Providence

“I need to do something. I can’t just sit here,” I said, rushing over to my suitcase.



“I’m going to figure this out, Nina. Just give me a day or two to decide our next move.”



“I can’t wait another second,” I said, my mind racing to form a plan. When the idea struck, I paused. “I’m going back to my parents’. The answers are there.” I yanked a t-shirt over my head and the first pair of jeans I touched.



“We don’t have to go now,” he argued.



“Yes we do,” I said, pul ing on my shoes while hopping to the stairs.



Jared scrambled from the bed. The hangers in his closet clanged against each other, and within seconds he was behind me, ful y dressed. “Not exactly how I wanted to spend the weekend,” he said, frowning.



“C’mon. Let’s go. Vaminos!” I said, rushing him out the door.



In my parents’ home, Jared fol owed me up the stairs to Jack’s office. He watched me locate the keys to Cynthia’s safe, fol owed me to her study, and then pul ed the plant to the floor without effort. I used the key to gain access to the papers and files inside, placing them in somewhat organized piles.



For two hours we searched the documents, separating what we thought would be useful. One photo caught my eye. I held it out in front of me, staring at it, hoping I would recognize what it was that drew me in.



“He looks familiar to you?” Jared prompted.



“Something about his eyes…I can’t put my finger on it.”



Jared pul ed a black wal et from his jacket pocket and tossed it into my lap; it was the one he had taken the night Ryan was stabbed. I took a closer look at the metal object embedded into the black leather. It was a badge.



I gasped, pointing at the picture. “This is the man that wanted my ring. This is Grahm.”



Jared nodded.



“They were al cops?” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “But why would they…?” My eyes wandered to my hand.



Jared stared at it as wel . “The ring must be the key to something.”



“It doesn’t make any sense,” I whispered. I looked at the papers for a moment and then rifled through them.



“What is it?” Jared asked.



“There’s a receipt in here for the purchase of my ring. I didn’t think about it before, but there has to be a connection,” I said, impatient with the endless stacks. “Why else would it be here with important business documents?”



My eyes widened with excitement when I found the thin carbon copy. Jared leaned over my shoulder to take a look for himself.



“There’s an engraving charge,” he pointed out. “Is your ring engraved?”



“No. I don’t…Jack never said anything, I’ve never noticed,” I said, looking at my ring.



Slowly pul ing it off my finger, I held it up, rotated it, and narrowed my eyes, looking for any words. “There’s nothing,”



Jared held out his hand, and I handed it to him. My finger felt naked in its absence. Jared lifted it up, looked at it from every angle, and then returned it to my finger.



“There’s nothing,” he confirmed. He eyed the receipt once more. “I say we go to the designer. Maybe they have a copy of this receipt.”



I nodded, prompting Jared to gather the information and return it to the safe.



Jared and I drove to the address on the receipt, and I nervously twisted the ring around my finger as we pul ed to a stop beside the curb. At first glance it appeared to be a typical jewelry store, not the underground, surreptitious establishment I had expected.



The bel on the door announced our arrival and a short, pudgy, elderly man with round glasses greeted us. Jared took my hand as we walked toward the glass display cases the man stood behind.



“Good morning. I am Vincent! You like diamonds? Sapphires? Rubies? Emeralds? Semi-precious stones? I have them al ,” he gushed with a thick accent.



Jared squeezed my hand and introduced himself. “This is Nina…I’m Jared.”



Vincent didn’t skip a beat. “I’d be happy to help you with anything you need.” He paused to look at our hands intertwined and smiled. “Could I interest you in our exquisite line of engagement diamonds? I designed most of these,” he said, pointing out a long row of extravagant rings. “I can design one customary, if you wish.”



Jared looked at me with a soft expression, and then reluctantly turned his attention back to Vincent. “Not yet.”



Vincent smiled at me, and I felt the blood rise to the surface of my cheeks. “Ah, wel , then. Another time.”



