Ivan? And who is the girl?”
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“Mine. The girl is mine.” He brought his arm back through the
bars, freeing Logan, who slumped to the floor as though
overwhelmed. “Holly, dearest, you can put the gun down now. These
are my friends. I told you about them.”
He sent a silent prayer that she would be able to play along. They
were locked in with men who wouldn’t think twice about raping and
killing her. Nikolai was prowling around the room, looking for
anyone else they might have missed. He was too close to Holly for
Alexei’s comfort.
The gun came down at her side. “Does this mean we can get out
of here, baby?”
Luka reached down and hauled Logan to his feet. “You open the
door and let my friend out.”
Logan stumbled a bit as he dug into his pocket for the keys. His
eyes came up and met Alexei’s. There was a wary plea in his eyes,
but there was strength there, too. The deputy was young, but a
stubborn will lit him now.
The cell swung open, and Alexei grabbed Logan by his shirt,
pulling him forward savagely. He brought him close and whispered.
“Survive. Tell them you know nothing. I won’t leave you, but you
must survive.”
“Just get Holly out.”
Alexei let his voice rise as he shoved Logan back. “I promise, you
swine.”
The other Russians laughed.
“Did this skinny thing give you trouble, Alexei?” Luka asked, his
Russian dark and thick with menace.
“He’s like all pigs. Police are the same everywhere.” Alexei
stalked out of the cage and slid an arm around Holly, pulling her
close. He slid the gun from her hand to his, the weight a welcome
burden. He was armed. He would find a way. Patience. But first, he had to get to the bad part. “Ivan is dead.”
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A loud curse filled the room. “How?” Pushkin grunted the
question.
“I can guess.” Nikolai brought his booted foot out and kicked the
deputy squarely in the gut.
Alexei’s arm tightened around Holly as she stiffened. He saw how
she bit back a cry. This would be hard on her. He pressed her face into his chest. “It wasn’t this cop. It was the sheriff. Ivan was foolish. He killed a girl and didn’t do a good job hiding the body. The police
came after us, and Ivan pulled his gun. I knew I could escape with
Holly’s help. I thought it was better to stay alive.”
Pushkin was circling Logan like a shark playing with its food.
“Where is this sheriff?”
Logan’s throat worked up and down. “At the festival. He won’t be
in today. I was only in because we have a prisoner.”
A predatory smile crept across Pushkin’s face. “I noticed you have
closed sign on your door. That is quaint…and very helpful to us. Tell
me something, Alexei. Do you know where the painting is?”
This was the bad part. Alexei’s gut felt tight as he did what he had
to do. “I don’t, but he knows. He talked to the sheriff about it. They have stashed it. They don’t mean to turn it in. They mean to sell it.
Like I said, the police are the same everywhere.”
Nikolai reached down and brought Logan’s head up by his brown
hair. He spoke in thickly accented English. “This is true?”
“I don’t know. I don’t speak Russian, asshole. I have no idea what
any of you has said for the past couple of minutes.” Logan’s whole
body was tense, but the words spat from his mouth.
Pushkin slapped him, the sound reverberating through the room.
He switched to heavily accented English. “Then let me speak your
language. You will tell me where my painting is.”
“Can’t help you, buddy. I don’t know nothing about art. I’m just a
country boy.” Logan’s face was bright red, the imprint of Pushkin’s
hand plain on the skin.
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Pushkin snapped, and Nikolai began to drag Logan toward a desk
in an office at the back of the room. It was far from the front door.
That desk would serve as Logan’s torture chamber. All the while
Luka watched Alexei, his gun close at hand. His eyes were on the
woman in Alexei’s arms, Alexei realized. He got the feeling Luka
wasn’t convinced that all was as it seemed.
Alexei would have to wait.
He prayed Logan would survive the experience.
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Chapter Seventeen
Stef’s first instinct was to find her. His second instinct was to tie
her up, throw her over his shoulder, haul her ass back home, and
never allow her to leave again.
That was why he was attempting to ignore his first instinct.
“You want to hand me that rope, or are you going to hang yourself
with it?” Rye stared at him, his hand out.
Stef passed him the rope, but thought seriously about hanging him
with it. Asshole. Rye had it all. Rye had a wife and a brother and a baby on the way. Rye never fucked things up the way Stef did. If Rye
had been Jen’s lover, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Rye rarely
questioned himself, and his easy confidence was pricking at Stef’s
finely held temper. Still, he’d come here to look specifically for Rye.
