The Art of Murder

by Claire Ripley

  Right. Like that would happen, given my battered condition, it wasn’t feasible. I sank my head down onto my arms, sighing, fearing what would come for me next.

  ✽✽✽

  Sometime later, a noise roused me, and I recoiled as a woman entered the room and crouched in front of me.

  "Emma? Oh my God," she gasped.

  Shocked, I squinted at the familiar voice. "What are you doing here?"

  Caty frowned in concern as she examined the bruises on my face. "I...I...."

  "How are you here? What are you doing here?" I pushed up to my feet to get a better look at Caty. I tenderly touched my swollen cheek while staring at Caty. What was she doing here? Was she involved with this thing or was she in this awful room against her will? She was still wearing her dress from the gallery show.

  "They blackmailed me!

  "Who did?"

  "Stefano and Gianni!"

  "The Sgambati brothers?" I asked, incredulous. This whole time, she was working with them?

  "My dad owes them money and they threatened to hurt him if I didn't help them."

  "Help them how?" I was sick to my stomach to hear the answer.

  "Gianni figured out we worked together and are friends—”

  "Were friends," I corrected.

  Caty winced and continued. "He figured out we worked together. They were looking for you. I didn't know why they were looking for you." She shrugged as if to say she didn't mean it. "So I told them where you lived."

  "Caty! What the fuck! They're going to kill us here! Why would you do something so stupid! Don't you get it?" For all her book smarts, how could she not put this together? "You told a strange man who your dad owes money to and where I live? What did you think he was going to do with that information? It didn't seem off that someone would ask that? How could you?" I sank down and buried my face in my hands. This would be how I would die. I was sure of it.

  She walked toward the window, not bothering to reply. She examined the panes the same way I had, running her hands along the sash and testing it. She gave up after a few minutes of attempting to raise the window and paced the room.

  I couldn't believe that my one and only friend gave me up – and was willing to have me murdered.

  The door to the room burst open, startling us. I saw Tattoo Guy in the doorway and a wave of dread sank in my stomach. He pointed at me. "Let's go."

  I looked at Caty briefly. The shock and fear in her face confused me further. Not bothering to close the door behind him, Tattoo Guy dragged me down the hallway into another room. He said nothing as he shoved me into a chair and stood back against the wall, settling his hand on the gun on his hip.

  Stefano Sgambati materialized from behind me, pausing to touch my head. I jumped and jerked away and his fingers tangled in my hair.

  "Get away from me," I snapped.

  "Good evening, Ms. Elliott. You were so much more pleasant earlier this evening." Stefano was still dressed in his suit and the heavy scent of his cologne filled my nostrils. He towered over me, clasping his hands and staring me down. His eyes were dark, bottomless pools of cool, unfeeling emotion.

  I refused to look away. Refused to let him think he was getting to me. Fear is all they want to see, I told myself and did my best to hide my emotions. "Ms. Elliott." Stefano lit a cigarette and paced the room, strolling back and forth as if he were on an afternoon walk instead of interrogating a terrified young woman he held captive.

  The warehouse echoed with his footsteps, and his voice bounced off the walls, reminding me of how big this place was. Cigarette smoke and cologne thickened the air. His leather shoes gleamed in the dim lighting, a stark contrast to the battered condition I was in. Tattoo Guy must be his henchman. Did that mean he was the boss? One of two Sgambati brothers?

  "It was a pleasure meeting you tonight at the exhibition. I must say I do enjoy your work." Stefano stopped momentarily and took a drag from his cigarette. "Maybe a little intense for me, but one might say I'm intense." He chuckled to himself. "You're going to make a phone call. To a friend of yours."

  I gaped at him.

  "I understand you and Agent Jackson know each other quite well, yes?"

  I didn't answer him, but he wasn't waiting for one anyway, and he continued. "Agent Jackson and I go back a ways. And I'm tired of him getting in the way of my business. So tonight, that ends." Stefano stepped closer and leaned down, until his face was inches from mine. His eyes were a rich brown, but they were filled with evil. I wanted to look away, anywhere but his cruel gaze, but I couldn't let him see my fear.

