Connor stepped forward and lightly shook me. "Stop. I know this is a lot. The police are on their way to your apartment. Once it's been processed and the report is filed, then we will call your insurance company."
"Are you serious right now? I can't even do that one thing?" My voice was shrill, the little bit of control I had unraveling. "My hands are tied. I can't go to work. I can't go home. I can't paint and redo the work that was just destroyed. That was my bread and butter and worse, I had so much riding on those pieces." I took a deep breath and paced the kitchen, attempting to calm myself.
"Emma, we're handling it. We are on this thing."
"You aren't on anything, Connor! Attacked, robbed and the few possessions I've worked my ass off to obtain are destroyed. Every day something else is hurt or ruined!" I stopped pacing and leaned against the counter, holding the two halves of the stuffed toy in my hands and stared at it in shock. I ran my hands through my hair again and pinched the bridge of my nose. "Do you realize I haven't even had a fucking shower since yesterday? There is still dried blood in my hair. This is crazy." I swept my hands out in a dramatic gesture.
"Look, I know—” fortunately for Connor, he was cut off by my cell phone's shrill ring. There was nothing he could say to make this moment better or solve any of my problems.
Retrieving the phone from my coat pocket, I looked at the screen.
Nina.
Bad timing.
"Don't answer that," he snapped in a sharp tone.
Glaring at Connor and with his own hard stare locked on me, I answered.
"Emma! I just wanted to check in on you. How are you?"
Bad timing or good timing? I smirked at Connor. "Well, Nina. Not good right now. My apartment was robbed."
"Oh, my goodness, dear. Where are you? Are you okay?" Her soothing voice calmed me considerably.
"I'm fine. I'm at Connor—Agent Jackson's. I'll need to redo a couple pieces for the show once I get more supplies."
"Don't worry about that at the moment. I'm so glad your safe, darling. You have so much going on right now, maybe we need to reschedule that New York trip?"
New York.
I was very, very glad Connor couldn't hear the other side of this conversation. He'd have something to say about rescheduling New York and I wasn't about to let that happen.
"No way, Nina. No reason to reschedule. It's probably not a bad idea to get out of town for a few days." Connor hadn't stopped staring at me, brows raised and eyes narrowing. I chose to ignore him and turned my back, studying my nails instead.
"Okay. Why don't you come stay with me? I'm worried about you."
I blinked as tears sprang to my eyes at those words. No one had ever told me they were worried about me or cared about my well-being. I gratefully accepted.
Before hanging up, Nina gave me her address, telling me she would be waiting.
I turned to face Connor. This time there was no question about it. He was pissed. "Now I'd say the same to you. Are you kidding me thinking it's a good idea to leave town?" Something flickered across his face when he took in the tears I was hastily wiping away. It was quickly replaced with the same anger, but this time he wasn't quite so loud and angry.
"I'm not kidding. It's a good idea. And for now, I'm going to stay with Nina. You can get back to work catching the bad guys," I added hotly.
"I don't think—”
"No, I don't want to hear what you think about it. She's my only option right now."
"Listen to me." Connor blocked my path from the kitchen. "We're looking into Nina. We're still investigating her background."
I recoiled at his words, recalling earlier his suspicions of Nina and her gallery's involvement with the Sgambati brothers' operation.
"I trust her. She's all I have," I said resolutely. "Now, if you could give me a ride there, or should I call a cab?"
✽✽✽
Nina's home was in Charleston's historic district. Houses in this quarter were a blend of Victorian and Greek revival. This was the extent of my knowledge of residential architecture and but there were so many stylistic details I wanted to appreciate. There were at least three porches, two in the front of the house and one on the side, which I later learned was popular in Charleston. The house itself was a pale yellow with black shutters. The wrought iron gate was damp and cold under my hand from an afternoon drizzle and creaked as I opened it.
