Cleopatra's Necklace (Devlin Security Force Book 3) by Susan Vaughan Page A

said, hoping his up-front approach would earn him points. And trust.
    Castelli’s glance was sharp. “How do you know this?”
    “I’m an old family friend. There are... small differences. I knew she wasn’t Cleo.” Before his brain, his body had known, not responding to her the way he’d reacted to Cleo from the day she stopped being a pesky kid and became all female. And too fascinating for his good. Or hers.
    “You are right, signore .” Castelli tucked his hands in his suit-jacket pockets. “Fingerprints on objects in the purse and on the mobile phone do not match those of the victim. Interpol has vouched for your reputation and that of your company. Before I share information from an on-going police investigation, what is it you want from me?”
    Two twenty-somethings walking a German shepherd approached from the other direction. The women whispered together, hips swaying in their short skirts more noticeably the closer they came. Thomas’s face warmed before he realized they were smiling at cover-boy Castelli, not at a man more than a decade their senior, the age difference between him and Cleo. He needed to remember that when he found her.
    After the women passed, he said, “I know where Cleo has gone. I want assurance I can reach her and protect her before you reveal the identity confusion to the press. And to the bad guys.”
    “I can make no promises. Signorina Chandler is connected to two cases of murder. She is a suspect.”
    “Witness, yes, but no murderer. I believe she’s the one who first called the police about Moreau’s death, and then the emergency number about the second shooting. She’s the reason that woman in the hospital bed is still alive.” He had no proof, only supposition. He shouldn’t have come across with such vehemence, dammit. “And Moreau? Do you think she shot him too?”
    The detective’s thin smile revealed nothing. “Too soon to say. We found blood at the foot of the stairs leading to his studio. Signs of a search inside. Clues in the flat where he expired indicate Signorina Chandler left in a hurry. Both victims were shot by the same nine millimeter. No witnesses to either shooting, except probably the signorina . No indication anyone else was there outside the jewelry shop. Perhaps the women argued. If I could question the signorina ...” He let his words hang in space, like Cleo’s life.
    Thomas forced calm into his voice. “Right. Once I’ve arranged for her safety, I’ll make her available for questioning.”
    “But you will not tell me her location.”
    Thomas kept his expression neutral while he waited out the detective.
    After a moment, Castelli spoke. “On her Facebook page, we found posts between her and Mimi Ingram, and her mobile showed recent calls to her. But whenever I ring the number, it is out of service.” He raised an eyebrow.
    Not unlike Thomas’s attempts to reach his sister. But he was no longer worried. Much. Dr. Olsen had said she was working her regular shift, so she was just ignoring him. Sometimes space was good, the doc had suggested. Maybe.
    He waited to respond to Castelli until they’d passed two men chatting at a gas station. Fumes feathered the salt air as a man filled the tank in his water taxi. Castelli had seen the necklace on the Facebook page. Every police officer in Europe knew about the theft.
    Before Thomas could speak, the detective stepped in. “The necklace. Is it the one stolen in July, the ancient piece unearthed in Cleopatra’s tomb?”
    “Or a copy made by René Moreau aka Farris Pandareos.” He doubted Cleo had any idea she might’ve worn the real deal. She might be a little wild but never dishonest. Always open. Sometimes too open. If she was still the Cleo he used to know.
    “Your security company was in charge of the transfer from the U.S. to the museum in Paris,” Castelli said, sympathy, not accusation in his voice.
    “To my great embarrassment. And the reason my company is cooperating with the