"My show is starting." My whole body shook and I could feel my cheeks flush.
"Here." The hand under my dress released itself and he pulled a small device out of his pocket. "This is a little bug I want you wear tonight. We can keep track of you and listen to what's going on. You don't have to do anything other than be yourself." The "bug" was no more the size of a dime and would stick just under my dress near my breast, out of sight. He slid the device into place and straightened the neckline.
"Where will you be?"
"I'll be around for the show, but in the background. Plainclothes officers will be in attendance as well. Don't go anywhere without me. Dinner at 10:30. I want to talk to you alone." He cupped my hands in his, kissed them and said, "Break a leg, Alabama."
Twenty-Seven
Stegano Sgambati
He couldn't have planned tonight any better himself. The art gallery was headlining Emma Elliott as the local artist. He puffed on his cigar and watched the smoke trickle out in front of him. He surveyed the makeshift office he and Gianni had been parking in for the last couple weeks. The warehouse was located on the outskirts of town, but close enough. He had the arms shipment packed and ready to go. After tonight, once he had the two people he needed to take care of, they could skip town. The shipment was being loaded on a private plane and headed for a small town in the Middle East. From there they would make the drop, collect their cash and move on.
He never thought he'd be at a fucking art show hosted by the Junior League of Charleston. Now that's irony for someone who grew up in the projects.
Everything he wanted. His brother Gianni assured him Andrew Drake's daughter would be there tonight. She said Emma was going to be there after all. He could take care of all these people tonight that were getting in his way and business could resume as normal. The loan business with Mr. Drake was easy. Loaning people money and tacking on exorbitant interest and making your presence felt was easy. Child's play. Turns out there was more money in the deal Gianni had found for them. Running an arms shipment overseas from one seller to a buyer was quick. He had connections and the seller needed a buyer, and fast.
And he was very good at making connections.
✽✽✽
Connor
The party for the evening was in full swing, with guests clinking wine and champagne glasses, the sound of tinkling laughter piercing over the din of the crowd. It amazed Connor how the purpose of the entire show was for the paintings hanging prominently on the gallery walls, yet he noticed people paid little attention to the art itself. For what he could understand of the paintings themselves, they seemed decent. Explosive in color and abstract yet they focused in on portraits as the subject matter. Some of the paintings were nudes, and even Connor's limited knowledge of art told him how sensual and intimate the portraits were. There were others with a bull and a horse, but done in the same abstract, colorful manner. From Emma's description of her work with the artists lending their work to Nina Alexis Gallery, the more famous works were a big deal. He'd never heard of any of the famous artists. Junior League ladies had been flitting around the room, identifiable from the champagne glasses in their hand and the overdone makeup and jewelry. He eyed one woman who was making her way to him, a gleam in her eye.
"Enjoying yourself tonight?" She smiled up at him and laid a hand on his arm. "Daisy Anderson." Christ, she was old enough to be his mother and he knew that look. He didn't have time to make small talk and let her hit on him. Out of the corner of his eye he noted two of his plain clothes officers smirking in his direction.
"Nice to meet you," he muttered. "Excuse me." He patted the woman's hand and stepped away.
He grabbed a champagne glass from a passing waiter and subtly strolled the perimeter of the room. So far, so good. He wasn't sure if Caty Drake would show up. Annalina had been working the phones, but they'd come up empty handed as to Caty's next moves.
He was stationed at the gallery show as part of the Sgambati brothers investigation into money laundering and drug trafficking.
It was his idea to go to the gallery show undercover, and he blended in easily. He wore a dark suit. He walked the perimeter of the room, catching a few plain clothes officers in his sweep of the room. A jazz trio was setting up in the back of the gallery. Patrons were beginning to fill the room as well.