  "You're going to call him and tell him you are at a specific location, and we will set up a meeting." He wiggled his eyebrows at me. "And once I have Agent Jackson, I will have no further use of you."

  Stefano pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and dialed a number, pressing the phone to his ear.

  "Good evening, Agent Jackson. What a pleasure." Stefano let out a low chuckle and eyed me. Tattoo Guy—who I had determined was Gianni—moved behind me with a knife in his hand. He showed the tip of the knife to me and grabbed my forearm, dragging the blade lightly down my skin. His meaning was clear. Don't even think about it.

  "Listen, I have someone you may be looking for. Say hello, Emma."

  Stefano pressed the speaker button and Connor's voice filled the air. "Emma? Emma, are you there?" Tears streamed down my face hearing his voice.

  "Connor—”

  And just as fast, Stefano had taken the phone away and spoke into the phone. "I will trade you, Jackson. Her for you. Meet me at 175 Washington and Porter Street in one hour. Come alone." He hung up the phone and slid it back into his pocket, his eyes gleaming.

  "Do you think he misses you, Ms. Elliott? Do you think he cares enough for your life to trade his own?" Stefano laughed lightly. "I love these sorts of things. Does he love you? Do you love him? Who loves the other more? Will he lay down his life for you? How fun it will be to see this play out. Unfortunately for you, you won't be around much longer to find out." Stefano's eyes gleamed with malice and intent. "I just want Jackson."

  "No! You won't get away with this!"

  "Gianni, bring the other girl out here. Check the shipment and that its ready to go. We can start moving." Stefano straightened his sleeves and pulled out a cigarette, regarding me coolly.

  I replayed Stefano's words, mentally running through any possibilities of getting out of here, or keeping him talking, or distracting him from whatever he'd planned for me. I wasn't tied to the chair again but doubted I could make it far in my condition. I also knew that based on their sheer size and strength I wouldn't be able to fight off these two brutes. I also didn't know how many others were in the warehouse. And Caty was another factor. Whether she would help or hurt me, I couldn't be sure.

  "What do you want from me?" I asked him. "Connor will find me. You won't get away with this."

  He puffed out the smoke and regarded me for a moment before answering. "You, of course. You've seen too much and your testimony could send us to prison. And I don't go to prison. I need Connor Jackson to stop sticking his nose in my business. Taking care of the both of you gives me the freedom I need."

  "I don't know anything. I know people at the police station. I could talk to the FBI," I started, grasping at anything he would consider. "You can still get out of this. Make a deal with the police." My voice was small, and I knew I sounded pathetic trying to appeal to two criminals.

  I must have given something away at what I said because Stefano laughed softly. I still didn't respond, hoping he would continue with this monologue rather than hitting me, or something worse.

  "No one's going to save you. You've given us quite the chase, trying to find you. While you were passed out, we found the bug you were wearing. Your time is running out. And Agent Jackson must have thought I had no idea of his whereabouts or recognized all those undercover agents. God, the FBI gets so obvious sometimes, I can spot those undercover agents a mile away. Should I deliver a mes
sage to Jackson for you?"

  "No—no. Please, no!" Tears filled my eyes in panic. Not only was my life in danger, but Connor's too. They already had me, but what about Connor? I couldn't warn him, but...what choice did I have? Now that they had me locked away, there was no reason to keep me alive.

  My heart sank. I was going to die here in this cold, godforsaken warehouse at the hands of a killer. I would never get to see Connor again. I would never see my career go anywhere. I wouldn't get to get married and have babies. I wouldn't get to have the Christmas morning of my dreams. I wouldn't get to make my own life the way I wanted it to be when I was kid. I wouldn't get to redeem my past sins. I thought of all the things I would miss out on. All the things I was looking forward to happening for me.

  I closed my eyes and tried to calm down. At the sound of a gasp and cry of pain, my eyes flew open to see Caty shoved to her knees, in front of Stefano.

