Thunderbolt over Texas

Six

One thing about having Katie in on the marriage plan, it meant Sydney didn’t have to see nearly as much of Cole. While she waited for the trip to Wichita Falls, she made museum arrangements by long distance and spent some time visiting Grandma.

Sydney was growing to like the eccentric old woman. Grandma was smart, opinionated and had one zinger of a sense of humor. She also told stories about the Thunderbolt and about her early years in Texas that fascinated Sydney.

Like the time the pack string stepped in a wasps’ nest. The first horse through was stung once and did a little crow hop off the trail. His burden of flour and utensils stayed put. The second horse through was a bomb-proof mare. She barely flinched when three wasps stung her rump.

Unfortunately, the third horse through took the brunt of the attack. He was a reliable four-year-old entrusted with the month’s supply of whiskey. The horse leapt off the ground, all four feet in the air. His frantic bucking loosened the pack saddle, sending the whiskey swinging under his belly.

The unnatural load spooked him even more, and he ran hell bent for leather into the creek. Though the cowboys raced to his rescue, the precious cargo was washed over the falls.

The cook was so frightened at the prospect of showing up at the cattle drive without a fresh whiskey supply that he rode two days and two nights to restock.

When Cole finally announced he had time to take Sydney to the city, she eagerly hopped into his pickup. She couldn’t wait to see the Thunderbolt, even if it meant a two-hour drive alone with him.

“Haven’t seen much of you,” he commented as they pulled onto the main road.

“Haven’t seen much of you, either,” she returned, gauging his tone, wondering how to read him and annoyed that she felt the need to try.

He shrugged. “Had work to do.”

“Me, too.” She did have a life. It wasn’t as if she’d been pining away, wondering if he regretted their lovemaking, or if he’d found any likely Susie Homemakers to take her place.

“Have I done something to annoy you?” he asked.

Did he mean other than announce to his family that he was finding a “real” wife just as soon as he dumped her?

“I’m not annoyed,” she said.

“So this is the level you’ve picked for our relationship?”

The level she’d picked? “You wanted something more?”

He shrugged, flipping on his right signal and leaving the gravel road behind in favor of the four-lane interstate. “You must admit, it all turned on a dime there after Katie got in the loop.”

“Ah.” Sydney nodded, wishing she could control the jealousy cresting in her veins. “So you did want more sex.”

He twisted his head to look at her. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry about that. I guess I did turn off the tap all of a sudden.”

His eyes narrowed, and he glanced to the highway and back to her again. “Was there a particular reason you backed off?”

She shrugged. No reason that was remotely logical, just a horrible, kicked-in-the-gut feeling when he’d rejected her. “We didn’t need to pretend anymore,” she said.

“You mean, the Thunderbolt was in the bag.”

“Yeah. Right. Something like that.” She turned her head to look out the window.

“I see.”

“Okay.”

“Fine.” He pressed on the accelerator and turned up the radio.

Neither of them spoke until they hit Wichita Falls.

At a traffic light in the heart of downtown, Cole turned on the left turn signal and waited for a space in traffic. “This is it.”

Despite his brooding presence, Sydney’s stomach leaped in anticipation. “Which one?”

He pointed to a tall, gray office tower as he angled into a parking spot in front.

Sydney scanned the building. This was it. The treasure of a lifetime was waiting inside for her. Despite her anger with Cole, she felt like a kid on Christmas morning.

They entered the building and took an elevator to the tenth floor. The brass sign on the oversize office doors read Neely And Smythe, Attorneys-At-Law.

“Auspicious,” said Sydney.

“It’s been the family firm for four generations.”

“And the Thunderbolt’s been here the whole time?”

“Most of it.”

“I’m getting goose bumps.”

As he opened the door, Cole gave her his first smile in three days.

It felt good. Way too good. Pathetically good.

She preceded him into the reception area, and a smiling brunette woman greeted them warmly. She sat behind a marble counter in a room decorated with leather furniture and fine art.

“Mr. Neely can see you right away,” she said to Cole.

Cole moved to open another doorway that took them to a private hall.

A balding man met them at the far end of the hallway. He shook hands with Cole then turned to Sydney. “Joseph Neely.” He offered his hand to her. “I understand you’re here to see the Thunderbolt.”

“I am,” she agreed. “Sydney Wainsbrook.”

“I enjoy an excuse to look at it myself,” he said, turning his key in the lock and pushing the door inward.

“It’s pretty exciting,” she admitted.

“I’ll leave you two alone then.” Joseph Neely gestured to the interior of the office.

Sydney went in first, blinking to adjust her vision to the dimmer light.