Men and women milled around the wide open gallery, dressed in suits and ties, cocktail dresses that flirted with the line of appropriate. The dark suit he wore tonight was outside of his daily attire. His goal was to blend in with Charleston's richest and those most willing to part with a few thousand dollars for a piece of art. He'd noticed the tiny stickers next to the canvases. The famous artists he'd never heard of were asking an exorbitant amount of money. If you asked him, and no one was, some of it felt empty. Even he could see Emma's work had passion. Life behind the work. He recalled the way she threw herself into her work. She came out of it covered in splattered paint. He'd gotten it then. Seeing her at work, her passion, and the result of it somehow spoke the words she wasn't voicing.
Expensive perfume and cologne mixed with the cocktail shrimp and hot dip. It seemed like everyone who wanted to be seen and was someone in Charleston was showing up to tonight's event. Women had donned their jewelry, diamonds glinting off the overhead lights. Laughter tinkled over the crowd and the voices kept to a low murmur along the room. Years of training kept him laser focused on sweeping the room for any security breaches. He wanted everything in place and just so. He couldn’t afford anything to happen to Emma. Not now. Not when he was turning over the idea of retiring from his career. Not when Emma mattered so much. Adrenaline coursed through him from the anticipation of tonight. If the night went according to plan, the Sgambati brothers would show up, they'd detain and arrest them, Emma could go home safe and sound. Investigation would wrap up. But even he knew nothing ever went according to plan, and that's why he'd taken the extra steps, just in case. Emma wearing the wire guaranteed her location and the possibility of getting something they could use in charging the Sgambatis on record. The plain clothes officers stationed at the gallery, and the additional squad car on standby two blocks down. He let out a slow breath and scanned the room once again.
An attractive blond woman arrived, wearing a short black dress and the highest heels he'd ever seen. He wasn't alone in noticing her. She had a magnetic smile and turned the heads of several men nearby. Caty Drake. Connor watched her from his position as she made her way through the crowd, greeting people as she moved past them, offering hugs and cheek kisses as she went.
Like Emma had asked in between her tears, what was Caty Drake doing with the Sgambatis? Connor's background search told him she was a law student, home in Charleston for a break before heading back to her fancy ivy league school. Her family owned a restaurant in downtown Charleston that seemed popular. Caty was captivating in a crowd. People were drawn to her as she moved gracefully through the throng of people. He could see how Emma had been swept up in Caty's magnetism. She was outgoing, she turned heads walking through the gallery tonight, women wanting to be friends with her and the men checking her out. She was wealthy and connected. The life of the party. Caty Drake grabbed a glass of champagne from a tray and stopped to talk with a couple on the other side of the room.
Connor kept her in his vision and scanned the room once more for any sign of the Sgambatis. Nothing yet. He checked that Emma was still in the same spot the last time he saw her. She had moved a few feet down but was engaged in conversation with another woman.
✽✽✽
I was smiling politely, attempting to appear interested in something the man I was speaking with was saying. Connor was across the room. Nina's gallery was more crowded than I'd ever seen it, bringing together Charleston's elite shopping for art, and those that made the art. Nina had done well planning tonight's event. Waiters tempted guests with fancy finger foods and there was even a bar pouring champagne. I didn't know a soul, except for a few other artists Nina repre
sented. I followed her lead, making polite chitchat with guests and answering questions about the art. But a distinct sense of pride thrummed through me when I got to answer questions as the artist.
"Emma, dear, I've been looking for you everywhere!" Nina's voice cut through the moment. "I have a client you must meet."
Shaking off my nerves, I focused on what Nina was saying. "...I'll handle the details, Emma, dear, the buyer just wants to meet you." We made our way through the crowd and stopped in front of a man studying one of my paintings on the wall.
He was medium height, dressed in dark pants and shirt. His collar opened at the neck, and I could see a gold chain and ample chest hair. With olive skin and jet-black hair, I pegged him as European, probably Spanish or Italian. "Hello, Miss Elliott." He smiled, but the smile did not quite reach his eyes. "Stefano," he said, introducing himself. He took my hand and kissed it, and I suppressed the urge to pull my hand back. Was this him? Was this Stefano Sgambati? Chills ran down my spine and I swallowed nervously. All of my instincts were screaming that something wasn't right, but I was frozen in place.