Stepping through the front door and into the kitchen, the aroma of garlic and marinara sauce greeted me. Nina's house was a cornucopia of creativity. Canvases covered nearly every wall, and lamps, sculptures and decorative objects adorned tabletops. Her home was dark, warm and inviting. Lush throws and pillows in opaque hues perched on the regal sofa, which stood opposite two club chairs. White magnolias bloomed on gorgeous wallpaper. An opera I didn't recognize crooned softly from hidden speakers. I took it all in and made my way into the kitchen, where I found an unfamiliar version of Nina—barefoot and wearing a black apron over her usual crisp white shirt.
"Emma!" She hugged me warmly. "Did you find it okay?"
"I did, thanks. What a beautiful home, Nina." I smiled back at her; grateful I'd accepted her invitation. Connor had begrudgingly dropped me off with strict instructions to call him if anything was amiss. Relieved to get away from the tension that seemed to grow between us, I'd given him a quick thanks and barely a wave. Nina's calming presence was a much-needed antidote to my current chaotic state.
"I don't cook much anymore since Ronnie died, but I made lasagna for you tonight." She beamed and handed me a glass of wine. "Of course, I hate that's it under these circumstances. But I'm so glad you're here, Emma. Usually it's just me in this big old house, and to have a guest, and an overnight guest at that, is such a treat! Here, dinner is almost ready. You can help by slicing bread or making the salad."
Along with her many other talents, it turned out that Nina was an excellent cook. We ate in the spacious dining room, at the end of a long table illuminated by candlesticks. Although it was just the two of us, it felt like we were in good company--surrounded by artwork she and her husband had collected as they traveled the world. She regaled me with stories about Ronnie and how they met (on a double date, with a celebrity no less).
It wasn't until we finished dinner and were lingering over decaf coffees and chocolate pie that Nina asked the question I'd been dreading. "How are you doing?"
The tears I'd held back with Connor now fell freely. "I'm scared, Nina. These people were in my apartment. I have no idea what they want from me, but clearly, they're looking for something." I wasn't sure about telling her about the Sgambati brothers. Connor hadn't said not to, but it had seemed that he'd confided that part to me.
She nodded with understanding, cradling my hand as I struggled to maintain a shred of dignity. I was sick of crying. I wasn't used to not being in control of my emotions. "You'll get through it, dear. The police are dealing with your apartment now, then like you told me, the insurance will take care of your things. It is a pity about the paintings." She eyed me over her coffee.
I exhaled a shaky breath and sipped my own coffee.
"Right. In the meantime, I just need to wait it out while these people are hunting me," I responded with sarcasm laced in my tone.
"That's the only thing you can do." Her eyes crinkled with sympathy. "I'm here for you, Emma. I meant it when I said I was worried. I care about you and want to see you do well. Stay as long as you need while you get this mess—” she waved her hand in the air, "sorted out."
There was that same unfamiliar feeling again. No one had ever said they cared for me and I wasn't sure how to respond. "Okay," I said nodding, draining my coffee, tears stinging my eyes. I rose from the table and placed the cup and saucer in the sink. "I'd love to grab a quick shower and change, but can I help clean up first?"
"We'll do it together. Go shower first. I'll wait." Nina smiled encouragingly at me.
At her unwavering support of me, I grabbed my purse and suitcas
e, lugging them up the stairs behind me. That feeling of someone waiting on me, wanting to be around me, was new.
From the safety of the guest bedroom and bath, I showered and then got into Connor's sweats and Navy t-shirt, confident Nina wouldn't ask questions about the outfit. Besides, it smelled and felt good--at least that's what I told myself. I'd had a few minutes to pack and hesitated to pack the clothes he'd loaned me last night. I'd thrown them in my bag after deciding they were comfortable.
Pulling my hair into a ponytail I heard a crash downstairs and then, Nina's scream.
Eleven
Men's voices filtered upstairs to the bedroom.
"Bring her in the kitchen." Scuffling noises echoed through the house, along with a muffled voice. Another crash and a loud thump.
"Search the house," another voice barked.
