“Yeah, he said something happened with his phone. I guess I’ll get the whole story when I see him.” I drew in a deep breath and fought the realization that none of us were safe now that Otto was free.
“Good. Good,” Alexa said and leaned back. “Wait, what’s the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I just think that if I’m a target for Otto, then you’re in danger as well. You need to be careful.”
Chapter 11
The man made his black baseball cap sit so low that it almost touched the top of his black sunglasses. It wasn’t his normal presentation, which was the point. If he wanted to be recognized he wouldn’t have worn the hat. Baseball wasn’t his thing. No sport was his thing. His passion was art.
He sat in his car which was parked near the loading entrance of the firm, and he held the screen of his phone in front of him as if he were reading a text or checking email. Behind the sunglasses his eyes searched his surroundings. With the recent press coverage around the case, reporters around the world were bound to try to get a picture or an interview. He didn’t want either right now. Which was ironic, because at any point in history he would have welcomed the attention.
The driver’s side window was cracked and his hearing was tuned in for the sound of anyone who might approach. No one had. So, he lifted the ring of keys from his jacket pocket and filed through them one by one until he found the two he needed. Then he quietly, quickly approached the locked door and inserted the keys, one at a time. When the locks opened, the alarm sounded. He punched a code on the keypad then relocked the door. And listened.
The building was filled with a particular kind of thick, heavy quiet that only abandoned spaces could create. His soft-soled shoes made the slightest squeak when he walked steadily down the sloping hallway toward the stairwell. He assumed Ellen would have shut them down. As well she should have. He paused at the elevator bank and pushed the button just to see if they were working. If they were he would tell her, because they were a hazard in an empty building. They didn't respond to the call button.
Satisfied, he tugged on the heavy door that opened onto the stairwell. He listened into the darkened silence of the vertical hallway to make certain once again that he was alone, then he began his quiet descent. How many times had he been up and down these steps? Not once did he ever think the firm would cease to exist. It had been a monument in the city for almost half a century.
He exited into the tiled foyer that led to the vaults. Yellow police tape lay on the floor and he shook his head when he walked by it. Historically, he’d felt pride at knowing that the firm’s vaults held secret treasures. Now they were nothing but vapid reminders of how the firm had been exposed and lay in ruin. It was nothing but a shell of its former, glorious self.
When he arrived at the unobtrusive gray door he took the keyring from his jacket pocket again, and selected two new keys. He unlocked the door, pushed it open with some effort, then made sure he locked it behind him. A cool breeze blew against his neck and he raised his shoulders against it. The drafty origin lay with the ancient, rectangular windows that lined the ceiling of the mostly open room. If they hadn’t been blacked out, he knew he would see boot-covered feet and sweater-wearing small dogs on leashes passing by. And if snow weren’t gathering on the sidewalks he would hear their steps more distinctly. As it was, the endless honking from cabs and other cars that littered the New York landscape was the ambient noise in the room.
Certain that there weren’t any cameras around, he removed his sunglasses from his face and perched them on the bill of the cap. He stood with his hands in his pockets and surveyed the room he hadn’t visited in years. The street-level windows, which let in too much weather and noise, were the only reminders that he was no longer in the firm. He was now in the bottom-level room of the building next door. To his knowledge there was only one other entrance than the way he came in. It had been designed that way.
Someone had been in here, though. Against the brick walls were several old ladders and paint cans with dried, colored drips on their exterior labels. Ellen probably had maintenance leave them here, and now they’d been forgotten. He tried to sense if anyone else had been in here recently, but didn’t find any energetic traces to speak of.
He directed his attention to the left, where one-quarter of the room was completely bricked. The walls were probably several layers thick. If he couldn’t access the other way in, he would knock the walls down to get inside.
Chapter 12
Carolena gazed at the three new pieces in her art collection, admired their beauty, and bathed in the pure awe that they were now in her possession. She had touched them several times, with the ring finger on her left hand—the receiving side of her body—to read them just one more time. It had been a very long time since she had touched a genuine masterpiece. And these did not disappoint. She’d placed a folding chair in front and had enjoyed them for nearly an hour before an intruder caught her attention.
She stared at her phone, which sat on the small, three-legged table she’d positioned beside her. It also held a glass of red wine, so she could have her private viewing with relaxation. Though the phone had not yet rung, it would. Soon. And she knew who was calling. She could feel him thinking about her, she felt the call coming. She gave a labored sigh into the silence of her secret room. It had been a mistake to ever let him make contact with her. Old habits didn’t die just because they should.
Carolena left her private art gallery and moved to the black upholstered couch positioned in front of the fireplace. She curled up on one end of the sofa, and took a long, therapeutic sip of wine. As if on cue, her phone rang. She gave it her best disapproving look, one that had been honed over years of mothering.
“You are breaking our agreement,” she said when she finally answered.
He laughed. “Is that all I get after giving you such priceless gifts?”
Her lips turned up in one corner. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you found me.”
