Page 8 of The Woman with the Wallet

I was all of one foot into the hallway when Nicole and Megs appeared in the opening, arms folded.

“Go back to bed,” Nicole demanded with a brow raised.

“Normally, you know I don’t even try to tell you what to do,” Megs chimed in. “But it’s been over twenty-four hours without sleep. You need some rest. Whatever the work is, it can wait until tomorrow.”

Megs almost never put her foot down about anything. She was content to be the easy-going little sister, letting me be the controlling and demanding one.

But every now and again—especially when she thought I was being a danger to myself in some way—she dug in her heels.

This was one of those times.

I could see her thoughts in her eyes.

Namely, that I’d just made eight grand, so there was no reason I couldn’t take a couple of hours to recover before I got back to work.

I couldn’t exactly tell her that I was running out because I had, potentially, stumbled into, what? A quarter-million-dollar stash of diamonds. Maybe more.

I didn’t even try to contain the sigh that escaped me.

“I know sleep is hard sometimes,” Megs said, eyes softening.

She did know.

Because when you were a very young, pretty, small girl living on the streets, sleeping was one of the worst things you coulddo. I’d spent years trying to stay awake as long as possible until the hypnic jerks would startle me awake again and again until, finally, my body gave in.

It wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence to wake up to someone—on the tame end—trying to steal my meager, but very precious, possessions, or—on the darker end—putting their hands on me, trying to get in my sleeping bag, rolling me onto my back and starting to…

“I’m fine,” I assured her, thinking of how, when I found her on the street, I slept even less, staying awake all night long while she slept, holding a steak knife I’d found while dumpster diving, ready to gut anyone who tried to lay a hand on her. “I’m just restless,” I admitted, but did what they wanted, retreated into my room.

I even caught a little catnap as I waited. Because I knew that neither of the girls could cook. So once they were both dressed and finished with their respective tasks, they would head out to get something to eat.

But the apartment door slammed sometime that afternoon, and I was off my bed in a second, rushing to get my shoes back on, grab my wallet, and stash the other one somewhere safe. There was no way I was going to be walking around with a quarter of a million dollars’ worth of diamonds. I knew too well how easily something like that could be stolen.

The solitary diamond in my wallet made the whole thing feel like it weighed a thousand pounds as I made my way back out onto the street, head ducked down against the freezing breeze that seemed to get trapped down between the high-rises.

I could, of course, take the diamond to a reputable store, claim it had fallen out of a setting or something, and ask to have it appraised.

But if there was any chance that these diamonds were stolen—and, let’s face it, what else could they be?—then I didn’t wantany alarms going up. Cops put calls out to shops about shit like diamond heists. It was why stolen jewelry was often hard to hock.

So I went ahead and walked past no fewer than three stores on the up-and-up, making my way, instead, toward an unmarked door down the alley between a dry cleaner and a shady-looking deli.

“Keep your panties on,” a voice called from inside, making my lips curve up as the slide of locks sounded from the inside. “Or, you know, take ‘em off,” Lil said, her gaze moving down me in one quick sweep.

Lil was five-and-a-half feet of casual sex appeal, with her wavy brown hair around a sharp, cat-like face with big green eyes and generous lips that were quick to offer a flirtatious smirk. She had a figure to die for—great tits, round hips, a narrow waist, and arms on the slightly muscular side.

She was dressed, as she almost always was, in a white ribbed tank top and a pair of jeans marred with various permanent stains and tears. On her feet was one of the many pairs of Converse she owned. In just about every shade known to mankind. And some she’d altered herself when she couldn’t find what she wanted.

I had no idea—since I’d never asked—if Lil was like Megs and Nicole, who batted for both teams, or if it was just impossible for her to turn off her charm, regardless of who she was talking to.

“Aren’t you freezing in that?” I asked as I took a step forward when Lil stepped to the side of the door, silently inviting me in.

“Think I’m probably warmer than you are. What is that jacket made of, tissue paper?”

As soon as I was inside, Lil closed the doors and slid all the locks. Which might have felt ominous if I hadn’t known this woman for years and understood the reason for her paranoia.

Namely, the tables full of loose precious gemstones and diamonds, as well as racks full of jewelry she just hadn’t gotten around to taking apart yet.

See, Lil was who professional thieves went to when they went and did something stupid, like steal a one-of-a-kind piece of jewelry that was easily identifiable. And, therefore, impossible to sell as it was.

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