“You are the owner?” Jared asked.



Vincent chuckled, patting his protruding bel y. “I am. Thirty-six years, now.”



Jared raised my hand, resting it on the surface of the glass encasement. “Do you recognize this ring?”



Vincent leaned down to get a better look. “Yes…yes…,” he hummed, elongating the words. “It has been awhile, has it not?” he asked, looking to me.



“My father purchased this from you three years ago,” I reminded him.



Vincent lifted my hand and angled it several different ways, proudly watching it sparkle in the bright lights above.



“Your father was a man of vision,” he said, smiling in approval.



Jared slid the receipt in front of Vincent. “This paper includes an engraving fee.”



“Yes, yes. I remember,” he said, pinching his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t ask questions, you know. I just make the customer happy.”



“But…there is no engraving on the ring,” I said.



He bel owed out a cheerful laugh. “There is, kisa. But it’s hidden, you see.” Vincent opened his hand, prompting me to give him my ring.



I sighed and looked to Jared, who offered a comforting smile. He took my hand and slowly pul ed the ring off of my finger. Once Jared placed it in his hand, Vincent turned the ring upside down.



“He had it marked into the pavilion of the stone. The underbel y,” he explained, “very tiny…I had to send it away to a gentleman I know with a laser. I don’t have one of those here, of course,” he chuckled, shaking his head.



“The engraving order has been covered. Do you have the original receipt?” Jared asked.



“No, no. I would have total in my books, only. If I remember correctly, it was letters and numbers. Gibberish that only made sense to your father, I assume.”



It seemed to be too easy. I felt I was in the middle of a cloak and dagger movie, happening upon the perfect clues at the perfect time, watching it come together in front of my eyes.



Jared tucked my hair behind my ear with an apologetic expression. “Vincent?” His eyes were hesitant to leave mine. “Can you remove the stone from the setting?”



I jerked my ring from Vincent’s open hand. “No!”



Jared pul ed me out of ear shot. “Nina, if you want to see what Jack had put on this ring—and what Grahm wanted—we have to remove it from the setting to read it. He can reset it as if it were never touched.”



I pressed my lips together in frustration. We would have to see what was etched into the stone to make progress, and there was only one way to do it.



“There’s no other way?” I asked, knowing the answer.



Jared shook his head and opened his hand. I placed my ring in his palm and chewed on my lip.



“Can you do it?” he asked, setting the ring on the glass.



Vincent’s eyes moved from Jared to me, unsure of how to proceed. “I could remove the stone, but there is no guarantee we wil be able to read what is there, you see what I say?”



Jared nodded. “Remove the stone.”



Vincent seemed suddenly disinclined. “It wil be a few days before I can get to it. Write down your number and I wil cal you when—”



“I realize you’re busy, forgive me,” Jared said, pul ing out his wal et. He set a smal stack of hundred dol ar bil s on the glass, and Vincent’s eyes widened, jerking his head back up to Jared. “That is in addition to your fee, of course,” Jared added.



“You wait here…I’l be just a moment.” Vincent gestured for us to sit on a short couch by the door, and then hurried to the back.



We waited together on the couch. A strange calm came over me, and I sighed when Jared began lightly caressing the top of my hand.



My eyebrows pul ed in and my smile faded. “Jared?”



“Yes?” he said, playing with the strands of hair that had escaped my ponytail.



“Vincent cal ed me kisa. It doesn’t mean ‘stupid’ or anything, does it?”



Jared burst into laughter. “No, sweetheart. I would never let anyone insult you that way.”



“What does it mean?”



Jared kissed my forehead. “It’s Russian. It means kitten.”



“Oh. That’s a relief.”



The minutes ticked by and I became increasingly anxious. I began pacing, and Jared watched me walk the length of the floor. A door shut behind me, and I flipped around. Vincent cupped the remnants of my ring in his plump hand.



Jared stood up and joined me at the display case. “Did you find anything?” he asked.



