The Wedding Necklace

  THE WEDDING NECKLACE

  by

  ADRIANNE LEE

  The Wedding Necklace

  Copyright 2012 Adrianne Lee

  Published By Adrianne Lee

  Kindle Edition

  Originally released as Something Borrowed, Something Blue by Harlequin Intrigue.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  Dedication

  For Pete and Carl Pozzi, my wonderful parents, who gave me the two greatest gifts in life…roots and wings.

  Table Of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  PROLOGUE

  Autumn 1994

  Monday

  “Wayne Rival won’t be causing any more problems.” The speaker braced the telephone receiver between chin and shoulder and glanced at the middle aged man sprawled on the floor whose glassy hazel eyes seemed to stare back. Nudging the dead man's ribs with the toe of one boot, the person grinned. Who'd have guessed killing could be such a rush; the blood in my veins feels electrified.

  Listening to the voice at the other end of the line, the speaker sighed impatiently. “Yes, yes, yes. I’ve got it right here.” Greedy eyes gazed down at the necklace draped across one gloved hand. The DeHaviland Purity. The wedding necklace. A heavy handful of pure blue-white, pear-cut diamonds, half carats each except for the two carat centerpiece, were set in swirls of solid gold, its blue brilliance nearly blinding. “This piece of the 1800s is our ticket to easy street.”

  Listening again, the killer recalled the one thing that hadn’t come off quite right. “Don’t worry about that. I know what to do next. But there is a problem. She saw me.”

  Another pause.

  “I don’t care if Rival's bad heart was common knowledge! What if someone discovers the truth? She can put me here, at the right time.”

  The speaker listened again, and felt their earlier exhilaration eroding to anger. “That’s easy for you to say. I’m the one taking the risks. Okay, okay. We’ll talk about it later. I have to get out of here before the tide comes in.”

  Hanging up, the person jammed the Purity into a waist pouch, next to the faux, an excellent copy of the necklace, and an empty vial, and zipped it shut. Quickly, the person scrubbed out the two drink glasses on the table, dried them and put them in the cupboard, took a fresh glass from the shelf, pressed Wayne’s fingers around it, then poured whiskey and cola into it, and tipped it over near the edge of the counter. The amber liquid spread rapidly, pooled in the tiled grooves and dribbled onto the floor. Satisfied, the person reached for the phone again and dialed 911.

  “Emergency Services,” a voice answered.

  “Help me…” The words were spoken in a muffled, genderless moan. “My heart…the pain.” The speaker let the receiver slip loose and hit the hardwood floor with a loud clunk, then tiptoed around Wayne Rival’s lifeless form, exited silently through the back door and fled across the deck.

  Within minutes, the person was on the beach hastening through the moonless night on damp sand, headed for the spot where a dark Cadillac awaited. Their hot breath fogged in the cold air. The going was awkward. Worrying thoughts plagued. If it hadn’t been for her, tonight would have gone as smooth as child’s play.

  Anger throbbed at the killer’s temples as they scrambled up the embankment and out onto the North Shore Road. Luckily, the road was deserted, but in the distance a siren wailed. Likely the aid car. Have to hurry.

  Panting, the killer dropped behind the wheel, started the car and fishtailed onto the road. Halfway to Belmont State Park the aid car came barreling past. The killer edged the Cadillac to the shoulder, slowing momentarily, then continued on.

  The adrenaline rush was leveling off. Heartbeat steadying. It had gone perfectly. Well, almost perfectly. Contrary to what my partner thinks, the woman is a loose end I can’t afford to leave untied. Lyssa Carlyle is living on borrowed time.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Three nights later

  She wasn’t actually committing a crime, only recovering what belonged to her. She’d just slip into Windance, find the faux Purity and head back to Arizona on the next flight.

  Of course, if she were caught in the act…

  Well, Lyssa Carlyle determined, she’d make certain that didn’t happen. She wasn’t leaving Washington State without the necklace. Not this time. She should have known better than to trust a Rival. No matter how kind Wayne had seemed, he’d proven her family’s disdain of his was valid. His sudden death was a shock, but it would take more than that to stop her.

  Still, the deed couldn’t be accomplished soon enough. She pressed the gas pedal of her rented Mazda RX7 to the floor, thinking of her grandmother and how much what she was about to do would mean to the dying woman. A twinge of guilt nudged her conscience, but she refused to give it heed. The deception was necessary.

  As she passed the entrance to Belmont State Park, on the north shore of Hood Canal, headlights caught the corner of her eye. Glancing in the rearview mirror, Lyssa frowned.

  A car was speeding toward her. She tapped the brake, edging toward the shoulder. The huge, dark-colored Cadillac moved into the lane beside her. Lyssa saw nothing through its opaque windows. It swerved closer. She stiffened, alarmed. The big automobile grazed her door. A metallic screech rang out.

  Cursing, she stomped on the brake. The Mazda slowed. The Cadillac spurted past. Lyssa swore again, but the squeal of tires biting pavement cut off her diatribe. Unbelievably, the Cadillac was backing toward her. “What the hell?”