Cole came in behind her and pointed to a round, mahogany meeting table.

She followed his signal and everything inside her turned still. Laid majestically out on a purple, velvet cloth, was the Thunderbolt of the North. The brooch of kings. The stuff of legends.

Sydney sucked in a breath. It was large, boldly crafted, magnificent in every way. The polished-gold lightning bolt was scattered almost randomly with rubies, emeralds and diamonds. It was big. It was audacious. It was everything she’d ever hoped for.

She circled it, running her fingers across the soft cloth, letting them get close, but not touching the treasure. “You are one lucky man,” she said in a reverent, husky voice.

His voice was equally hushed. “Sometimes I think so.”

“This is the thrill of a lifetime.”

“You 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.

“Cole?” she ventured slowly, stomach clenching.

“Yeah?” 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.

“This is a fake.”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Cole, studying Sydney’s shocked expression.

“It’s a fake,” she repeated more passionately.

“Right,” 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.

“When was it last appraised?”

Cole tried to figure out where she was going with this.

“When?” she demanded.

“It’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?

“What are you up to?” he demanded.

“I’m up to giving you my professional opinion.”

“Uh, 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.”

“They’re cut.”

“So what?”

“So, 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?”

“We 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.

“You have a friend,” he mocked, palming the brooch.

“Gwen Parks. She’s worked at the Laurent for-”

“And 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-”

“Never 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 hope in hell of getting the real one back.”

Cole stared at her in silence. Was she serious? She looked serious.

He opened his palm and inspected the brooch.

“Think about it, Cole,” she stressed. “Run it through your suspicious, little mind. How could I possibly get away with it? How, in the world, could I think for one minute that I could get away pretending the Thunderbolt was a fake?”

Cole closed his hand again, letting the points of the brooch dig into his palm.

She was right. But who would fake it? Who could fake it? And who could do it so well that nobody had ever noticed?

There were no pictures of it in circulation. It would have to be somebody who had access to it for more than-

A light bulb exploded in his brain. He stomped his way to the office door, flinging it open.

“Joseph!” he bellowed.

The lawyer appeared almost immediately, bustling his way down the corridor. “Mr. Erickson?” His voice betrayed his obvious concern.

Cole stepped back into the office and closed the door for privacy. “We need an appraiser. Now.”

“A conservator,” said Sydney.

Both men turned to look at her.

“A museum conservator,” she repeated. “One who specializes in gems and jewelry.”

“Is something wrong?” asked Joseph Neely.

“The brooch has been faked,” said Cole, watching the man closely. Somebody at the firm could easily be the culprit.

Neely was silent for a long moment. He didn’t look guilty, but his lawyer brain was obviously clicking through the implications. When he finally spoke, his voice was a rasp. “I don’t see how it could have-”

“We need to find out when and how and why,” said Cole, accepting that Sydney was telling the truth.

This was a catastrophe.

His chest tightened at the thought of his grandmother’s distress. He had to help her. He had to protect her.

No matter what happened, she could never find out.

In Neely’s office eight hours later, the words on the newly penned conservator’s report blurred in front of Cole’s tired eyes. Joseph had offered the use of the facilities as long as they needed them. It was probably half generosity, half concern for the firm’s liability. Cole didn’t particularly care which one. He just wanted some answers.

After gauging the level of expertise at the local museum, he’d given in and flown Sydney’s colleague Gwen Parks down from New York. The two women had talked technical for a couple of hours, quickly losing Cole. But it didn’t matter. The only thing important to him was the final verdict.

Gwen had just confirmed that the brooch was indeed a reproduction, and that it was made sometime between nineteen fifty and nineteen seventy-five. It didn’t tell them who, and it didn’t tell them why, but it did tell them that they had at least a small hope of finding the real one.

“I can put out some feelers,” Gwen was saying to Sydney while Joseph put the brooch back in its box to be returned to the safe.

Cole dimly wondered why he bothered. Sure the jewels themselves were valuable, but they were also replaceable. A fifty-year-old ruby, emerald and diamond reproduction was hardly something to lock up in titanium.

He clenched his fist, crumpling it around the report.

“If anybody’s ever sold it, or offered it for sale…” Gwen continued, leaning against Joseph’s wide mahogany desk “…somebody out there will know something.”

Gwen might be dressed in blue jeans and a Mets T-shirt, but the woman had convinced Cole she knew her stuff.

“You got a way into the black market?” asked Sydney.

Gwen nodded her pixie blond head.

Both women were silent for a moment. Sydney didn’t ask any questions, and Gwen didn’t offer an explanation.

Sydney turned her attention to Cole. “I think we should go talk to Grandma now.”

Cole jerked his head up. “What?”

