Thunderbolt over Texas by Barbara Dunlop Page A

“Sometimes I think so.”
    â€œThis is the thrill of a lifetime.”
    â€œYou can touch it, you know.”
    She rubbed her fingertips together, sensitizing them. Then she leaned in ever so slowly, resting her hips against the edge of the table.
    After a long minute she dared to touch the bottom point of the brooch.
    She immediately snatched her hand back, a chill creeping into her veins. She felt it again, and her world came to a screeching halt.
    â€œCole?” she ventured slowly, stomach clenching.
    â€œYeah?” He’d moved closer, but his voice seemed to come from a long way off.
    She tested the bottom diamond one more time and her heart went flat, dead cold.
    â€œThis is a fake.”
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    â€œDon’t be absurd,” said Cole, studying Sydney’s shocked expression.
    â€œIt’s a fake,” she repeated more passionately.
    â€œRight,” Cole drawled, glancing down at the brooch. Somebody had bypassed the alarm and broken into the lawyer’s safe to reproduce the Thunderbolt without anyone noticing. That was likely.
    â€œWhen was it last appraised?”
    Cole tried to figure out where she was going with this.
    â€œWhen?” she demanded.
    â€œIt’s been closely guarded for hundreds of years.” The odds of it being a fake were ridiculously slim.
    Had Kyle been right about her? Was this some kind of an elaborate con?
    â€œWhat are you up to?” he demanded.
    â€œI’m up to giving you my professional opinion.”
    â€œUh, huh.” He struggled to figure out her angle. How she could turn this little ruse to her advantage?
    She pointed to the brooch. “See those diamonds? The little ones on the points?”
    He glanced down. “Sure.”
    â€œThey’re cut.”
    â€œSo what?”
    â€œSo, nobody faceted diamonds until the fourteenth century. They didn’t have the tools. The process hadn’t been invented. I don’t know who made this brooch, but it sure wasn’t the ancient Vikings.”
    Cole’s gaze shot back to the Thunderbolt. He’d seen it dozens of times. It looked the same. It always looked the same.
    But she was sounding alarmingly credible, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how lying about its authenticity would help her get her hands on it. His stomach sank. He had to allow for the possibility that she was telling the truth.
    Her voice went up an octave. “Cole, you’re not reacting.”
    He lifted it, holding the glittering gold to the light, speaking to himself. “Who would fake it?”
    â€œWe need more information,” said Sydney, squinting at the jewel. “I have a friend who’s a conservator. She could pinpoint the date more closely, give us somewhere to start.”
    Ah. Okay. There it was. He could see the scam now.
    â€œYou have a friend,” he mocked, palming the brooch.
    â€œGwen Parks. She’s worked at the Laurent for—”
    â€œAnd your friend is going to come out and value my brooch?”
    Sydney’s eyes narrowed. “She’s not going to value it—”
    Cole let out a chopped laugh. “Let me guess.” He took a pace forward. “It’ll be worthless. You’ll offer to take it off my hands. And the next thing I know it’ll be on display in New York.”
    Sydney’s expression lengthened in apparent horror. “Cole, I’d never—”
    â€œNever what? ” He stepped closer to her again. “Never try anything and everything to get your hands on the Thunderbolt? Never lie? Never cheat? Never marry me or sleep with me?”
    She clenched her hands into small fists. “I really don’t give a damn what you think of me right now. But the brooch is a fake. Get my expert. Get your own expert. Take it to the Louvre. But if you don’t find out when it was faked, you’re never going to find out why it was faked, you are never, ever going to have a