  Before she could react, it smashed her door a second time, harder than the first. The blow jolted her sideways, nearer the ditch.

  Tears of terror sprang to her eyes. Move Lyssa! Move! God only knew what kind of psycho was driving that tank, or what his intentions were if he got his hands on her. Unwilling to find out, Lyssa yanked the steering wheel to the left and slammed her foot on the gas pedal. Tires whined and spat rocks as the RX7 shot ahead of its pursuer. Her heart slapped against her ribcage. Wind funneled through her open window, pulled pins from her coiled hair and smeared her hot tears across her cheeks.

  How was she going to escape? This road was only twenty-five miles long. And as twisted as the ma
niac chasing her. Lighted areas were far and few between, driving more treacherous with each bend. Her palms were clammy. She gripped the steering wheel tighter.

  Round the next curve, Lyssa crossed the center line.

  Headlights came at her. A scream tore from her throat. She cranked the wheel to the right, barely missing the oncoming vehicle. Its angry horn blast echoed a reprimand around the bend as her car bounced back from the bumpy shoulder.

  Lyssa began to tremble. Stifle this fear! Think! She forced herself to count to ten, then drew a wobbly breath. Her only hope was to lengthen the distance between the two cars, pull into a side road and hide. She down-shifted, jammed the gas pedal and gained speed across a lonely stretch that veered away from the Canal for a mile or two; a tiny inlet where the Tahuya River emptied into the larger body of water. The road narrowed over a small bridge then widened on the other side, swinging in a ninety degree angle back to the main waterway.

  She took the small bridge too fast. Rubber yelped. The Mazda skidded along the pavement. Its headlight beams bobbed across the dark terrain.

  Lyssa eased off the gas until she had the car under control, then with her chest threatening to explode, she jammed her foot to the floor. Wind gushed through the open window, took the last of her hair pins and freed her long tresses. She tugged hair from her face and checked the rearview mirror. Although, she was outrunning the Cadillac, its headlights were still visible.

  Wasn’t there a side street just ahead? She scoured the landscape, cursing. “Where is that road?”

  She rounded the next bend. A large, dark shape suddenly appeared in her lane. A deer!

  Lyssa screamed. She jerked the steering wheel to the right.

  Missing the deer by inches, she drove onto the shoulder. The Mazda bounced out of control. A huge boulder loomed in her path. Her arms flew to her face and “CRASH” reverberated through her mind. Both feet hit the brake. The engine stalled. The car bucked. Slowed. Skidded. The front end crunched into the rock.

  Lyssa jerked forward. Her seatbelt cut into her chest, but the restraint kept her forehead from hitting the windshield by a fraction of an inch. Flopping back against the seat, she sat in stunned silence. The deer had vanished.

  Headlights glared across the sky from around the corner, glowing ever brighter. Lyssa flipped off the seatbelt. She grasped the door handle and pushed. It was jammed. The sound of the approaching car grew louder. Hooking the shoulder strap of her purse over her neck, she scrambled out the passenger door.

  About ten feet ahead of her car was a stand of trees. She darted into them and slumped against a stout pine, breathing tiny, rapid gulps of pungent night air.

  The Cadillac squealed around the corner. Its lights caught the RX7. The smell of burning rubber bit at Lyssa’s nostrils as the huge car skidded to a stop. The driver’s door popped open. She rammed her back against the rough bark of the tree and, holding her breath, strained to hear above her thundering heart.

  A full ten seconds passed. Warily, she peered around the tree. A raincoat-clad figure was standing at the open door of the Mazda, peering inside. A hat was pulled low, hiding the person’s face. She couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. The person straightened and raised both arms over the roof of her car. The Cadillac’s headlights clearly depicted an imposing metal bar of some kind held in the person’s gloved hands, his intent obvious. Lyssa barely stopped herself from shouting a protest.

  A clang rang through the night air.

  She winced, feeling the blow as surely as if it had struck her. She couldn’t stay here.

  Across the street, less than fifteen feet away, she discerned the slap of water hitting shore. She shot a leery glance at the Cadillac. Now was the time to make her move. She could cross the street unseen, unless the person rummaging through the RX7 was not alone. That fear momentarily held her in place, but if she stayed where she was she would surely be caught.

  The person on the road returned to the Cadillac and started rifling in the glove box. Trembling all over, Lyssa zipped across the street. She reached the other side just as a powerful flashlight beam landed on the spot she had occupied seconds before. A low whistle of relief pushed through her lips. She half slid, half fell down the six foot bank to the beach, grateful for the noise concealing slurps of the tidewater.

  As fast as possible Lyssa ran across the wet sand. Broken shells crunched beneath her feet and water licked hungrily at the soles of her high top Reeboks. Was the tide coming in or going out? The moonless dark offered no clue. How had she ended up in this sick scenario, with Fate intent on keeping her from getting what was rightfully hers?

