He tugged her behind him, blocking her body with his. Sedgwick’s gun hand wavered and he was sweating. An amateur. Even more fucking dangerous, but he’d neglected to demand they show their hands. Max kept his right on the Taser. “You won’t shoot us. There’s too much you wouldn’t want the cops to see.”
Sedgwick’s grating cackle echoed in the vault. “The local constabulary wouldn’t recognize the Mona Lisa, but I suppose you know all about it.”
“Some. And so does Interpol.” The collector had been a busy boy buying stolen shit from all over the world. Max had photographed five more from the list. He tipped his head toward the bronze horse. “The second-century Han Period horse stolen last year from the Tate. I can point out others.”
Sedgwick’s pink face blanched to a sickly gray. The gun barrel angled down as he seemed to consider his dilemma. “Perhaps we can reach an accord after all. Leave the Kizin statue on that table and go.”
Behind him, Max heard the faint clinking of metal. The drawer of coins? What was Kate doing?
He grasped her arm with his left hand, ready to tug her out of the way and use the Taser.
“Be ready,” Kate whispered to Max. Before he could stop her, she shook off his grip and stepped toward the collector, her right hand closed at her side.
Be ready? Max’s pulse cranked to fifth gear. Was she trying to get them both killed?
Forcing himself to breathe evenly, he rotated his shoulders. Other than the rush of adrenaline in his system, he heard only the normal creaking of the ancient house and the chiming of the hour—ten o’clock. Nothing else. Sedgwick hadn’t raised an alarm. Yet. Max kept his stance loose and watched the collector.
“The statue doesn’t belong to you,” Kate said to Sedgwick. “I will not let you keep it. You’re a thief and you tried to have my brother killed.” Her voice trembled, yet rang with determination.
“He gave me no choice. He wouldn’t sell it back to me. I need that statue.”
The intensity in the other man’s eyes said Max had guessed right. Centaur wanted the statue and Sedgwick had screwed up by selling it. If Max and Kate could get out of here with Kizin, the Brit’d be in deep shit.
Kate’s chin shot up. “Need is a relative term. The statue will save my brother’s life. I intend to leave with it.”
“My dear Ms. Fontaine, you forget who has the gun.”
“I told Scotland Yard we found the jeweler’s cloth here in your display case. Kizin was wrapped in it when you sold it to Doug. If anything happens to us, the detectives will arrest you for your crimes.” She took another step forward, blocking Max’s chance at a clear shot.
He swallowed a groan, gripped his weapon. Dios mío, what the hell game was she playing? Sweat trickled down his spine.
Sedgwick might shoot them anyway. He’d clicked off the automatic’s safety. Getting rid of the bodies would be no trouble for this rich dickwad and a couple of cooperative servants. In a hundred years or so, archeologists might find their bones in the marsh.
“Put down your gun.” She raised her closed hand waist high. “We’re leaving now. Aren’t we, Max?”
“No! What are you doing?” Scowling, Sedgwick took a step closer. He and Kate stood a mere three feet apart.
Max eased closer behind her, ready for whatever the fuck she planned.
She tipped back her head, aimed her headlamp’s beam at Sedgwick’s eyes.
When he blinked in the glare, she raised her arm and heaved a fastball of gold. The spray of tiny coins flew at Sedgwick’s head.
Coins hit his face, his shoulders, his arms. Coins pinged on the floor. He threw up his hands, blocking the attack.
Max lunged. He snatched away the H&K and passed it to Kate.
Sedgwick reeled. He turned in a fighting stance.
Max fired the Taser. Wires shot out, darting the probes through the other man’s expensive cotton shirt and into his chest.
Sedgwick screamed, went as rigid as the bronze horse, then dropped like the fucking bag of shit he was.
Another five-second ride put him to sleep.
Kate stared from the pistol in her hands to Sedgwick and back.
Max scratched his head. Damn, the woman had come through when he thought she’d pull an armadillo and curl up into a ball. Surprising. Hot. And fucking terrifying. No way would he let her hang onto that pistol. “I’ll take that off your hands, darlin’.”