“Gwen’s going to try her contacts, but we need to get information from Grandma. The sooner, the better.”

“We’re not telling Grandma.” That point was nonnegotiable.

Sydney brought her hands to her hips. “Of course we are.”

Cole dropped the report on the desk. “Do you have any idea how much this will upset her?”

Sydney took a couple of paces toward him, gesturing with an open palm. “Of course it’ll upset her. But never finding the Thunderbolt will upset her a whole lot more.”

Cole clenched his jaw. “We’ll find it without her.”

“She had it during the years it was copied. She’s our best lead.”

“No.”

“Cole. Be reasonable. She can tell us where it was, during what time periods.”

“The lawyer’s records will tell us that.”

“All they can tell us is when it was or was not in their safe. Grandma can tell us if it was ever missing, if anybody borrowed it-”

“My answer is no.”

Sydney moved directly in front of him and crossed her arms over her chest. “What makes this your decision?”

A pulse leaped to life in Cole’s temple. He straightened to his full height, matching her posture. “You will not go behind my back and talk to my grandmother.”

“The police might. A crime has been committed here, Cole.”

“We’ll take care of it privately.” There was no way in the world Cole was losing control of the investigation, having it dumped into the lap of some overworked police precinct.

“Cole,” came Gwen’s voice.

Sydney and Cole both turned. Gwen straightened away from the desk, tucking her blond hair behind her ears and moving her small frame into the thick of the conversation.

“Sydney’s right. No matter who you talk to, who you ask for help, public, private or otherwise, the first thing they’re going to want to do is talk to your grandma. And if they don’t, you should fire them for incompetence.”

Sydney spoke up again. “She’s our only lead.”

It didn’t matter. “She’s seventy years old.”

“She’s tough as nails.”

“The stress could kill her.”

Sydney stared at him levelly with those penetrating green eyes. “It’s not going to kill her.”

They were intelligent eyes, Cole acknowledged. Clear-thinking, logical eyes. He’d never doubted she was smart. Never doubted she was capable. And this was definitely her field of expertise.

Damn.

If he wanted to keep the police out of it, he needed to keep Sydney and Gwen in, which meant he needed to take their advice.

He hated it, but there it was.

“Okay,” he said. “Fine. We’ll talk to Grandma.”

“Tonight?” asked Sydney.

“Tomorrow,” said Cole. He wasn’t waking Grandma out of a sound sleep to give her bad news.

Gwen plucked her purse from the desktop. “In that case, I’d better get back to New York.”

Cole quickly crossed the room and held out his hand. “Thank you very, very much for coming on such short notice.” He was a lot more grateful to Gwen than he’d probably let on.

“Thanks for chartering the plane,” said Gwen with a shake.

“Whatever you need,” said Cole. “You just call me. Anything. Anytime.”

Gwen nodded. “For now, I’ll just be making phone calls. But I’ll keep you guys posted.” She glanced at her watch. “It’ll be morning in London by the time I get home.”

“You think the brooch is overseas?” asked Cole, his stomach hollowing out all over again. They were looking for a needle in a haystack.

“I’m going to check every possibility,” said Gwen.

Sydney moved between them to give Gwen a hug. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Happy to help,” said Gwen, glancing sideways at Cole and giving him a final once-over. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

As Gwen left the office, Sydney sucked in a deep breath, blinking her exhaustion-filled eyes. But instead of complaining, she touched Cole’s shoulder. His muscle instantly contracted beneath his jacket.

“We’ll break it to her gently,” she said.

Cole felt the weight of forty generations pressing down on him. “I don’t see how we’ll manage that.”

Grandma greeted Sydney with a hug in the octagonal entryway. “Well? Did he do it? Did he pop the question?”

“Grandma,” Cole warned.

“I hope he had a ring.”

“He didn’t have a ring,” said Sydney.

Grandma glanced from one to the other. “But Katie said it was love at first sight. I’d hoped that was the point of this special trip.”

“We are getting married,” said Cole, although Sydney couldn’t imagine why he bothered keeping up the charade. Katie knew their secret, and the Thunderbolt might never be found. A quickie wedding sure didn’t matter anymore.

She hadn’t let the full impact of that sink in yet. The odds of finding the Thunderbolt in time for the show one month away were almost nonexistent. She’d have to call it off. She’d lose her job, and her reputation would be ruined. She’d be lucky to get a position as a tour guide.

“I knew it,” said Grandma, clasping her hands together. “I could tell by the way you looked at her.”

“Grandma.”

“Come in, come in.” She backed into the living room. “I’ll make tea. Tell me everything. What’s the date? Where’s the ceremony? Sydney, dear, you’ll have to give me a guest list.”

