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Lars scowls, running his free hand over his chin. “What do you mean,grow a match? A match to what?”
“Xander would have needed copies of the certs,” Willow says, ignoring everyone but Fleur. “He could have requested them from the grading institutes, but not without raising suspicion. But youcould. You could get him those certs, and then he could use them as blueprints to grow stones with the exact same weights, exact same measurements and colors, exact same crystals or clouds or feathers in the exact same spots.”
Willow is yelling now, two bright spots glowing on her cheeks, same as Fleur’s.
Fleur fills her lungs and yells right back, “What about you?Youhad Xander grow a copy of the Cullinan, and for what? What were you planning to do with it, Willow, and what are those other twelve—”
“OH MY GOD ENOUGH.” Ingrid’s shriek is loud enough to pierce an eardrum. An icy wind pushes through the cracks in the arched windows on the wall, rattling the glass enough to rain dirt and mortar onto the floor, but otherwise the room is silent.
“You’re both right,” she says. “Fleur told Xander which diamonds to copy and which traders and jewelers would be willing to switch out the stones for a cut. The mined stones he gave to me, to move on the black market. Willow asked him to grow copies of twelve Prins stones, that rock on her finger, the Cullinan, a whole bunch of others. But Xander got spooked. He was convinced someone was on to him. I’m guessing that’s why she hired Lars to get those stones out of Xander’s safe, before he did somethingreallycrazy and told her husband what Willow was planning with those twelve rocks.”
“Which was?” Lars says, but Willow doesn’t have to answer. The rest of us already know.
We all know that none of that jewelry Willow is wearing, the ring and the studs in her ears and whatever else is under all those layers of cashmere and lambswool, belongs to her. Same with the money. She told me as much that day in the café.I have access to dough. Not at all the same thing as having it. I think of her face when she told me about her husband’s affair, her worries about whatwould happen to her son, to his health, once she no longer has access to a Prins bank account. Willow’s plans for Xander’s lab-growns were the same as his: to set them in the pieces her husband gave her, to switch them out for the original, mined stones. Twelve flawless Prins diamonds for her to sell, and nobody but her and Xander would know the difference. Not unless they put the stones through a machine, and even then, why would they suspect anything? Lab-grown diamonds look, feel, and sparkle exactly like their mined counterparts. Honestly, it’s kind of brilliant.
The answer clicks in Lars’s mind, too. “Fakes? You sent me there forfakes?”
“Lab-grown diamonds aren’t fake. They’re exactly like mined diamonds in composition and fire and sparkle. They’re still worth a lot of money, especially that copy of the Cullinan. Maybe not millions plural, but still a big nu—”
“They’re fucking fakes!” he says, cutting her off. “I don’t want lab-grown diamonds. I want the real thing. I want what you owe me, you bitch.” When she doesn’t respond, he raises the gun and stalks forward, four long strides until it’s pressed against her forehead.
“Here.” Willow tugs her hand from her bag and wriggles the ring from her finger, holding it out to Lars. “That middle stone is very valuable. I’d give you more, but these and the earrings are all I’m wearing.” She gives him those, too, then shoves up her sleeves to show him her empty wrists, tugs her coat away from her naked neck.
Lars drops the pieces in his pocket, then swivels the barrel to Fleur. “Now you.”
It takes Fleur a full sixty seconds to peel it all off. Multiple rings, the marble-sized solitaires in her ears, a couple of bracelets and glittery pendants tangled in chains around her neck. “This is it. There’s no more.”
Lars is gearing up for a protest when it happens. His gaze drifts over Willow’s shoulder and locks on the little body sitting stock-still behind the glass, staring at his mother’s right hand. Willow takes a big step to her right, a human wall smack into the path between them, but it’s too late. Lars has already seen.
His face spreads into a smile and he lowers the gun, tucking it behind his big body. “Hey, kid. Come here. Your mom and I want to talk to you.”
Willow
I stare at the man I’ve seen only one time before, on the edge of a shabby park on the south side of town, and the fury that floods through me is hot and clean and pure—next to my love for Sem, the purest thing I’ve ever felt. Lars grins at my son through the glass, and my fingers tingle where they touch the gun. I want to shoot this man. If he so much as touches my son, I won’t hesitate. I’ll shoot him, and I won’t miss.
“Hey, kid, come here!” He shouts it this time.
“Leave him alone,” I say, and in a voice that is not my own. My jaw clenches so tight it hurts. This is the man on the other end of the texts, and while I can shrug off his threats when they’re aimed at me, pointing his attention and the gun at my son has black spots clouding my vision. “Leave my son alone.”
Lars tries again, this time in Dutch. “Hé,jongen. Komhier—nú.” Come herenow.
Sem doesn’t move. Nothing. Not even a blink. He keeps his eyes on my hand and his butt in the chair, no indication at all that he heard. And he probably didn’t. Earlier I told him to look at nothing but my hand, and so far he hasn’t.
Good boy, I sign, and this time I don’t try to hide it.Stay.
Lars turns back to me with a frustrated grunt. “What, is he deaf or something?”
“Yes. Those things on his head are the processors for his cochlear implants, but he still misses a lot. He hears you, but only when heknows to listen.” I sign another order, this time with both hands.Listen only to my hands. Not to what I say with my mouth.
Without looking up to meet my gaze, Sem dips his chin in a solemn nod.
“What did you say?”
“I told him not to worry. I said that everything’s okay.” A lie I pray is the truth.
“Tell him to get over here. Tell him we’re going for a ride.”
My heart hammers in my chest, my palms going slick with sweat despite the freezing air. Not a chance in hell my son is getting in Lars’s car. I managed to get the magazine seated with one hand, but the gun is not loaded. For that I need both hands.