He could hang onto the H&K, toss it in the woods, but he didn’t need the extra weight in the pack. He dropped the clip in his pocket and the semi-auto in a drawer.
“But, Max, is he—”
Grabbing his pack and her hand, he dragged her with him. “He’ll live. Let’s beat feet.”
***
They retraced their steps to the scaffolding in what seemed to Kate like seconds. Max swung down ahead of her and she followed. She jumped the last span into his waiting arms. Still shaking, she held onto him as his arms tightened around her and held her fast. His dark eyes were radiant, intense, but with emotion she couldn’t discern. She felt every pounding beat of his heart and every ridge of his muscle as he slid her downward until she stood, still shaking, wanting to sink against his solid strength, safe and warm.
“Keep low,” he said, his voice rough. “We have to get out of here.”
She reeled as he released her, her chest light, one burden lifted.
She would whoop with joy, except they might hear her in the manor, and she needed all her breath to keep putting one foot in front of the other. They ran across the garden and the parkland. In moments they reached the woods beyond the estate and the safety of their rented Land Rover.
Max jerked a nod toward Shafeton Manor. “Shit, he’s up. That place’s lit up like the London Eye. Sedgwick’s hunting us.”
Kate had no time to catch her breath before they were speeding away on the dirt track toward the highway.
After a few miles down the highway, Max turned onto a smaller country lane. Then he pulled off where a farm road disappeared into the dark, cut the engine, and slammed out of the SUV.
She stepped out and leaned on the fender, dragging in air. She flung her arms wide. “We did it, Max. We did it. I have Kizin. One step closer to rescuing Doug. Thank you for keeping me safe, for everything.” She removed the knit cap and shook out her hair.
No hint in his expression he appreciated her thanks. His dark eyes glowered above the dark smears on his cheeks. Anger simmered in his hard stare and tight mouth. He rounded the vehicle and yanked her against him. He was so indelibly male, so macho, so physical, a look from him fluttered her pulse. Then something else burned in his gaze, something molten that stopped her breath. Dangerous.
She stilled in his arms, her breasts against his solar plexus, her thighs against his. His scent—earthy, salty, male—washed over her. She ought to step back, but instead flattened her palms on his chest. She fought the urge to knead the slabs of muscle straining his jumpsuit.
“What the hell were you— Aw, shit.” He tangled one hand in her hair and brought his mouth down on hers.
Heat flashed through her, from her lips down to her core. He tasted hot and untamed and she wanted the kiss to go on and on but, like a lightning strike, it ended after only an instant.
Blood thundered in her head and her senses struggled for balance as she pushed through the sensual fog. Her fingers still dug into the fabric of his jumpsuit. No, she didn’t want this—him—and he didn’t want her. Not really, even if she felt evidence to the contrary against her belly. What did he want?
She pushed against his chest to step away but she might as well have been struggling against steel. Her pulse raced and she glared at him. “Let me go. Why did you do that?”
“Heat of the moment.” Chest heaving with labored breaths, he held her a beat longer, then backed away in a stiff motion. He folded his arms.
His scowl said he wasn’t going to offer a further explanation. Anger? Relief at the escape? Her lips still tingled from his kiss
and her pounding heart made her rib cage feel too tight. “See that it doesn’t happen again,” she said through gritted teeth.
“What the hell were you thinking back there with that damn coin toss? You’re lucky he didn’t blow a hole through you.”
She could scarcely believe what she’d done. An acidic lump lodged in her throat. “He was going to shoot us. I couldn’t let him win. My brother... I had to do something.” She tried to inhale deeply, but her lungs didn’t want to cooperate.
His scowl remained adamantine. “I didn’t take you for impulsive. A surprise.”
A trait hidden from herself, it seemed. But he saw that? What else did he see in her? More wild fluttering in her stomach.
Then the reason for his anger hit her. “I wasn’t thinking about the Taser. You had it ready, didn’t you?”
If not approval, at least understanding softened his eyes before he nodded. “Next time, trust me. Now let’s go. This detour back to London will take longer.”