“We don’t need tea. And there is no date.”

“Of course we need tea. There are arrangements to make, plans to finalize. Thank goodness we already picked out the house.” She took a deep breath and her grin widened.

Sydney felt sick. This should have been a happy occasion. It should have been a celebration.

“Can we please sit down?” asked Cole in a grave tone.

“Of course.” Grandma gestured toward the burgundy couch. “You sit down. I’ll be right back.”

“Grandma.” Cole’s tone was sharp.

Sydney squeezed his arm, but he shook her off.

“What?” asked Grandma, blinking.

Sydney shifted between them and took Grandma’s hand, trying to diffuse the building tension.

“Grandma,” she said, looking into her blue eyes. She tried to let her tone give away the mood of the upcoming conversation. “We need to talk to you about something.”

Grandma glanced at Cole then back to Sydney. A sly grin grew on her face. “Will it be a…quick…wedding?”

“You’re not helping.” Cole ground the words out from behind Sydney.

“We have some…unsettling news,” said Sydney.

Grandma glanced from one to the other again. The expectant glimmer in her eyes dimmed slightly. “Oh?”

Sydney eased Grandma onto the couch. Cole crouched down in front of them and took a breath. “There’s no easy way to say this,” he began.

“Is someone sick?” asked Grandma, looking worried.

“No. Everybody’s fine. Grandma. It’s the Thunderbolt.”

She stilled. After a silent heartbeat, her eyes went wide and her lips paled a shade.

“We stopped at Joseph’s office,” Cole continued. “The real Thunderbolt is missing. The one that’s in the safe is a fake.”

Grandma’s hand went to her chest and her cheeks turned white as paper.

Cole jumped up. “Grandma?”

Sydney stood, too, mentally cursing herself for not taking Cole’s advice. The shock really was too much for Grandma.

“Grandma?” Cole repeated.

But she still didn’t answer.

“Let’s lay her down,” said Sydney, tossing a pillow to the far end of the couch. “Grandma? We should elevate your feet.”

Cole stood back while Sydney gently repositioned her.

“I’m calling Dr. Diers,” he said.

“Good idea,” Sydney agreed, mentally berating herself.

Why had she thought Grandma could take this? The woman’s heritage had been stolen. They should have looked for it themselves, exhausted all other possibilities. But, no, Sydney had gone for speed, and she might have harmed a wonderful woman in the process.

Grandma gripped Sydney’s hand, trembling slightly. “I don’t need a doctor.”

“Don’t try to talk,” Sydney whispered.

The old woman’s eyes fluttered closed. Her wrinkled skin looked frail and transparent. Her gray hair was thin, and there were age spots dotted over her forehead.

Cole hung up the phone. “Dr. Diers is on his way. How is she?”

Grandma’s breathing was shallow but steady.

“I don’t need a doctor,” she rasped.

Cole moved forward. “Well, you’re getting one anyway.”

“Waste of time,” said Grandma.

He crouched down and Sydney shifted out of the way. “Grandma,” he said in a gentle voice, taking her hand. “We’re going to find it.”

Her eyes opened and she stared at him in silence for a long moment. “I know you will.” And then tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

“She’s resting comfortably,” said Dr. Diers, quietly closing the door to Grandma’s bedroom. “She’s obviously had a shock.”

“We gave her some bad news,” said Cole, turning from the big picture window. “Probably should have kept our mouths shut.”

His shoulders were tense and Sydney knew he blamed himself. But it was her fault. Trying to salvage her career on the back of an old woman was unforgivable.

“I’ve given her a light sedative,” said Dr. Diers. “She’s going to be fine. She’d like to see you.”

Cole nodded and made a move toward the bedroom.

“Sydney,” said the doctor.

“Yes?” asked Sydney.

“Your grandma asked to see Sydney.”

Sydney straightened in surprise and Cole blinked.

“Why does she want to see Sydney?”

The doctor gave a slight shrug. “Maybe she’d rather talk to a woman?”

“I can go get Katie,” he said.

“She did ask for Sydney.”

“I’ll go in,” Sydney agreed.

Cole took a jerking step toward her.

“I promise,” said Sydney, holding up her palm. “I’ll just listen to what she has to say.”

“I can’t let you upset her,” said Cole. “We’ve made enough mistakes already.”

“I’m not going to upset her.”

Cole’s mouth was taut and his knuckles were white; guilt was obviously eating him up.

“We had no choice,” said Sydney, trying to reassure him.

“Oh, yes, we did.”

True enough. She wasn’t about to take on that debate. “I’ll go find out what she wants, then we can talk, okay?”