Vincent flattened a piece of paper in front of us with letters and numbers scribbled across it. He handed Jared a loupe and held out his hand for Jared to take the stone from his palm. Jared looked through the loupe at the stone, but pul ed it away from his eyes, shaking his head.



“I can’t see anything,” he said, holding the peridot in front of him. Jared periodical y looked down to the paper and back at the gem, placing it back into Vincent’s palm.



“You could see that without the loupe, eh?” Vincent chuckled. “These old eyes aren’t what they used to be.”



Jared took the paper and handed it to me. “What he has written is what is inscribed in the stone.” He looked to Vincent, then. “I’l need that reset immediately, please.”



Vincent nodded and returned to the back, taking the pieces of the ring with him.



“Now what?” I asked, looking down at the paper.



825 2TR2TL223TR05 “Does it mean anything to you?” Jared asked, grimacing in thought.



“Eight twenty-five is my birthday…August twenty-fifth, but other than that…no.”



Within ten minutes, Vincent had returned. I sighed as I slid it back to its rightful place on my finger, looking exactly the same as it did before.



We returned to Jared’s loft for lunch. I sat on the counter staring at the piece of paper, hoping the answer would spontaneously pop into my mind.



“It’s going to catch fire if you keep staring at it like that,” Jared teased, pushing the stir fry around in the wok.



“He put it on something he knew would be safe, the last place anyone would look, that he always knew where it would be….”



“He hid it in plain sight,” Jared nodded. “The question is how did Grahm figure it out?”



I scanned the floor in deep thought. “I don’t know. Maybe an old associate of my father’s?”



Jared shook his head. “Jack engraved a code to something that everyone wants and put it on his only daughter’s finger. He wouldn’t risk tel ing anyone about it.”



I sighed in frustration. “The eight twenty-five is separate from the other numbers. Think that means something?”



Jared shrugged. “It could. It could just be meant to signify your birthday. It could be an area code, or a flight number…some type of location?”



I thought about the safe in my mother’s office, the files it contained, the photos…I couldn’t make a connection with anything we’d looked over to the number. Shoving myself off the counter, I slammed the paper on the table and walked to the couch, fal ing over the arm onto my back with a frustrated cry.



“Nina,” Jared said, his voice beside me, “we’l figure this out. Try not to make yourself sick over it.”



“There’s nothing in the safe; I’ve already poured over my father’s office and searched al of his cabinets, there’s nothing!” I covered my face with my hands.



Jared kneeled beside me and pul ed my hands away from my eyes. “We’l go back tomorrow, look in Jack’s office and take another look at the files in the safe. Why don’t we rent a movie, hang out on the couch…spend some time together?”



“Ugh,” I said, sitting up. “Did I put Jack’s keys in his drawer? I don’t think I did. What did I do with them?” I asked, patting my pants pockets.



Jared grinned. “They’re in my jacket pocket. We can take them back tomorrow.”



I sat for a moment, my eyes unfocused, deep in thought.



Jared touched my shoulder. “Nina?”



I scrambled to the coat rack and shoved my hands in his jacket pockets. “They’re not here!”



Jared eyed me warily. “They’re in the inside pocket. What’s going on?”



“Eight twenty-five!” I yanked the ring of keys from his jacket and thumbed through them. When I found what I was looking for, I held it away from the rest, showing it to Jared. “See? Eight twenty-five!”



Jared looked at the key and then back at me, his eyes animated. “What does it open?”



“I don’t know,” I said, looking at the key, “but it can’t be a coincidence, right?”



“I doubt it,” Jared said, his face twisting into a frown.



“What?”



Jared took the keys from me. “I want you to let me take care of this. I’ve humored you. You’re upset about the way Jack died, I get it. But things could go downhil pretty quickly if we find what they’re looking for. I don’t want you anywhere near me when they figure out what we’ve done.”



“You’ve humored me?” I asked, insulted. “I’m not going to get in your way, I almost have this figured out, I….”