by Jo Leigh
“Good point,” Irene said.
This time when Pepper took her arm, she didn’t resist. Pepper opened the door and checked the hallway. Clear. Still keeping her hand firmly on Irene’s arm, she moved quickly toward the elevators.
“If Butch did try to steal this painting,” Irene said, “he’ll use the same arguments he used forty years ago—that he’s clearly not good enough for me.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Pepper said, hoping against hope that for once in her life, the feeling she had was dead wrong. But with each step she took toward the elevator, the queasiness in her stomach grew stronger. “Besides, he didn’t steal it. You did. So his record is still clean.”
“Right.”
Pepper’s cell phone vibrated in her pocket and her heart sank. It couldn’t be good news. Cole was only supposed to call if there was a problem. She released her grip on Irene and dug out her phone. “Yeah?”
“Atwell and LeBlanc are on their way up. Get out on the balcony and hide until we can get there.”
Not going to happen, Pepper thought as the elevator doors slid open and Evan and Le Blanc stepped out. For a moment they all froze, but Pepper’s mind was racing. The hallway behind her was a dead end. Their only chance was to get to the suite and bolt the door.
She managed one step back before LeBlanc pulled out a gun. “Go back to the suite, ladies. And if you’re thinking of trying something, make no mistake, I’ll kill you.”
COLE FELT A WAVE of cold fear wash over him as he heard LeBlanc’s words.
“LeBlanc’s got them and I think he has a gun.” Even as he relayed the information to his two companions, Cole was making his way out of the cluster of palms. Then he broke into a run. “He’s taking them back to the suite.” He kept the cell phone pressed to his ear, but Pepper didn’t speak again.
By the time he reached the lobby, he’d pushed the swirl of emotions down and managed to get to that cold place that he’d always been able to find when he had his rifle in hand, waiting. H was holding an elevator for them.
“H has a gun,” Butch said as they moved into the waiting car.
“So do I,” Cole said. But he didn’t have what he wanted—a rifle with a telescopic sight. “We can’t rush in. It’s too dangerous. But I think we have a little time. From what my colleague Luke was able to gather, this guy’s a planner. He’s got two hostages, three if he decides to use Atwell, so he’ll take a little time to figure out how to play that to his advantage. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has an escape plan in place. My guess is that he planned to leave the island with the money and the painting.”
“Bold son of a bitch,” Butch muttered.
“We’ll split into two teams,” Cole continued. “Butch and I will come down from the roof the way the women did. H, you and Happy will wait outside the door of the suite until I give a signal. Got that?”
The men nodded, and no one spoke for the rest of the ride. When the elevator door slid open on the top floor, Butch led the way to the roof. The sun beat down, and in the distance, the sea was the color of a turquoise gemstone. They walked together to the ropes that Irene had tied to the pipe.
“Go for a soft landing,” Cole said.
“Got it. You got any plan once we land on the balcony?” Butch picked up one of the ropes and they moved toward the edge of the roof.
“It all depends on what’s going on inside. Those women are both smart, and Pepper can think on her feet.” It helped to remind himself of that.
“I watched some tapes of Irene’s show. She’s pretty inventive.”
Cole met Butch’s eyes as they each threw one leg over the abutment. “One way or another, we’re going to get them out safely.”
Butch nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
Together, they lowered themselves hand under hand until they were on the balcony.
The shutters were still closed, but as yet, no one had thought to close the door that Irene and Pepper had left ajar. Cole felt a little trickle of relief as he moved closer and peered through a crack in the slats of the shutter. The interior of the room was dim, and he could hear voices before he could make out exactly where the four people were.
“…understand what’s going on,” Evan Atwell was saying.
“I have to say that some of this puzzles me too,” LeBlanc said. “Would one of you ladies like to explain the body in the entranceway?”
“Another thief,” Pepper said. “The Monet is very popular, Leblanc.”
“Why do you keep calling him LeBlanc?” Evan asked. “His name is Jean Claude Rambeau.”
“His real name is Maurice LeBlanc,” Pepper corrected.
“No,” Evan said. “You’re mistaken. Tell her, Jean Claude.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Evan. She’s right, you see.”
A little sliver of fear worked its way up Cole’s spine as he registered the coolness in LeBlanc’s tone. It told him that the Frenchman was in control and thinking, weighing his options.
“What are you saying?” Evan asked.
“Your ex-girlfriend has ruined everything,” LeBlanc said without emotion. “Now I think we should move farther into the suite until we can sort this all out.”
Cole felt the cold knot in his stomach tighten. LeBlanc might have been inviting friends in for a drink. He studied the scene as the group moved down the stairs into the living room. The two women seated themselves on one of the sofas facing the balcony. Evan took a chair to the left of them and LeBlanc settled on the arm of the sofa to their right. For the moment, neither of the men was thinking about the balcony doors.