  Lyssa glanced over her shoulder to see if she was being followed. She saw nothing, heard no one. Her anxious fingers tugged the leather strap of her purse and checked the zipper. Thank God. She hadn’t lost the back door key Wayne had given her to Windance. But…A worrisome thought nagged at her. Had she left anything in her carry-on bag that would lead her pursuer to Wayne Rival’s house? Dear Lord, she couldn't remember.

  Biting down panic, Lyssa tried to estimate her distance from Windance. The Tahuya river was behind her, and although the darkness obscured familiar landmarks, a few property owners were in residence; irregular lights dotted the shoreline offering a sporadic road map of sorts. She figured she should have less than a mile to go.

  Her strides increased. Endless surges of freezing water rushed her until goose bumps rippled her flesh. The salty, dead-fish stench punctuated every breath she drew. She forced herself to think of the hot shower and the warm, dry clothing only minutes away and felt encouraged.

  But the water edged higher on her shoes.

  With heartwrenching dread, Lyssa realized the tide was coming in. She tried running faster. Waves broke around her calves, sucking at her footing, impeding her efforts. Cold stung her legs through her saturated jeans. Again the water attacked. Slimy tendrils of seaweed wrapped around her ankles, tripping her. She pitched to the wet sand. Sharp shell fragments bit into her flesh, shooting pain through her palms and her knees. Hot tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks.

  She struggled to her knees. The surf charged, doused her shoulder high and bumped her into a cement sea wall. Spitting gritty, bitter salt water, Lyssa staggered to her feet and stumbled forward. Fear trudged with her as the water stormed again and again. Then it dawned on her that there were only two cement sea walls in this area. Wayne’s and the one she had just passed. It belonged to the Burleys, Wayne’s nearest neighbor. The thought of seeking their help slowed her pace. But the Burley place was dark.

  She moved toward the bank. From here to a hundred feet before Windance the shoreline abutted the road. Headlights poked the darkness above her head. She glimpsed a large, dark car. Lyssa ducked, squatting in the icy water, cowering, shivering, listening to the automobile rumble down the road.

  Trapped air burst from her lungs. Lurching to her feet, she hurried ahead. Ten seconds later, she spotted her destination. Laughing and crying, Lyssa half swam, half waded through the thigh-high waves, stumbled up the sea wall steps and collapsed in an exhausted heap on Wayne's deck.

  She was safe.

  Craig Rival swore in frustration. Four times he’d punched in the code and four times the wrought iron gate had refused to budge. The glowing red light on the computerized security box assured him the system was working. In spite of this, he gripped the metal fence on either side of the opening and shook the gate. “Damn!”

  Someone had obviously entered a different code. He’d have to open the gate from inside the house, if he could find a way to get in. The tide wouldn’t go out enough to enter from the beach side for hours, and he couldn’t remember having a worse case of jet lag.

  Behind him, his rented Cadillac purred. Ignoring it, Craig craned his neck and peered between the weathered bars, past the tree-lined drive to the sprawling residence in the distance. He shook his head in wonder. It wasn’t new, but it was still impressive.

  Windance. A woebegone smile cross
ed his lips. His father had named the huge L-shaped house for the way the wind made whitecaps dance across the water. The grounds stretched four hundred feet across and were surrounded by water on three sides. A breezeway separated the main structure from a five car garage to his left and a deck angled over the Canal to his right. Pole lights dotted the grounds, spilling eerie yellow pools across the building and drive.

  On a bright sunny day there was no place more inviting, but right now shadowed by the dark sky, with the smell of rain in the air, it struck Craig as a gloomy reminder of all that he’d lost and could never recover. He returned to the rented Cadillac, shut off the motor, tossed his suitcoat across the front seat, then pressed the trunk release button.

  After his father’s tragic death last September, he couldn't bear to set foot inside Windance. He’d closed the house, left the running of Rival Gems International to his Uncle Wayne--the company’s manager--and headed to Europe. He lifted the trunk lid and shoved his suitcase to one side.

  The year long trip hadn’t been a complete exercise in escapism. He’d picked up and sent back a few good pieces of estate jewelry, in particular, the prize Russian tsarina’s tiara which he’d instructed Wayne to make the centerpiece of “The Collection.”

  Hefting a tire iron, he slammed the trunk, returned to the fence and began systematically checking the weathered bars for weak spots, but his thoughts were on “The Collection.” From the time he was a young boy, Craig had questioned his father’s refusal to sell certain items of jewelry at any price. Paul Rival would gaze down at the specially designed display case, skim his hand across the smooth glass cover as though he were caressing a sleek cat, and smile that secret smile. “Some things, my son, no amount of money can replace.”

  His reasoning eluded Craig. Then Paul had died, and Craig understood the meaning of his father’s words all too well. The band around his heart tightened. What cruel irony that Wayne too should die at Windance, and at the very time he’d decided to come home. But why Wayne had been here remained a mystery.