He was restless, utterly uneasy, a need rolling in him that was going
to find its way out. He’d realized he could pick a fight with Max or
Zane or he could try…talking about his feelings. He just wasn’t sure
where to start. “Here you go.”
Rye took the rope and started to put together the corral. He and
Max were expanding their pony rides. It had been a big hit yesterday,
with long lines of kids waiting to ride the gentle horses. Stef couldn’t help but think about the fact that it wouldn’t be too long before Rye’s son would be learning to ride. Rye’s son would grow up in Bliss. He
would run wild in the wilderness with his brothers and sisters like Stef and Max and Rye had.
The image of his own kids running around Bliss and sleeping on
the mountain made his heart feel too big for his chest. He would have
told anyone who asked that he didn’t want kids, but he’d lain awake
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last night thinking about the fact that Max and Rye’s and Callie’s kids would be here soon. Everyone was talking about the fact that Callie
was pregnant. He wanted kids. He wanted his and Jennifer’s babies to
grow up with their cousins.
“Are you going to talk about it or just brood?” Rye asked as he
pulled on the knot he’d tied.
Brooding hadn’t gotten him anywhere. “I’m afraid.”
Rye tipped back his hat and placed one hand on his hip. “I know
you are. You’ve always been afraid of this.”
Stef was startled by the statement. “What does that mean? I’ve
never had a real relationship until I met Jen.”
Rye nodded. “That would be my point. Hell, even Max had a
girlfriend or two. I’ve known you most of my life, Stef. The truth is I don’t remember much of a time before I knew you. I watched you
push away most people.”
“I didn’t push away you and Max or Callie.”
“We’re safe. You nee
ded us, and we needed you. And you made
damn sure we needed you, Stef.”
Stef felt himself pull away. Without meaning to, he even took a
step back. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Stef, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, but it’s become a habit with
you, and it needs to stop. You buy people’s affection, at least that’s what you think you’re doing. We met during the summer. I remember
it like it was yesterday. When Max, Callie, and I were going to have
to go back to school, what did you do?”
God, he felt like he was fucking eight years old again. Vulnerable.
Needy. Desperate to keep his newfound friends. “I asked my dad to
bring in a tutor because the bus trip was so long into Del Norte.”
“Is that really why you did it?”
Stef shook his head. He remembered, too. He remembered
pleading with his father. He hadn’t needed to. His dad had been more
than happy to do it. His father had paid for tutors for the Bliss kids
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from that point on. “No. I was afraid the three of you would get to
school and find other friends, and I would be out.”
“I know, brother.” Rye walked over and put a hand on his
the town hall, and that’s why you give loans to anyone in town who
needs one and never charge interest or even ask them to repay you.”
The money didn’t bother Stef. His father had set up a trust fund
Stef would never be able to get through in one lifetime. “If they can, they will. If they can’t, then I won’t miss the money.”
“Stef, you throw money around this town.”
King Stefan. He could hear Jen say the words in his head.
Pathetic. He was still a little boy trying to tie people to his side.
Another voice spoke up as Max walked around the side of the
trailer. “Man, you have to know that we don’t love you because you
paid for our school.”
Max’s face was bunched up, his brows forming a V over
concerned eyes.
“He knows,” Rye said with more confidence than Stef felt. “He
just lets a lot of the past get in the way. Stef is real damn good about figuring out everyone else’s motivations. Just not so smart when it
comes to his own.”
“Is that why Rach keeps calling him a dumbass?”
Stef felt himself stiffen. “Your wife has very little respect for me.”
Rye shook his head, a little laugh escaping his lips. “Our wife
loves you very much. She just thinks you’re wrong about Jen. I
remember the day she walked into town looking for you. She wanted
art lessons or something.”
“She’d made a study of my work. She wanted me to mentor her.”
Stef had taught her a few things, just nothing of value. He hadn’t
taught her how much he loved her.
“She tracked you down to the diner.”
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Max smiled at the memory, obviously caught in it. “Stella thought
she’d have to toss you out. You two sat there for eight hours talking
and arguing.”
He’d been in love with her about twenty minutes after meeting
her. She’d been so vibrant. She’d argued with him about the
importance of the Impressionists and held several wrong views of the
eminent Jackson Pollock, but he’d been utterly fascinated with her,
hanging on to her every word.
“And the next day, you told her politely that you didn’t teach art
and holed up in your studio for three weeks,” Max said.
He’d brooded. He’d worked. He’d done just about anything to
avoid that girl with the killer smile and a saucy comeback to
everything he said. He’d been afraid of her then. He was terrified
now. Only now, he was starting to be more afraid of being without
her.
