The Helen Bianchin And The Regency Scoundrels And Scandals Collections. Louise Allen

      Settling back to work took effort, and she was glad when the day ended and she could go home.

      Grief sat uneasily on her shoulders, and Alicia’s hissy fit only served to exacerbate her emotions. It would be all too easy to rage against fate or sink into a well of tears.

      What a choice, she decided as she let herself into her apartment. The cat ran up to her, and she crouched down to caress the velvet ears. A feline head butted her hand, then smooched appealingly before curling over onto its back in silent invitation for a tummy rub.

      ‘Unconditional devotion,’ she murmured as she obligingly rubbed the cat’s fur, and heard the appreciative purr in response.

      She was all alone with no one close to call.

      Cameron was in Melbourne, Siobhan had returned to Italy, and she couldn’t, wouldn’t ring Diego.

      OK, so she’d feed the cat, fix herself something to eat, then she’d clean the apartment. An activity that would take a few hours, after which she’d shower and fall into bed.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      WORK provided a welcome panacea, and Cassandra applied herself diligently the following morning as she adjusted the binocular microscope and focused on the delicate setting. Its intricate design provided a challenge, professionally and personally.

      She wanted the best, insisted on it, aware such attention to minuscule detail brought the desired result…perfection.

      If achieving it meant working through a lunch-hour, or staying late at the workshop, nothing mattered except the quality of the work.

      Yet there were safety precautions in place. Loose stones were easy to fence, and therefore provided a target for robbery. Priceless gems, expensive equipment. Security was tight, the vault one of the finest. Bulletproof glass shielded those who worked inside, and a high-priced security system took care of the rest.

      It all added up to a heightened sense of caution. Something she had become accustomed to over the years, and one she never took for granted.

      The cast-in-stone rule ensured two people, never one alone, occupied the workshop on the premise that if by chance something untoward happened to one, the other was able to raise the alarm.

      In the three years she’d worked for this firm, no one had attempted to breach the security system in daylight.

      Oh, for heaven’s sake! Why were such thoughts chasing through her mind? Instinct, premonition? Or was it due to an acute vulnerability?

      No matter how hard she tried, she was unable to dismiss Diego from her mind. He was an intrusive force, every waking minute of each day.

      She could sense his touch without any trouble at all. Feel the way his mouth moved on her own. As to the rest of it…

      Don’t go there. The memories were too vivid, too intoxicating.

      Great while it lasted, she admitted. A fleeting, transitory fling orchestrated for all the wrong reasons. Manipulation at its worst.

      So why was she aching for him?

      The deal was done. Preston-Villers would flourish beneath Diego’s management. Cameron retained anonymity in his private life. As to her? She’d fulfilled all obligations and was off the hook.

      A hollow laugh sounded low in her throat. Sure she was! She’d never been so tied up in her life!

      She barely ate, she rarely slept. Some of it could be attributed to grieving for her father. The rest fell squarely on Diego’s shoulders.

      The electronic buzzer sounded loud above background music from wall-speakers, and Cassandra glanced up from her work to see a familiar figure holding twin food bags on the other side of the door.

      Sally from the café near by with their lunch order.

      ‘Want to take those sandwiches, or shall I?’ Cassandra queried, only to see Glen in the throes of heating fine metal. ‘OK, I’ll get them.’

      She laid down her tools, then moved towards the door, released the security lock and reached for the latch.

      At that moment all hell let loose.

      She had a fleeting glimpse of Sally’s terrified expression, caught a blur of sudden movement as Sally catapulted into the workroom, followed by a man whose facial features were obscured by a woollen ski-mask.

      A nightmare began to unfold as he whipped out a vicious-looking knife and brandished it.

      The drill in such circumstances was clear. Do what you’re told…and don’t play the hero.

      A knife wasn’t a gun. She had self-defence training. Could she risk attempting to disarm him?

      ‘Don’t even think about it.’ The harsh directive chilled her blood as he pulled out a hand gun and brandished it. In one swift movement he hooked an arm round her shoulders and hauled her back against him, then he pressed the tip of the knife to her throat.

      Calm, she had to remain calm. Not easy with a gun in close proximity, not to mention the threat of a knife.

      At the edge of her peripheral vision she glimpsed Glen making a surreptitious move with his foot to the panic button at floor level. An action that would send an electronic alert to the supervisor’s pager, the security firm and the local police station.

      Had the intruder seen it? She could only pray not.

      ‘Empty the vault.’ The demand held a guttural quality, and she saw Glen lift his hands in a helpless gesture.

      ‘I don’t know the combination.’

      He was buying time, and the intruder knew it.

      ‘You think I’m a fool?’ the intruder demanded viciously, tightening his hold on Cassandra’s shoulders. ‘Open it now, or I’ll use this knife.’

      She felt the tip of it slide across the base of her throat, the sting of her flesh accompanied by the warm trickle of blood.

      Glen didn’t hesitate. He crossed to the vault, keyed in a series of digits, then pulled open the door.

      ‘Put everything into a bag. Go!’

      Glen complied, moving as slowly as he dared.

      ‘You want me to hurt her bad?’

      The knife pressed hard, and Cassandra gasped at the pain.

      ‘I’m being as quick as I can.’ And he was, withdrawing trays, tossing the contents into a bag. ‘That’s all of it.’

      ‘Give it to me!’ He released her, and backed towards the workshop door.

      She saw what he could not, and she deliberately kept her expression blank as two armed security guards positioned themselves each side of the outer door.

      One well-aimed kick, the element of surprise, that was all it would take to disarm the intruder and provide the essential few seconds’ confusion to give the guards their opportunity to burst in and take him down.

      She went into calculated action, so fast it was over in seconds as her foot connected with his wrist and the gun went flying.

      A stream of obscenities rent the air as he lunged for her, and she barely registered the door crashing open, or the security guards’ presence as he swung her in against him.

      Oh, God. The pressure against her ribs was excruciating, and she had difficulty breathing.

      Sally began to cry quietly.

      ‘Let her go.’ One of the security guards made it a statement, not a plea, and earned a scathing glare.

      ‘Are you crazy? She’s going to be my ticket out of here!’

      ‘Put