scrabble desperately in an effort to free himself from my iron grip.
“Answer me!” I snarl, shoving him harder into the wall.
“Some woman in Chicago,” he chokes out, coughing and sputtering when I release his throat.
But I keep a firm grip on the front of his shirt as he rakes in desperate gasps of air.
“Did you hurt her?” I demand.
I suppose it’s possible Anika decided to sell the ring for cash. It would be a smart move, an easy way to hide her tracks, and I don’t want to kill the man if he didn’t realize he was doing something wrong.
But that thought flees as soon as I see the fear flash across his thin face.
“If you laid a single finger on my wife…” I warn, getting right up in his face as I pull a knife on him in broad daylight.
“I didn’t, I swear!” he cries, shaking visibly as he holds his hands up in surrender. “I just threatened her is all, but I swear I didn’t touch her. She was alive and completely unharmed when I left her.”
“Where?” I demand.
“W-well in the women’s bathroom of Union Station—Chicago. She had some cash and a train ticket in her bag, so I took it and left.”
“You better pray she’s still alive when I find her, or I’ll be coming back for you,” I warn.
Usually, I’d take his hand for daring to steal from my wife.
But considering we’re in a city that’s well outside the boundaries of Chiaroscuro territory—and I’m in a considerable rush—I’m going to let it slide this time. And if I change my mind, I can always find him.
Giving him one last powerful shove, I release him, jerking my head to single for Gio to follow.
The four-hour drive back to Chicago is the most painful of my life.
I usually like cars, and I have a fast one to get me back to the city in the shortest time possible.
But none of that is going to calm me down today.
Not until I find Anika.
Gio’s completely given up trying to talk me down. He sits quietly in the passenger seat, loosely gripping the grab handle as I take curves at eighty miles an hour.
Finally, we make it back to Union Station, and I start from square one once more, showing Anika’s picture to anyone and everyone I can get my hands on.
At last, I catch a break as a bushy-bearded homeless man squints out from beneath the wide brim of his filthy cap to get a closer look.
“Yeah, yeah, I might’a seen her,” he says, smacking his toothless gums. “Last night, I think it was. At the soup kitchen. But she didn’t stay long. Acted like a frightened little mouse, rushing in to inhale her food and vanishing just as quickly.”
“This was just last night?” I confirm, the panic that had formed a stranglehold around my heart lessening just a touch.