Once on the road, he spoke again. “Nice follow through. Where’d you learn to pitch like that?” His tone was level, annoyance apparently dissipated.
She let out a breath. “Long games of catch with Doug and Dad on expeditions.”
“The slimy bastard didn’t expect you to threaten him, and he sure as hell didn’t expect you to hit him with his own coins. Hell, neither did I.” He scraped knuckles against his jaw and shook his head. “Element of surprise.”
“Be ready for the unexpected.” Like his punishing kiss—no, demanding kiss.
“Remember that once we get to Costa Verde. A Devonshire estate’s not the Central American jungle.”
No flutters in her midsection, only a sick sensation. Could she handle the dangers, so much unknown? Could she turn Doug’s rescue and Kizin’s return over to Max and Devlin? An image of her brother tied up, drugged, bloody rose in her mind. No, she couldn’t allow anything to stop her from rescuing Doug. She was going, no matter what Max said.
She lifted her chin. “Not the jungle. I know. As you constantly remind me.”
***
Two days later
“My employer is distressed you have hidden your latest moves from him,” the Frenchman said from his fireside chair. A block of a man whose Algerian ancestry shaded his complexion, Le Noir linked his fingers across the buttoned placket of his double-breasted silk suit coat. He stared at Sedgwick with dead black eyes.
“I hid nothing.” Sedgwick’s pulse pounded. He had to put off Le Noir and his bloody employer. He took the seat opposite the other man, but the leaping flames didn’t dispel his chill.
“You purchased the Kizin statue and then you sold it. At my insistence, you recovered it and now you ’ave lost it once again.” Le Noir’s lips were pressed as thin as a guillotine blade.
How could the Centaur syndicate know? Did they have spies everywhere? But Sedgwick would have it. He shook his head. “Monsieur Le Noir, I—”
“A prize such as that could pay your debt in full. Enfin, my employer is most concerned about the debt owed.”
“I paid your employer almost a million American dollars.” What Fontaine had paid him, less a hundred thousand. Compensation for his trouble. “I have other assets as valuable as Kizin, ones easily liquidated.”
Le Noir made a clucking sound. “Monsieur, it seems you do not understand. He will keep your cash as down payment but it is Kizin you were told to obtain. Kizin is what he will have. He collects certain artifacts aussi. Ancient items of... power.”
Sedgwick studied him. Le Noir never joked, and he wasn’t joking this time. The head man of Centaur believed in ancient legends and curses? Such superstitions made him unpredictable. And more dangerous. He swallowed a laugh. Christ, how could the leader of this cut-throat organization be more dangerous?
Le Noir lifted one shoulder in a purely Gallic gesture and examined a manicured and buffed fingernail. “You will have the statue soon, n’est-ce pas?
Deals with Centaur had shackled Sedgwick to a bloody gang of thugs in Italian tailored suits. An impasse he had to overcome. He’d kept Kizin too long, had no luck finding an artisan to craft a duplicate. But if he could recover the statue, he still had a way out.
But first he would produce the real artifact at the November meeting of the British Antiquities Society. His childhood had been spent above a pub, not in the comfort of a manor like the other members. His public-school education hadn’t the cachet of Eton. Regardless, he’d made his fortune and a name among the titled elite who collected art and antiquities. Possessing Kizin would cement his status. They would respect him.
Then Centaur could have the damn thing. He would buy another.
Nausea at the other man’s heavy cologne sifted inside him. He resisted the urge to swallow the bile creeping up his throat. He reminded himself the Frenchman carried concealed blades sharper than shark teeth.
Sedgwick’s shoulders sagged. “Kizin will belong to me in a matter of days.”
Le Noir cocked one dark eyebrow.
“I meant to say, belong to your employer. I shall turn it over, of course.”
“D’accord. We will expect your call within a week.” Despite his muscular bulk, or perhaps because of it, Le Noir rose to his feet as lightly as a cat. “Please summon your butler. I am ready to depart.”
He wandered around the museum, stopping before an antique Japanese screen depicting peacocks in a garden. Raised a hand toward it.