“You think you’re sending her away because you want her to have
the things she needs, but, Stef, damn, you’re trying to make her
grateful to you. Can’t you see this is the same thing? You think you
can buy her a career and she’ll be happy and grateful, and she won’t
leave you because you made it possible.”
Max nodded sharply. “Rach is right. He’s a dumbass. Jen already
loves him. No woman puts up with the shit he’s shoveled out if they
aren’t in love.”
“He thinks she’s too young, but she isn’t. He thinks she wants
some megapowerful career, but she doesn’t,” Rye said. “She wants to
live here in Bliss and paint and have a happy life with the man she
loves. You took me aside the day I finally got together with Rachel,
and do you remember what you said to me?”
“I said she’s ready.” Stef felt his heart seize. What if she really
was ready? What if he was just a dumbass who let his past hold him
back? What if he chucked that past aside and went after what he
wanted?
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Rye and Max looked at each other, doing that weird twin thing
they’d always done, as though, at times, they spoke to each other
without saying a word. “She’s ready, Stef. Go get your girl,” they said in perfect harmony.
A blanket dropped over Stef’s soul, a warm, perfect feeling of
complete certainty. She was his. He was hers. They didn’t have to
follow anyone’s path but the one they set themselves. She wouldn’t
him to show it to her. And he would. If she wanted to show in
galleries, she would turn to him and ask him to help her. And he
would.
He was her slave, and she would never leave him behind.
“I’ve got to find her.” Now that he’d made the decision, he
couldn’t stand the thought of a moment going by without telling her.
Telling her? Hell, he’d probably have to beg her. Maybe if he offered
to turn the trip to Paris into a honeymoon, just maybe, she wouldn’t
attempt to cut off his balls with a rusty knife.
“She was with Rachel and Callie. They were heading to the
diner,” Rye said.
Nope. She was with Rachel. She would definitely try to cut his
balls off. He smiled at the thought. Jen was a lot like Rachel, brave
and unwilling to take a bunch of crap from anyone. Except him. She’d
taken his crap for a while now, and he swore he’d never give it to her again. He had other things he wanted to give.
The phone in his pocket rang. Stef reached in and pulled it out,
hoping it was Jen. It wasn’t. He slid the bar to answer the phone
anyway, stepping away from Max and Rye. He wouldn’t ignore this
call.
“Finn, what’s up? Have you managed to get the charges
dropped?” Stef wanted the answer to be yes. Before this moment,
he’d been willing to let justice move slowly. Jen couldn’t start her
new life until the charges against her were cleared. Now that her new
life would be with him, Stef wanted that cloud out of the way. He was
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doing it again. He was trying to give her what she wanted, what she
needed, so she would be grateful. He wasn’t going to change. He
&n
bsp; would always move heaven and earth to get her what she wanted. But
from now on, he would make damn sure it really was what she
wanted. “Give me some good news, man.”
“The charges are dropped.” Finn’s voice came over the phone
loud and clear. “The DA filed the papers this morning. As of 8:00
a.m., your girl is free and clear.”
Stef clenched his fist in victory. Now nothing loomed over them.
They were both free and clear. “Finn, you’ve done an excellent job.
Please let your Master know just how much I appreciate everything
you’ve done for me. I’ll talk to my father about transferring some of
Talbot Industries’ legal work your way. We’re always getting sued for
something.”
Finn laughed over the phone. “Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Talbot, I
would love the work, but I didn’t really have much of a hand in this.
The police found the painting.”
“What do you mean they found the painting?” Stef stopped, his
feet halting as though a wall had been thrown up in front of him. The
painting was supposed to be here. Why had those Russians come to
Bliss and taken Jen if they weren’t looking for the painting? “The
police found the Picasso?”
“Yes, it was hidden in a vault at the gallery. I have no idea what
kind of games Renard was playing, but they go deep. The police have
connected him to the mob, believe it or not.”
A cold feeling stole over Stef that had nothing to do with the
temperature. “The Russian mob.”
“Yes, apparently Renard did odd jobs for them. The Russians
have started to make a fortune selling masterpieces lost during World
War II. They turn up now, and the mob is selling them on the black
market for extravagant sums. Apparently Renard served as a go-
between. Guess he screwed up somewhere.” Finn sounded very
confident, even as Stef felt his stomach doing a triple loop dive
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straight to his feet. “And tell Jennifer that while going through
Renard’s records, we found an order for one of her paintings. Renard
was holding it for a buyer. It looks like she’s doing well. Twenty-five-thousand dollars is a lot for a new artist. Maybe she can still talk to the buyer, now that she’s out of this mess.”