“Probably not,” he answered.
Carolena read his energy before replying. ”Perhaps I am more disappointed than surprised. I have stayed hidden for a reason, you know.”
“Well, if I hadn’t found you, then you wouldn’t have the best privately owned art collection in all of France. Maybe even all of Europe.”
“Hmmph,” she said, overtly skeptical of his motives.
“I can take them back if you don’t want them,” he said.
“Yes, I am certain that you could.” Carolena’s voice was calm but her quickened breathing threatened to betray her. “If I keep them, I suspect that you will tell me you need something in return. I am right?”
“Yes, you would be right. I’ve never lied to you,” he said, his voice smooth and steady.
“And this is where you say that the same thing can’t be said about me?”
The caller was quiet for a few minutes before he reluctantly answered. “I understand now that you did what you had to do. You had to leave.”
“You realize that I will simply disappear again? And this time we will not speak—ever. My past must stay in the past, for everyone’s sake.” For a moment Carolena remembered that she didn’t know the location of her caller. Maybe he sat in a car outside of her house.
“I’ve decided to open the secret room we discussed,” he said.
Carolena waited before answering. “And you want…?”
“I have to have one of the special paintings that you took with you when you left. In case what I need isn’t there.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said and paced the floor.
“Carolena…I know you took them when you left. I’m just asking for one. You can have it back when I’m through with it.”
“How did you find me?” she asked. Steadiness returned to her voice.
“I followed you after our last meeting.”
“Well,” she said. “I knew that was a mistake.”
&nb
sp; “I’d hate for you to think that,” he said.
“My past must stay in the past,” she said deliberately. “There is too much at stake.”
Carolena ended the call and closed her eyes against the ache that choked her heart. She would have loved to invite him in and talk about the old times they shared. She knew she couldn’t do that. Too dangerous.
She silently cursed herself for not being careful enough after their last meeting. That he had found her would start a wave felt around the world. She’d allowed the meeting, in a quiet but public place, and only for a few minutes. Long enough that she could hold his hand and see for herself how he was doing. Because he was strong as nails outside, but precious few people knew what he kept on the inside. Despite her best effort, he would always have a home in her heart.
Carolena returned to her private gallery and surveyed the paintings he mentioned. She focused on one of the framed pieces, the images seemed to move before her eyes. She could feel herself wanting to leave her problems behind and lean in to it, accept the escape it offered her.
She shook her head to break its trance. These paintings had the power to transport, just like all good art. But these were unique. And powerful. And dangerous in the wrong hands.
Chapter 13
“Everyone okay, Miss Addie?” Cameron tipped his hat when he opened the front door of Lex’s apartment building for me. His expression told me he hoped for information, but I didn’t have the time for that today.
“Yes, she’s fine. Thank you, Cameron.”
Blake emerged from the back seat of the town car parked in front of the building and I rushed into his arms. His embrace was possessive, and the depths of my fears poured into relief.
We scooted into the back seat and I put the box of my things on the floor near my feet. When he shut the door behind us, I expected him to vilify me with endless streams of “why didn’t you stay in my apartment?”, but he didn’t. Though he probably wanted to.
He rubbed my sleeved arms just gently enough that when I opened my mouth to tell him about Otto, about his scheme to involve me in the Gardner art, and how my father and grandfather must still be alive, that Otto was using them as blackmail—instead I just took in a deep, trembling breath.
The subtle scent of traffic exhaust wove through the heated air. Blake drew me close to him and we held one another until the fear passed.
He poured us each a glass of scotch. “It’s been a hell of a morning.”
We clinked our glasses together, toasting to my survival, I guessed. By the third sip, the warmth ambled through my body. I finally managed to take a solid deep breath and fill my lungs to the point of calm.
“You’re okay.” He said it as much as he asked it, and rubbed his thumb along the top of my hand.
“I’m okay.” I swallowed a metallic taste that rose in my throat.
Blake exhaled an imperceptible breath, then shared how he and the marshal were knocked out long enough to miss the trial, how Otto also managed to get to the witnesses—or his mob friends did¸ anyway—and how no one showed up to testify against him.
Although somewhat slowed by the scotch, unwelcome adrenaline moved in all directions of my body. “Are you sure you’re okay? Have you seen a doctor?”
Blake took my hand from his face and held it in his. “I’m fine.” He squeezed my hand and exhaled a sigh that reeked with the ache of failure. The courage that had shone bright in his eyes this morning was now replaced with a dullness that only defeat could bring. “William needs the clients’ testimony to make the charges stick. Right now no one is willing to testify. So they probably aren’t going to have another trial.”
My heart dragged. “I’m sorry.” I was sorry enough for the both of us. “It shouldn’t be this hard to put someone as evil as Otto away.”
“The more heinous the criminal, the longer they take to fall,” he said. Within a circle of our anger and fear, the clear realization hung between us that our nightmare had come true. Every success we planned for had failed. Every threat we guarded against had risen against us.
