He’d been lost in the ring forhours.
And suddenly he was furious. He grabbed the ring box and shoved to his feet, heading straight for the open briefcase on the cash register counter. He ignored the prickling in his hand long enough to stick the ring box in the briefcase and slam it shut. He yanked the briefcase off the counter and stormed into the office, where he jammed the case in the lowest file cabinet drawer and locked it tight. Then he reached for the desk and the paper with Arthur Kenzie’s contact information.
He burst through the shop’s side door into the brownstone’s lobby, where a handful of people were smoking cigarettes and checking their mail. Ignoring them, he snatched up the party-line telephone and bit out the exchange and number for the operator.
The call was answered on the second ring. “This is Arthur Kenzie.”
Kenzie’s voice was deep and confident and he had a ritzy accent, like he hadn’t always lived in America. It was unquestionably sexy and that only pissed Rory off more. “You think ’cause you got money you can stomp all over us?”
All heads in the lobby turned his way. In his ear, Kenzie sounded very unimpressed as he said, “I beg your pardon—”
“How dare you give Mrs. Brodigan that—thatthing.”
There was a barely perceptible intake of breath. “Who is this?” Kenzie’s voice had gone sharp.
“We don’t appraise weapons!” Rory’s heated shout nearly sent his broken glasses tumbling off his face.
“Where’s Mrs. Brodigan?” Kenzie demanded. “Why do you know about the ring—”
“That’sno ring.Whatever that piece of hell is, you’re taking it back.”
“But—”
“Keep your job, keep your money, and keep the hell away from us. You’ll get your monster back tomorrow and I better never hear your fucking name again.”
Rory slammed the receiver back on the cradle. He stood for a moment of righteous anger—then slumped as all the fight left him in a rush.
That…might have been a bit harsh.
He hunched his shoulders, conscious of every pair of eyes in the lobby staring at him. He slouched as small as he could and slunk away from the phone—
When it suddenly rang.
Rory froze. His gaze landed on the phone. It rang again, thelong-long-shortring that meant a call for the antiques shop. And no one else in the lobby was moving, all eyes staring at him, so finally he swallowed hard and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Don’t bother sending the ring back,” said Kenzie. “I’m coming to get it myself.”
Chapter Five
Arthur hung up on his mysterious caller without another word. He swept up his suit jacket, winter coat, and hat, dressing as he took the stairs down four flights to catch a cab on Central Park West.
“Hell’s Kitchen,” he told the driver, then sat back, steepled his fingers, and considered the call.
Who the hell was that uppity little shit? How the hell did he know about the ring? And the most pressing concern—where was Mrs. Brodigan?
Christ. Had she opened that box?
Arthur’s knowledge of psychometry was limited and his experience with it nonexistent. He’d never met a psychometric in person—had never even met a person who believed a sane psychometric could exist. The risks to the mind from the visions were simply too great. Arthur knew of some of those risks from rumors, others he could quite well imagine, and if Mrs. Brodigan hadn’t heeded his warning, if she’d had any contact with that relic—
The consequences could have made an unknown young man very angry with Arthur.
Shit.He leaned forward. “I’ll pay double if you can make it in under ten minutes.”
The cabbie looked like Christmas had come earlier. “Sir, yes, sir,” he said, and floored it through a red light.
Rory could not move fast enough.
He sprinted from the lobby, fumbling for the keys in his trouser pocket. It took him three tries to lock the side door with his shaky hands. What had he been thinking, mouthing off like that? He’d just been so shaken—soscared, if he was honest with himself. He’d lost hours to that ring, and he didn’t want to think about the last time he’d gone that deep—