Before he could tell her no, she cut through the entrance foyer to the bedroom door, turning the cut-glass knob as quietly as possible, just in case Grandma had fallen asleep.

Grandma’s eyes were open, but the sparkle was gone from their blue depths. The harsh, noonday sun streamed in through the paned window, making her look small and frail beneath the patchwork quilt.

“Sydney,” she whispered, reaching for a hankie.

Sydney clicked the door shut and came to her side. “Can I get you anything? A drink of water? An aspirin?”

“I’ve done something terrible, Sydney,” said Grandma, dabbing the hankie beneath her nose.

“Grandma?” Sydney crouched down by the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s wrong.”

“Tell me.”

Grandma grasped Sydney’s hand, searching her eyes. She drew a breath. “I have no right to ask.”

“Go ahead and ask.”

“What I did. What I’m going to say. Please don’t tell my family.”

“Of course I won’t.”

Grandma drew a breath, and there was a catch in her voice as her glance slid away from Sydney’s. “It was me.”

“What was you?”

“I faked the Thunderbolt.”

A jolt of shock ricocheted through Sydney’s body. “What? When? How?” Then she quickly shut her mouth, biting back more staccato questions.

She forced herself to moderate her voice. “Do you know where the real one is?”

Grandma shook her head miserably. “No.”

“I don’t understand,” said Sydney, straining not to sound judgmental. Why on earth would Grandma fake her own heirloom? Did she need money?

“It was a long time ago.”

Sydney nodded, waiting for this to start making sense.

“I was young, only twenty.” Grandma’s voice faded and a faraway look came into her eyes.

Sydney carefully lowered herself to the carpet, trying not to interrupt the flow of the story. She rested her back against the small bedside table, placing her hand on Grandma’s.

“It was Harold’s and my second anniversary, and I was pregnant with Neil. And there was this woman…”

Sydney’s heart sank.

“She had a baby. A son.” Grandma’s voice broke. “He was six months old…”

“I’m sorry.”

Grandma shook her head. “She said things. She knew things.” She looked into Sydney’s eyes. “I could tell it was all true.”

Sydney groaned in heartfelt sympathy. What a hurtful secret. What a terrible thing for Grandma to experience. “I am so sorry.”

“Things weren’t like they are now,” Grandma continued, “the neighbors would have gossiped, Neil would have been ostracized, sales from the ranch might have dropped.”

“Did you talk to him?” asked Sydney. It was Harold’s responsibility to make it right.

Grandma shook her head.

“Why not?”

“We’d been through so much. We’d come so far.”

Sydney didn’t understand.

“I was lonely that first year, and I blamed Harold, and we weren’t…” The silence stretched.

“It wasn’t your fault,” said Sydney. Infidelity was not justifiable, no matter what was going on in a relationship.

Grandma gave a watery smile. “The Thunderbolt was all my doing.” She stabbed a finger against her chest. “Me. I was young and inexperienced. Then I was afraid of what people might say. Bottom line, I wanted my husband and our life more than I wanted a piece of jewelry.”

A cold chill snaked up Sydney’s spine. “What are you saying?”

Grandma impatiently swiped at a tear with the back of her hand. “I gave it away.”

Oh, no.

“She demanded the Thunderbolt and I gave it to her.”

Sydney’s entire body cringed.

“She said Rupert was the first-born Erickson, and so he was entitled. She promised she’d leave us alone forever.”

“She blackmailed you?”

Grandma nodded, her voice quavering. “And I was a willing victim. To save my marriage, I betrayed my family.”

Sydney closed her eyes. “Did it work?”

Grandma gave a short laugh. “It worked. It worked for thirty years. Except…”

Sydney dropped her head forward onto her chest. There was nothing she could say, nothing anybody could say. The Thunderbolt was gone.

In her mind she saw a flash of her mother’s blond hair, the twinkle of her silver locket-the heirloom that had been snatched away from Sydney. She didn’t know for sure, but she thought it was the day before the fire. She was five years old, and it was the last day her mother had held her. The last day she’d seen the silver locket, or anything else her family had ever owned.

“Can you get it back?” Grandma asked in a small voice. “Because if you could get it back…”

Sydney opened her eyes and nodded. “Yes,” she promised, although she had no idea how she was going to keep it. Then a vow came from the deepest recesses of her being. “No matter who has it. No matter where it is.”

Hope rose in Grandma’s eyes, and a little color came back to her cheeks. “I made a mistake.”

“No, you made a decision.”

“How can I explain-” Grandma’s voice broke. “The boys…”

“Cole and Kyle don’t have to know.” Sydney shook her head. “Your secret is safe with me.”