I leapt back from the doorway where I was hovering and searched for a place to hide. Nothing. It was an old house with no adjoining rooms. I could attempt to hide in the closet or look down the hallway at the other closed doors.
I chose the former since I didn't know how many men there were or how much time I had before they found me. I dove into the closet and crouched behind a section of long dresses wrapped in dry cleaning plastic. Something dug into my back.
It was a door! A secret door! Saying a quick prayer of thanks, I turned the knob and crawled through a small opening just as I heard someone enter the bedroom.
It was a storage room. The only light that filtered through the darkness was from a small window at the opposite wall from a streetlamp, giving me just enough light to see. The scent of mothballs filled my nose.
I remained crouched in my position, frozen with fear. Slow, measured footsteps moved across the bedroom and toward the closet. Surprisingly, they stopped and moved away.
Breathe, Emma, breathe. Think, Emma, think!
Nina was being held downstairs and I needed to get out and help her. And as much as I hated to admit it, I needed to reach Connor. After a few more long minutes, I noiselessly opened the small door and listened.
When I didn't hear anything but muffled sounds from downstairs I crawled out, careful my steps on the floor wouldn't alert anyone below.
My suitcase and purse were still sitting neatly against the wall in the bedroom where I'd left them earlier, pausing to wonder if they'd tipped-off the intruders to my presence.
I found my phone and sent a text to Connor.
911. Invasion. They have Nina.
Switching the device to silent, I tucked it into the pocket of my sweatpants.
Looking around, I came up short again. The room was bare save for furniture.
I sidled down the hallway off the kitchen. Men's voices drifted up.
"..need to get into that gallery," one said.
"No. You're not going anywhere near my business." Nina's responded defiantly.
A resounding slap and gasp followed.
I cringed at this, my imagination fearing the worst since I couldn't see what they were doing to her.
"Where is Emma Elliott?"
"I'm not telling you, you big oaf." Another slap. If it wasn't for the severity of the situation I would have laughed at Nina's choice of words.
Nina didn't let on that I was in the house and knowing this emboldened me.
I couldn't wait long for Connor and my heart lifted when I read his reply.
Don't move. I'm coming.
I hovered between the stairwell and nearby doorway in case anyone came back upstairs. I heard more stifled, indistinguishable voices downstairs. After a few minutes of silence, a door closed below. Nina was in danger and needed me and knowing one of them had left I decided to make my way downstairs.
I didn't have anything to defend myself but remembered the heavy brass candle holders in the dining room. Maybe I could get my hands on one? It was a long shot, but better than no shot.
I had to keep going. These men were hurting Nina and we had no time to lose. I paused on the stairs, the wall obstructing my view from the kitchen.
I moved across the hall to the living room and peeked around the corner. It was empty. Thank God.
Nina or her late husband were baseball fans and luck was on my side. A bat sat in a corner. I picked it up, the smooth, heavy wood in my hands a silent encouragement that I could do this. I slipped back into the hallway, and listened before peering into the kitchen.
Nina sat in a chair, her arms tied, looking down at the floor, her hair covering her face. A man dressed in black was cleaning his gun a few feet away. Where was the other one?
Before I could answer that question, there was a cold jab in my back. "Hello, there," a low voice grumbled behind me.
Without thinking, I ducked and swung the bat nailing him in the knees. His weapon discharged. My ears rang. The man was down on the ground and I looked back in the kitchen to see the other man getting up, gun in hand.
I lunged toward him and swung the bat, but he ducked and another shot rang out.
"Emma!" Nina's cry out brought me back.
The man held the gun point blank at me. He wouldn't miss and would shoot faster than I could swing. "Drop it."
I was out-maneuvered and didn't know how much longer I could stall until Connor arrived.
He wore an evil grin as he moved closer. "Ace, get your ass in here," he called out, and as he turned his head momentarily toward the kitchen, I swung the bat again. I hit somewhere because the momentum caused both of us to lose our balance and we tumbled to the ground, scrambling for anything that would give an upper hand. A hand clamped on my ankle and I screamed, desperately crawling, trying to get away. I kicked frantically, but he was bigger and stronger, gripping my ankle hard as he dragged me along the floor.