  "Be right back," Gianni/Tattoo Guy said to Stefano. "Keep an eye on her. She fought me in there," he said, jerking his head back to the room Caty and I were held in. Gianni's heavy footsteps stalked off to a section of crates at the end of the warehouse, his footsteps telling me how far and wide this place spanned.

  Stefano took a drag on his cigarette. "You know what? I don't think we even need you anymore."

  "What? No! I brought you Emma!"

  "Then what would you have me do?"

  "Let me go?"

  Stefano burst out laughing, stopping abruptly and took a step toward Caty. He gripped her arm tightly in one hand. "What do you think, huh? Do you want it to be quick? Or do you want to fight me?" He didn't give her a chance to answer, but had both hands wrapped around her neck. Caty's eyes grew wide as her air was cut off. Her hands were hitting at Stefano's arms and kicking him, but it was fruitless against his size over hers.

  I saw my chance and grabbed it. They hadn't tied me to the chair, and Stefano's attention was diverted at Caty, who was clawing at him. I jumped forward on his back and wrenched the gun from his hands. The surprise of the move was the only advantage I had. He was easily twice my size. We fell to the ground, both hands locked on the gun.

  In my peripheral vision, I saw Caty lift the chair over her head and slam it into Stefano. We had seconds before Gianni would come running back here and we would be screwed. The chair knocked Stefano over and off of me, and I scrambled up, grabbing the gun and getting to my feet. Caty stood off to the side, her chest heaving, and we locked eyes briefly before I pulled the trigger.

  ✽✽✽

  Connor tapped the app on his phone that held the key to Emma's location. A blinking light indicated she'd stopped moving. The signal was still strong, showing that they had taken her to a location on the outskirts of Charleston. He plugged in the coordinates to his GPS. He pressed the accelerator to the SUV, flying down the two lane road, his headlights the only illumination on the road. Two Charleston PD units were behind him, and at his instruction, their lights and sirens were silent. Chief Jacobson had given him the use of the force for tonight's operation.

  They'd run over every possible outcome for tonight. He'd gone over the plan with the plainclothes detectives the course of events for the evening. They discussed the possibility of things going wrong. Gunshots. Kidnapping. Not showing up. They covered every outcome.

  His worst fear was living out before him. It wasn't until that awful moment in the gallery that he realized Emma was gone. He hadn't seen or heard anything. No one had. But he knew it from the pit in his stomach and that prickly feeling on the back of his neck that told him something was wrong. That gut feeling had saved his life more times than he could count. With his hand on his gun, he'd pushed through the crowd and spoke low commands into his microphone, demanding Emma’s location, confirmation that she was there, safe and that he was just overreacting.

  He didn't realize it until right now, the sweat beading on his forehead and his focus locking in on the road before him, that he feared losing Emma. He didn't mean to fall in love with her, but somewhere along the way, he did. After his parents' death, he'd had every intention of not loving someone like this again. There was the disappointment and heartbreak and loss. He'd vowed never again, and yet.

  Yet here he was. On the verge of losing this beautiful woman, someone who'd made her way into his heart and refused to leave.

  Connor glanced again at his phone, looking for reassurance that the blinking signal was still alive and well. The round dot kept blinking and he breathed a sigh of relief. He focused on the road, following the commands of the GPS to turn left. His eyes cut again to the blinking light.

  Nothing.

  The signal had gone dark.

  Connor remained calm and picked up the radio. "Advising the signal has gone dark. Copy."

  "Copy, Jackson," came the reply from the radio.

  He couldn't think what it could mean. If the wire discovered and that's why it went dark. If Emma's captors were hurting her. If she was still alive. If, if, if. The possibilities screamed in his head and he couldn't acknowledge them. All his training was in play, keeping him locked in and focused. There was no room for emotion. Emotions led to mistakes, and this was the most important night of his life. His brain wasn't making sense of what she meant to him, but he knew he couldn't let anything happen to her.

