He nodded.
“Very well.” She kept watching him. “You don’t want gold.”
Ben shrugged.
“You want…” Then her eyes smiled. “You want something shiny, don’t you, Benjamin?”
She did know him, after all.
Ben had lived much of his life with nothing to carry but the clothes on his back and whatever he could fit in his pockets. A psychologist would probably have a field day with his acquisitive nature, but he knew—even before he met Giovanni—he liked nice things. More than once, he’d escaped his parents and spent all or most of the day wandering through the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It was one of the few places in the city he could get into for free. Plus, it was full of beautiful things.
Then he’d met Giovanni Vecchio. And Benjamin would be the first to admit that part of the allure the vampire had was the elegant brownstone he owned in Manhattan. Filled with art, antiques, and books, it was a thief’s dream.
And when Giovanni told his new charge he could teach him how to get all those pretty things without the police dogging his steps, Ben listened. And he learned. He already had the skills his mother taught him, plus a hefty sense of self-preservation gleaned from dodging his father. Learning for Ben came easily. But while his Uncle Giovanni’s truest love in the world—other than his mate—was books, Benjamin Vecchio’s was art.
Paintings. Sculptures. Jewelry of all kinds. The older, the better. And if it had a story attached? Even more irresistible.
So yes, Ben wanted something shiny.
“How much art is there?” he asked.
“Not a lot,” she admitted. “But there is jewelry.”
“I want my pick. One piece.”
“My pick. Don’t you trust me?”
He grinned. “Not with the good stuff. You’re as big a magpie as me. You’re talking about two days of driving up to Kashgar. Packing your gold. Then driving all the way to… Where are we shipping this stuff to LA?
“Shanghai. Cheng’s boats are in Shanghai.”
Ben took a deep breath. He was going to be spending a lot of time on the road. He only hoped the paperwork was as good as Tenzin was assuming. His insistence on her riding with the truck was also a practical consideration. If they ran into any trouble, Tenzin—with her flawless Mandarin and ability to influence human thought with amnis—would be far more able to handle the police. It would be up to him to make sure things didn’t get unnecessarily violent.
In fact, that had been his stated assignment more times than he could count. He could even hear Giovanni’s voice in the back of his mind.
“You’ll be helping Tenzin on this, Benjamin. Please try to avoid unnecessary violence.”
It might even be considered a motto at this point in his life.
Still, Ben shook his head. He knew he had to be firm. Tenzin would take any and every advantage otherwise. “Tiny, if I’m doing all this driving and packing and more driving, it’s my pick. It won’t be unreasonable. Don’t you trust me?”
Tenzin sat back and sipped her tea again. She thought. Sipped some more. Ben was finished talking. He had his pick of a centuries-old treasure cache on the ancient Silk Road on the line. He picked up a skewer of lamb and savored the taste, licking the corner of his mouth when the juices dripped.
“You’re right,” he said. “Uyghur food is amazing.”
“One thing,” she conceded. “One piece. And don’t piss me off.”
He held in the triumphant smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Yes, you would.”
“Maybe I’d dream about pissing you off, but I wouldn’t actually do it. Not intentionally anyway.”
“One piece, Benjamin.”
He held out his hand. “You’re in the truck with me while we’re transporting the goods, and I get one piece of my choosing from the cache.”
“Agreed.”
They shook and then he eyed her plate. “Are you going to finish that?”
“You’re a bottomless pit, you know that, don’t you?”
“Someone has to finish all this food.”
He finished the rest of the food with relish and tried not to show his triumph at the bargain. Tenzin had centuries of treasure in that cache and probably no idea how much it was worth. She didn’t read auction catalogues or museum publications.
Neither did most of Ben’s friends, but then again, he’d always had unusual interests. He was fine with it.
His best guess was, if Tenzin was valuing the cache at twenty million, it was probably closer to twenty-five or thirty, depending on the condition of the silk. It didn’t matter, really. Ben had no interest in selling anything. Whatever piece he chose would be for his own collection.
“You know,” she said as she watched him finish the food. “You’re the one who fits in here.”
He looked up. “Me?”
“You have Persian eyes, Benjamin.”
He shook his head. “My mom was Lebanese, not Persian.”
Tenzin shrugged. “What does blood know about borders? Persian eyes. You should be happy. They’re very beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Tenzin looked around the restaurant, but no one was staring at them anymore. She leaned back and watched Ben finish his tea. He got out his wallet to pay the bill, wondering if Tenzin was even carrying any modern currency.