"What's this?" Another voice bellowed from behind me.
"Found her on the stairs," my assailant grunted, pinning me with his knees.
The pressure of a two-hundred pound man sitting on my chest made it impossible to breathe, think or move. I heard the unmistakable cock of a gun and Nina screaming. He was aiming the gun at me, ready to fire. I wrapped my fingers around his and struggled to move the gun out of range. This would be it for me. This would be the way I would die.
Twelve
Stars danced across a black void. I heard the commotion of voices around me and the weight of my attacker gone. I flinched at the touch of someone's hand and immediately relaxed when I understood they didn't mean harm.
"Emma, wake up! Look at me, sweetheart," a deep voice ordered.
I knew that voice.
Connor.
I opened my eyes, coughing and sputtering as my surroundings came back into focus. His mouth was set in a firm line; his gaze intense. In his face I saw calm and control. I also recognized fury and something else I couldn't name. I was choking, gasping for air. He shouted over his shoulder, "Get me a medic over here!" His voice quieted and he asked in a low voice, "You okay? Hurt anywhere?"
I shook my head and tried to push myself up. He gripped me under the arms and helped me to a sitting position against the wall. Police and plainclothes detectives were everywhere cataloging the crime scene. Across the kitchen Nina was being examined by an EMT and holding court. Even as the medic bandaged her face, Nina barked cranky orders at the detectives and police. "Careful of the china!”
"No powder or tape on the paintings!”
Evidently—and thankfully—she wasn't too badly hurt if she was bossing people around.
A paramedic took Connor's place, placing an oxygen mask over my mouth. The effect was instantaneous, and my breaths came more easily.
"Take your time," the paramedic said. "Just going to take your vitals here."
I spotted Connor across the kitchen speaking with the man I recognized as Chief of Police Shepard. With his back to me, I shamelessly took full advantage of watching Connor. He and the Chief were in deep conversation. Connor wore the same dark khakis, white shirt and leather holster he had on when we first met at the station. He had his
hands on his hips and was frowning at something the Chief was saying. His sleeves were rolled up, giving me a view of muscled forearms.
Then he turned and caught me staring, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.
My heartbeat must have skipped because the paramedic did a double take on the monitor as he was taking my pulse.
"Huh, that's odd," he murmured. I averted my gaze then, choosing to watch the rest of the scene and avoid looking at Connor.
"You're looking much better, Ms. Elliott." A new officer kneeled in front of me. He was an older man, white hair with friendly lines framing his eyes. "I'm gonna take your statement, then you'll be free to go."
I was aware of Connor in Nina's kitchen while the crime scene teeming with officers, paramedics and other personnel. I felt his nearness, heard the timbre of his voice. I could pick out that voice in a crowd and it did funny things to me I didn't want to admit.
"You put up a good fight for someone your size," said the other officer. He offered his hand to help me stand and handed me a cold bottle of water. "Feeling better?"
I nodded and he led me away from the chaos to a small alcove off where Nina waited. I rushed into her arms. "God, I'm so glad you're okay!" We held each other tightly for a moment before stepping back.
She looked the same, yet tired and a little bit older. Her cheek was bandaged. Her dark eyes searched mine for a moment. "I want you to go back with Agent Jackson. Something bigger is going on than we realized, and he can offer you more security than I can right now."
"Nina, I can't leave you," I whispered, feeling shaky and uncertain for the first time all night.
"Yes, you can, dear. You're better off and safer with him." She glanced in Connor's direction and I immediately understood they had already spoken.
"What will you do?"
"I'll figure it out. I have friends all over this city." She waved her hand in typical Nina Alexis fashion. "The point is, these people, whoever they are, seem to be looking for you. And Agent Jackson here is your best bet."
The Art of Murder Page 8