Stefano's presence was disquieting. His cold, impenetrable gaze bore through me. "Pleased to meet you." I said politely and finally pulled my hand back.
"Stefano, this is a new series Emma has been working on," Nina began. "The figure studies have been popular with our clients and feature both animals and nude portraits done in the abstract style."
Stefano shifted his gaze from me and Nina to the painting on the wall. This one featured an abstract portrait of a cow's head. I loved my animal portrait series, for the bright colors I favored and had enjoyed venturing into trying something new. The bright reds and blues added vibrancy to the painting. Normally I loved meeting new clients and discussing my work but I wanted to escape this man and his icy presence. Connor had assured me plainclothes officers were stationed around the room and monitoring my wire, but in the moment, without hearing anything from them, I felt isolated. He wasn't saying much to give any clues to anyone listening in. Was this Stefano Sgambati? I asked myself again. Nina didn't seem to know him well and was beaming.
"Lovely," Stefano said in a low voice. "Lovely indeed." I chanced a glance around the crowded room. The show had been a success so far with attendance right on target and discreet red stickers around the room next to paintings marked the ones that had been sold. Where was Connor?
"Excuse me," I interjected. "I'm just making a quick trip to the ladies' room." I nodded at Nina and Stefano and made my way toward the restrooms in the back of the gallery. I was relieved to escape his chilling presence.
Exiting the restroom a few minutes later, I didn't see the blow coming. Pain shot through my head and a thick arm seized me from behind. I felt the cold gun barrel pressed against my back. "Let's go," he said gruffly.
Twenty-Eight
"No!" I struggled to scream but a thick hand covered my mouth.
"Don't even think about it." The gun jabbed me harder from behind and I stumbled forward. "The exit. Now."
Fear shot through me as I realized leaving the gallery would drastically reduce my chances of being found. The building was crowded, and no one was in the hallway. Where was Connor? I fought back, grimly hoping the attacker wouldn't fire the weapon inside. I kicked at his legs, but my efforts were futile. The man was a wall of muscle and my kicking legs did nothing to stop him from lifting me around the middle and kicking the exit door open, he lifted me outside. The night air heightened my realization that I was in grave danger. Don't leave the premises, my mind screamed. I kept kicking and squirming, adrenaline adding fuel to my fight. I saw the waiting car in the empty parking lot and knew this was my last chance.
"You got her?" I heard another voice in the lot. The man who came into view was like someone from my nightmares. He towered over me, dressed in all black. Tattoos covered his arms and the cigarette stench reeked off him. An intricate dragon motif was visible on his neck. In the streetlight, his face came into view. He had a cold, calculating gaze about him, as if a struggling woman at gunpoint was nothing. He backhanded me, blinding pain searing my eye.
It unleashed something in me and I started fighting for my life, kicking and punching wildly, scratching at the meaty arm holding me prisoner. Pure fear and adrenaline added strength I didn't know I had, my slight frame giving my captors something to fight against.
"Let me go!" I screamed, clawing my captor's hands.
"Control this bitch and get her into the car now," another voice commanded from behind.
Dragon Tattoo Guy reached for me but I spit at him. He responded with a fist to my face, catching me squarely in the cheek. He punched me again in the stomach. All the breath whooshed from me, and I slumped forward. The pain was excruciating, and I thought I was going to be sick. Rough hands dragged me to a waiting car in the parking lot. I dimly thought about the glorious heels Nina had given me and knew they'd be ruined scraping across the asphalt.
In the car, blackness seeped around my vision and stars danced behind my eyelids. Gut-wrenching terror filled my head at the fate that awaited me. Tattoo Guy was in the backseat with me and the mere thought of another blow was enough for me to sag in defeat in the car. It was obvious I wasn't getting away from three gargantuan men. What they had in store for me, I didn't know and it was with that thought that I closed my eyes and succumbed to the beckoning blackness.