Fingers on the keypad, Sedgwick opened his mouth. He’d protested already as much as was wise. His stomach rolling, he swallowed his words and pressed the button.
Centaur’s man ran fingers over the fragile silk. “My employer grows impatient, Monsieur Sedgwick. Make no mistake. Your debt will be repaid one way or another. Given your background, you may have limited experience with literature. I suggest you peruse The Merchant of Venice.”
The threat twisted like a dagger. When the dapper thug had left, Sedgwick stumbled to the drink cart. A shot of brandy calmed his heart rate and his shaking hands.
No missing the slur on his background. Le Noir and his so-called employer knew too much about him. More than he’d been able to learn about Centaur. The crime syndicate with its mysterious leader materialized a few years ago. Small and secretive, they began with art and artifact theft and oozed into the art black market with theft-for-hire contracts and high-interest loans. The way they’d sucked him into their web.
He poured another dram and crossed to the Japanese screen. Priceless, and that slimy wanker had dared touch the silk. He spotted a new mark on the largest peacock. If Le Noir had dirtied it... Holding his breath, Sedgwick touched the spot with his index finger. Not dirt.
The peacock’s throat had been slit.
Chapter Six
Cabo Grande, Costa Verde
Kate hitched her carryon and camera bag onto her shoulder and wheeled her suitcase a few feet away from the throng milling around the baggage carousel. Spicy aromas from vending carts and conversations in Spanish and other languages swirled around her.
Was it only two days ago she’d returned to Washington? Barely time to pack and placate her mom. No success there. Only the same protests and worries Mom always trotted out, wailing that Kate wasn’t tough enough—the time she came down with malaria, the spider that sent her crying in panic. She breathed deeply against the tightness in her chest.
Mom was wrong. That was a long time ago. Stupid childhood fears wouldn’t stop her. The threat of earthquakes wouldn’t stop her. If she succumbed to fear, who knew what would happen to Doug.
After leaving her mom’s condo, she’d returned to her house in Adams-Morgan to pack. And jumped nearly through the eight-foot ceiling when her cell rang. The kidnapper demanded the number of her satellite phone and the time of her arrival in Costa Verde. How had he known she was ready to leave? Were they following her? Did he know about London?
Before she could ask about Doug, he hung up. She sank onto the bed and lowered her head between he
r knees before she could breathe again. She spent the rest of the evening packing and watching Brave and Frozen. Twice each.
Finally tonight she and Max landed in Costa Verde.
She sat on her suitcase and turned on her satellite phone. Nothing but a blank screen. Damn, no connection under the roof. When would the kidnappers call?
In the high-ceilinged tin can of a building, air conditioning did little to mitigate the boiling heat. She used her passport folder to fan her face. Max would find her after he retrieved the rest of their luggage.
Today he looked the badass adventurer in his khaki safari shirt. The shadow of beard jazzed her pulse. At the play of muscle in Max’s arms as he loaded bags onto a wheeled cart, her mouth went dry.
Kate touched a finger to her lips. His taste, the imprint of his mouth, did they still linger? Her breathing quickened. Just thinking about being in his arms raised her temperature. But they’d barely spoken since that sizzling embrace. Rather, he’d barely spoken, playing the tall, dark, and silent bodyguard type. Probably regretted that kiss. As she ought to. As she did. Yes, Kate, and tell yourself another.
She could look but no touching, no kissing. Not with a man she couldn’t trust except for his protection.
Max turned away from the carousel and began wheeling the cart toward her. He stopped dead in the middle of the aisle.
A small boy, about three years old, stood alone. Travelers streamed around him, paying no attention to the child only as high as knee level. Tears fell from brown eyes wide with panic, dribbled down his chin, and onto his Incredible Hulk T-shirt.
The sight punched her in the stomach. She started to rise, but held back when she saw Max kneel in front of the boy. Travelers’ voices, loudspeaker announcements, and landing airplanes prevented her from hearing what Max said.
After a glance around, the child sniffed and replied.
On Deadly Ground (Devlin Security Force Book 1) Page 5
