“No. Unknowingly possessing a priceless object that’s made me the target for several Russian hitmen. And, for the record, when I saypricelessI don’t mean it in the, ‘Aw, shucks, look at that family having a picnic, what a priceless moment’ sort of way. I mean it in the very literal, ‘you cannot put a price tag on this item because it is irreplaceable’ sense of the word.” I pause. “Though, if youcouldput a price tag on it, it would probably say something in the $20 million range.”
“You’re freaking out.”
“Of course I’m freaking out! Why aren’tyoufreaking out?”
“Not really my style.”
“Well, it’s not usually mine either, but I’m making an exception in this particular case.” I blow out a breath. “Did you know that there were only fifty-two of these Eggs ever made? And that this one was made for the Tsar of Russia, as a gift for his wife?”
“Google tell you that factoid?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s it. I’m restricting your internet privileges.”
“Too late! The damage is done. I already memorized the Wikipedia page. I am a freaking fount of knowledge. Ask me anything.”
He stares at me blankly.
“Go on! Ask me something.”
“You want some whiskey?”
“I meant something about the Eggs.”
He shrugs. “You want the whiskey or not?”
“No! Yes.Maybe.”
“Way to be decisive, babe.” Conor smirks and walks into the kitchen. When he comes back, he’s got two low-ball glasses of whiskey in his hands. He passes one to me in silence and raises his other in solidarity. “Cheers.”
“What on earth do we have to celebrate, in this moment?”
He takes a small sip. “You.”
“Me?”
He nods. “You’ve been so busy spiraling into panic, I don’t think you realize what this all means.”
“Um… that we’re utterly fucked? Because if you think Alexei Petrov is going to let a $20 million, one-of-a-kind antiquity slip through his fingers…”
Conor shakes his head. “Before, we were walking around blindfolded, hoping to stumble onto whatever your husband stole by dumb luck alone. That’s like fighting with your hands tied behind your back. Thanks to you, we know exactly what Petrov is after. We know why he’s so determined to get it back. And we even know where it is — presuming you didn’t throw that jewelry box in the trash.” He actually cracks a smile. “Don’t you see? Now, we have a chance at closing this case on our terms. We’ll get the Egg from wherever you stashed it, use it as bait to draw Petrov and his boys out, and finally catch the bastards.” He lifts his glass again. “Andthat, Hunt, is definitely worth celebrating.”
I eye him nervously. “Yeah… you might not want to celebrate our victorytooprematurely.”
His brows go up. “Why’s that?”
“When I said I had the Egg, I meant it. Ihadthe Egg. Past tense.”
His silence is profound. I hear him take a sharp intake of breath, steeling himself. “Hunt, please tell me you didn’t throw our only shot at stopping Alexei Petrov in the garbage.”
I wince. “Not exactly.”
“Then where is it?”
I keep my eyes closed as I tell him the location of the Egg. And, as I listen to him curse like a sailor on leave, I raise my glass to my lips and drain my whiskey in one long sip.
I’m going to need a little liquid courage for what comes next.