All he wanted for Christmas was an adventure. Was that too much to ask? Not anything major…he wouldn’t wish a crime spree on his base. But he desperately needed something to jar him out of his mind-numbing state.
Thanks to the leg injury he’d suffered on his last tour of duty, it wasn’t likely that he was going to see combat action anytime soon. Hell, he couldn’t even join his mother and younger sister on the ice rink. Pausing, he turned back to watch the skaters. He barely needed the cane anymore, and the leg itself was at eighty to eighty-five percent mobility. The problem was it wasn’t going to get to one hundred. His general had already had a conversation with him about transferring to a desk job at the Pentagon.
Problem was, a desk job didn’t appeal to D.C. any more than continuing on at the less-than-exciting Fort McNair.
D.C. tapped his cane impatiently against the ground as he watched his mother and Darcy skate by again. He’d always thought he’d be a military career man just as his father had been. At least that had been his father’s plan before he’d been killed in Bosnia. But a career in the army was out if D.C. had to spend the rest of his life on the fringes as he was doing today.
It came upon a midnight clear…
The lilting music had D.C. narrowing his eyes. Who said he had to wait until midnight for a little clarity? There was no time like the present. When January 15 rolled around, instead of signing up for another five years in the army, he could always resign. So what if he didn’t know exactly what he’d do next?
His older brother, who owned a security firm in Manhattan, had offered him a job. But in the last year, Jase had taken on a new partner and more recently a wife. No matter. D.C. would figure out something. He always did. The corners of his mouth lifted in a grin. He did like surprises. Wasn’t it the predictability of his daily routine at Fort McNair that was driving him nuts?
Having made the decision, something eased inside of him.
Finally.
This time, as his mother and sister rounded the curve, he smiled and waved at them. It was his day off, and he’d invited them to join him at the National Mall for some museum touring followed by skating at the sculpture garden. The visit to the National Gallery had been designed to tempt his mother into town. For the last twenty years, ever since Nancy Campbell had stepped into the job of single parent, he’d never known her to take much time off for herself.
So when she’d mentioned she’d love to see the Rubinov Diamond exhibit, D.C. had lost no time planning the day. According to the press releases, the Rubinov boasted a Cupid-like reputation of bringing together those who came in contact with it. But it was nearly equally famous for its history of frequently disappearing for long periods of time. When it invariably resurfaced, it was never possible to trace the relationship between the old owner and the new one.
It didn’t require highly trained investigatory skills to assume that there was often some sort of skulduggery afoot. D.C. suspected the diamond had, at various times, gone underground into someone’s private collection. He’d learned a lot about the temptations of private collectors when he’d been investigating an art theft case in Iraq, one that had involved some high-level military officials. It had been messy.
Who knew how long the Rubinov had been in the possession of its current owner, Gregory Shalnokov? The reclusive billionaire had admitted to owning it for the past ten years, but just how he’d come to acquire it was shrouded in mystery. D.C. knew that provenances could be forged.
Still, he figured he owed Shalnokov one when he’d seen the look on his mother’s and sister’s faces as they’d gazed at the diamond. D.C. shook his head. There was something about women and diamonds.
As far as he was concerned, the blue stone was just another rock, albeit one that supposedly had extraordinary powers. Truth told, he’d been more intrigued by the security on both the exhibition room and the display case than he’d been by the diamond. After a fair bit of prompting and a flash of his ID, one of the guards, a man named Bobby, had told him that the lock on the case was voice activated. Only Shalnokov could open it.
Interesting.
Over the years, the legendary diamond had attracted as many thieves as lovers. The article in the Washington Post had even mentioned the name of master thief Arthur Franks as having once had possession of the stone. While the female members of D.C.’s family had oohed and aahed over the diamond, he’d been wondering how a good thief might work a successful heist. And the fact that his mind had wandered down that path was pathetic proof of the level of his boredom.
Then he’d glanced up and looked into his mystery woman’s eyes. And for those next few seconds, he’d been unaware of anything but her. He couldn’t recall ever being that intensely aware of anyone before.
When his cell phone rang, D.C. glanced at the ID and grinned. Jase had been checking in with him once a week since he’d been assigned to Fort McNair. A classic case of big-brotheritis.
“Don’t you have something better to do?” D.C. asked.
“As a matter of fact, I do. But Maddie wanted me to call and remind you that you’re joining us for Christmas in the Big Apple.”
“And you don’t think I’m getting daily reminders of that from Mom?”
Jase laughed. “Okay. I’ll have to think up better excuses for calling. How are you?”
“I’m fine,” D.C said. “Really.” And he realized it was the truth. He was okay with the fact that his life after January 15 was a clean slate—something he had plenty of time to write on. It would be an adventure. And after all, wasn’t that what he was craving?
“You’ll figure something out.”
“I will,” D.C. said. He would.
Have yourself a merry little Christmas…
The song poured out of the speakers as D.C. pocketed his cell phone. His smile widened. The music seemed louder, the lights brighter, the evening merrier. He was still grinning and watching the skaters when he caught a movement in his peripheral vision. Turning, he spotted a figure at the far end of the garden just inside one of the entrance gates. The lights were focused on the ice rink, but he could still make out the white fur trim on the Santa hat as the person dodged behind one of the trees.
Earlier, when they’d arrived at the National Gallery, there’d been a couple of young people wearing red scarves and Santa hats in the museum. ‘Twas the season, D.C. supposed.
He kept his eyes on the festive figure as he darted to the next tree. Intrigued by the furtiveness of the movement, D.C. stepped onto the grass using trees and sculptures for cover as he zigged and zagged away from the ice rink.
Suddenly, the person ducked down along one side of the largest sculpture—the four-sided pyramid. Hiding, D.C. decided. But from what? The question had barely formed in his mind when a second figure suddenly appeared on another side of the sculpture and moved stealthily toward the first. Both figures were dressed alike—dark clothing, a Santa hat and a scarf.
In spite of the dim lighting, D.C. caught the glint of light on metal and watched. The second one raised his arm and springing forward, brought a gun down hard on the other one’s head.
D.C. pulled out his revolver as he broke into a run. “Stop. Police.”
The person holding the gun whirled and raised his weapon just as uneven ground made D.C. stumble and fall. He landed hard on his bad leg. Dispassionately, he heard a whiny thud and watched a chunk of bark hit the grass inches in front of him. Close, D.C. thought as he rolled to the other side of a tree. Very close.
Still on the ground, he ignored the pain in his thigh and took aim with his own weapon. But the figure was already racing away. The sidewalks