I shot the rest of my drink. Then I spilled the story of Otto’s visit, his proposition about the art, how I’d told Otto I was sick, and his threat to come for me if I didn’t respond soon enough. I told him about Otto’s touch, and quickly realized I shouldn’t have. Because the concern in the car shifted into fierceness. And we had enough to worry about without adding jealousy to the mix.
Blake closed his eyes briefly, his hand squeezing claw-like around his glass. “We have to leave. This is moving more quickly than I anticipated,” he said. He poured another two fingers of scotch into each of our glasses.
“What do you mean you anticipated?”
“We knew that his coming for you was a possibility.” Blake’s eyes locked square with mine. His jaw set and his teeth were clenched. “I’ve known Otto for a long time, and he’s predictable about many things. Timing isn’t always one of them. Since he’s made his move, leaving is the safest thing for everyone.”
He was right. And had I not already known one other piece of information, I would have agreed. There was only truth traveling on his words. “I’m not sure I can.” I braced myself for Blake’s response.
He inhaled slowly, the muscles on the side of his jaw worked.
“Otto offered up a little motivation, an incentive in case I decided to refuse him. He said he could bring back my father and grandfather, that they were alive.”
I took a few more sips of scotch to cushion the new nerves that found their way to the surface. I knew what I was saying must have made Blake think that I’d lost my mind. When he left me this morning we were on the same team, ready to commit Otto to jail for the rest of his life.
Now here I was, saying that I was going to work with the man. I knew it was a possibility that he would just use me for the Gardner project, and I wouldn’t get any information about my family. Then Frank and I would end up being bodiless roommates in my townhouse. I couldn’t ignore this first chance in twenty years that might lead me to find my family. Otto did seem to think they were alive.
“I see.” Blake’s eyes went cold and he became unreadable, as he had the ability to do. “You realize he’s playing you. You remember what he is—a liar, a thief, a murderer?”
“I know. I know who he is. But what if he really knows where my father and grandfather are?”
“He still wouldn’t help you find them.”
I stared at the empty glass of scotch in my hand. “No, I suppose not. If I got close enough to read something of his though, I could learn where they are and how to bring them back.”
Blake stared at me, I assumed he was waiting for me to say something else. Anything else that he could refute. I could feel that a part of him had left the conversation. He was planning. Plotting. Moving chess pieces around on his mental chess board, much the same way I had seen Otto do earlier in the day.
Carolena was right. In many ways, Blake was just like his father.
“He’s holding a card I need,” I said.
“You don’t know that.” Blake took my face in his hands. “I can’t let you gamble your safety in exchange for a hollow promise. Otto simply knows what you want to hear.”
I edged away from him and ran my hand along the leather seating, and felt a cushiony layer of sealant that Blake left intact. The one that kept people from reading the energy from things he’d touched. “You chose to tangle with Otto to free your mother. You are the one person in the world who would understand why I need to do this.”
Blake gave a subtle nod and glanced at my hand, his eyes dark with the reflection of hatred. “That’s different.”
“How is your situation any different from mine?”
He scoffed, his mind testing different potential rebuttals. He mentally jumped from one potential argument to the next, unable to find one solid enough. “You don’t have anything to prove here. It’s not your fault that your father and grandfather disappeared.”
“I am not trying to prove anything. And this isn’t about fault—I just want to help my family.”
Blake and I stared at one another. I sickened at the thought of having to partner with Otto on anything. But I was resolute. “Because I think they need my help,” I said. “I know that you of all people understand my situation.”
Blake clearly thought I’d lost my mind. “I do understand, better than anyone,” he began. “More importantly, I understand the evil you’re facing here. He’s playing you. You don’t have a guarantee that Otto has any information about John and Campbell. Otto wants you—your gifts. He wants to punish me and he would dangle anything in front of you to make that happen.”
“I know that—”
“Don’t you remember that just before he was arrested that he promised to take you away from me? This is his game. Getting you to walk away from me willingly is part of his goal.”
I leaned my head against my hand. This was getting to be too much. Blake’s life was in danger. As was mine. And, I believed, my father’s and grandfather’s. So now I had to choose who would get saved and who wouldn’t? Otto had to know he’d put me in this situation.
I shivered at his ability to manipulate our lives. “I do remember that. And I also remember that dream I had about them before we went to Paris, it wasn’t your normal dream. They reached out to me. They were warning me, and there was something about their demeanor that made me think they needed my help. If this is my last chance to help my father and grandfather, and I miss out on that? I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”
Blake sighed. “You can’t do this.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because if you work with Otto, he’ll make sure you lose everything: your freedom, your family, your life…us.”
“Last I checked he’s pretty much on his way to doing that anyway.” All my fears bubbled up to the top. The car lurched through the inertia of late-day traffic. I felt a sense of betrayal when the sun slid behind a tall building—it had yet to shine on my day.
Somewhere in Time Page 6