  Thank God he'd thought to put the GPS on her as well as the bug. After New York he knew she would make up her own mind, in spite of him telling her how dangerous it was to travel alone.

  He slowed the SUV to a crawl as he approached the warehouse. The warehouse was located in an isolated area, with a wide open field and trees dotting the perimeter. Gaining access inside the building would be tricky if Stefano had anyone patrolling outside.

  He chose to park just outside the driveway entrance, the cover of trees blocking the view of his vehicle. The two squad cars that were behind him slowed to a stop and the officers stepped out, silently closing their doors.

  "What's the plan, Agent Jackson?" The middle-aged officer stood at attention. Officer Crawley, and the second one was Officer James.

  Connor liked these men; over the last two years he'd worked alongside them. He respected them for their dedication to the job.

  "We're going to split up, with James covering us. You take the front; I'll take the rear. I suspect its two of them inside with the victim, but we have no way of knowing anymore. Have your weapon ready." The men nodded in agreement, and Connor and Officer James descended on the warehouse.

  He reached the rear entrance quickly, the night sounds of the moonless night giving them additional cover. He held his gun ready, all of his senses on high alert. Adrenaline running high. He slipped through the back door, finding it unlocked. Voices were coming from the center of the warehouse, the sound of a woman crying out, then a gunshot pierced the air. Connor burst forward through the maze of hallways that emptied into the concrete expanse of the warehouse.

  A bedraggled Emma stood barefoot in the middle of the room, a man lying on the ground at her feet. Her dress was torn and dirty, but she was in tact. Caty Drake was on her hands and knees, crying, looking worse for the wear. Emma turned and looked over her shoulder at him, her gaze locking with his own.

  Then she crumpled to the ground.

  Thirty

  I couldn't move my arms or my legs. I kicked my feet, but I was trapped. Panic seeped up from the darkness and I heard a muffled scream. The offending blankets were suddenly off me and I was in a bed. The scream was my own, and I found myself in an unfamiliar room.

  "Easy, there you go. Is that better?" Connor was standing at my bedside, having drawn the covers back. I looked from him to my bare legs and the printed gown I was wearing. A disheveled Nina stood at the foot of the bed, not at all like the Nina I knew.

  "Nina?" I whispered. "What happened? What's going on?" My head hurt, my lips were painfully dry, and I was so thirsty. It hurt to breathe.

  "Emma." I turned my head to Connor as he said my name, frowning. "You don't remember? Y
ou're in the hospital."

  I frowned and glanced around, noticing for the first time hospital equipment that was beeping softly. Memories came back to me, violent with their clarity. The rest of the room came into focus. I was in a hospital bed, half-naked with an IV in my arm.

  The fight for the gun. Stefano's weight on me as we wrestled. Pain. Blood everywhere. Caty. The events at the gallery show and the warehouse slowly creeped into my mind. Stefano Sgambati. Gianni Sgambati. He was scary Tattoo Guy. I thought I was going to die. Beating me. Wrestling with the gun and Stefano's weight on me.

  Connor took a seat in the chair next to my bed and grabbed my hand in both of his, his brow furrowed with concern. What was different about him? He looked the same. Jeans and a black tshirt, snug in all the right places. Circles lined underneath his eyes and he could use a shave, but besides being tired, he seemed different. Huh.

  "You have two broken ribs and a few cuts and bruises,” he told me gently. “The good news is you're going to be okay."

  "I'll get the nurse," Nina said with a weak smile in my direction. She left the room.

  "How do you feel?"

  "Like shit," I mumbled. "And thirsty."

  A nurse entered just then with Nina trailing behind her. I wasn't paying attention when she told me her name, but she kept chattering, checking my IV and vitals.

  "Emma," Connor prompted.

  Dazed, I looked at him.

  "She just asked how you were feeling."

  "Oh." I looked up at the friendly face. "Everything hurts," I told her. "And I'm thirsty."

  "We can get you some water and something for the pain. You're going to be fine, with a little rest and recuperating." She went on to tell me I had two broken ribs and some severe bruising on my arms from the beating.