Twenty-Nine
When I awoke, I found myself in a darkened room, completely bare save for the chair I was sitting in and the one window letting in the moonlight. I’d never been here before. Concrete floors and walls. Gray, gray everywhere. My arms were tied behind my back and my feet to the chair. My head was pounding a cruel beat and my stomach ached painfully with each breath. Consciousness slowly took over my groggy brain, recalling the gallery show and the three men. It was supposed to have been the night of my life. And here I was.
I was shivering from cold and fear. The room I was in didn’t have any heat, and I didn’t have my coat. My feet were bare, the beautiful heels were gone.
I had no idea how long I’d been out and how much time had passed. The empty room didn’t have any windows where I could see natural light seeping through.
What happened at the show? How long until someone realized I was missing? Would Connor or Nina figure out what happened?
How would Connor find me? My phone was in my purse, where I’d stashed it in the kitchen before the showing started. No one saw me leave. I had no way of knowing if the wire was still taped under my breast.
Footsteps echoed off the walls, getting louder and louder as they approached. A man stepped into my field of vision. I recognized Tattoo Guy from the parking garage. He stood in front of me, coolly smoking a cigarette and watching me. He wore jeans and expensive looking loafers with a dress shirt and blazer. It was a stark contrast to the wiry, full beard he sported and the tattoos peeking out from under the collar on his neck. I steeled myself for what was coming. What did he want with me? I held his dark gaze, silently taking inventory of my body. The ties binding my arms were snug. My stomach ached from the blow earlier. The coppery taste of blood was in my mouth. I still had my dress on so my worst fears hadn’t yet been realized.
“What do you want?” I croaked, my voice coming out in rasp.
“You, Ms. Elliott. I’m waiting for the boss to see what he wants done with you. You also can help us with something.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“You’re a loose end. And the boss doesn’t like loose ends.”
I gaped at him. “You—you have the wrong person. I don’t know anything.”
“You are Emma Elliott, aren’t you?” His voice was tinged with an Italian accent, and he stubbed out his cigarette on the floor with his shoe. Crouching in front of me, he looked into my face with a cruel smile. “Artist featured tonight at the Nina Alexis Gallery? Employed as an administrative assistant at Whitley Kennington?”
I felt the blood drain from my face. Slo
wly I shook my head, tears beginning to stream down my cheeks.
He slapped me hard against my cheek. My scream reverberated off the walls. “That’s what I thought. Pretty soon another friend of yours will be joining us. Killing two birds with one stone.” Tattoo Guy disappeared from the room, slamming the door with a thud.
I closed my eyes and my head slumped. I fought back the tears. I could not cry. The tear tracks on my face had begun to dry and I fought the urge to wipe my face. Not that I could have with bound hands, but somehow letting myself cry would make it worse. The pain in my belly and head were sharp, preventing me from thinking about getting out of this place. I drifted off again into the comfortable blackness.
✽✽✽
Rough hands woke me from that escape into sleep. They were moving me. It was too dark and my head hurt too much to focus. I was shoved into a smaller, bare room and the door slammed behind me. The zip ties were gone. I rubbed my arms from where the plastic had rubbed the skin raw and I crawled to a wall, drawing my knees up to my chest, shivering. At least I wasn’t tied to a chair anymore. My fingers touched at the area just under my breast. The bug was gone. Men’s voices echoed in the warehouse, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
God, what was I going to do? No one had any idea where I was. Connor didn't see me leave. How long until he noticed I was gone? I was at the mercy of my captors. As my eyes got used to the dim room, I examined my surroundings. It was a square box, with a low light bulb hanging from the ceiling. There was a lone window along the far wall, and it was black as midnight outside. I eyed it momentarily, imagining myself scaling the wall, breaking out the window, provided the pane wasn’t locked, and running toward freedom.
The Art of Murder Page 17