But Pepper was. He’d seen the way she’d walked deliberately to that sofa. That meant she was keeping her cool and thinking. She would expect him to come in through the balcony.
The bad news was the Frenchman had a gun pointed directly at Pepper. Even with a rifle, Cole would have had to push the shutters aside first to get off a shot. The noise would have given LeBlanc too much warning.
Cole pulled his revolver out, and did what he was trained to do. He waited.
“I STILL DON’T UNDERSTAND.” Evan ran a hand through his hair. “She hasn’t ruined everything. We still have the painting. Castellano wants it. He’s moved closer to what we’re asking.”
“He’s dragging his heels. But thanks to the ladies, I think we’ve got something that will motivate him.”
Pepper swallowed hard and struggled against the fear that was threatening to numb her. Luke’s description of LeBlanc was swirling around in her mind. Not only a master thief but a sociopath too. As her mind raced, one chilling thought kept rising to the surface. Whatever scenario LeBlanc was hatching to get off the island, he didn’t need three hostages. They would only slow him down.
There was no time to try to figure out how a super sleuth like Veronica Mars would handle this. She had no one to rely on but herself and her aunt. She remembered what Cole had told her about trusting her instincts. Instinct told her she had to keep the two men talking. If she could succeed in rattling one of them into doing something stupid, they might have a chance. She edged her foot slowly sideways until it rested against Irene’s. It was some comfort when her aunt nudged her back.
“What are you talking about? Castellano wants that painting,” Evan said. “If you hadn’t walked out of the meeting, he would have met our price. And you said this morning that the plane is gassed up and waiting.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Pepper said.
“Damn right,” Irene said. “Once Butch finds out that LeBlanc stole the Monet, he won’t buy it.”
“And then there’s the fact that LeBlanc has lied about more than his name,” Pepper added. “He’s a professional con man and a master thief.”
“And he’s a killer,” Irene put in.
Evan stared at them. “You’re lying.”
Pepper shook her head. “Look at him. He isn’t denying it, is he?”
Evan glanced at LeBlanc, but still the man said not
hing. Pepper was sure that he was listening with one part of his mind, but in another part, he was planning his escape.
Keep the conversation going, Pepper told herself. Hopefully it would distract him. Turning to Evan, she said, “I understand why LeBlanc wanted to steal the Monet. But I haven’t figured out why you’re helping him. Why in the world did you steal your mother’s painting?”
“Jean Claude and I are in love,” Evan explained. “And we need the money. My mother expects certain things of me. And I can’t give them to her. I’ve never been able to tell her that I’m gay. She’s expecting me to marry properly and produce children to carry on the name. If she knew the truth, it would destroy her. You understand. I know you do.”
Pepper did understand. But while she’d listened to his tale of star-crossed lovers, she’d also been trying to think of something she could do. So far she was drawing a blank, and it was LeBlanc that she needed to get talking.
“The painting will be mine someday anyway,” Evan said. “So it’s not really stealing.”
“That’s what we all say,” Irene muttered under her breath.
Something—a flicker of light—from the glass doors that led to the balcony caught Pepper’s eye. Cole, she thought. The knowledge that he was close by boosted her confidence.
She remembered something then. Something that Evan had said earlier about Butch coming closer to the price they were asking. Turning, she met LeBlanc’s eyes dead on. The coldness she saw nearly made her shiver. “Why did you leave the meeting before you finalized the deal with Mr. Castellano?”
He seemed to consider the question for a minute. Then he answered. “When he was called out of the meeting, I had a feeling that something was going wrong. Now, it’s my turn for a question.” He shifted his gaze to Irene. “You’ve given me a great deal of trouble. Why do you want the Monet?”
“It’s a long story,” Pepper said.
“About another pair of star-crossed lovers,” Irene added.
Pepper nudged her aunt’s foot. It was LeBlanc they wanted to keep talking. “Speaking of star-crossed lovers, isn’t it about time that you told Evan that you don’t intend to run away with him and the Monet and live happily ever after?”
Pepper hadn’t thought that it was possible for LeBlanc’s eyes to turn colder. But they did.
“Jean Claude?” Evan asked.
“She’s right, I’m afraid, Evan. I’m not going to be able to take you with me. That doesn’t mean that I haven’t enjoyed our relationship. But it’s time for both of us to move on. I’m going to take one of the ladies with me instead.”
“You’ll never get off this island. Butch Castellano won’t let you,” Irene said.
“Oh, I think he will. Once I make my point.”
Pepper realized with a sinking heart that LeBlanc had finalized his plan. Time was running out. Even though she knew she wasn’t going to like the answer, she asked, “Point?”
“You’re going to get hold of Mr. Castellano on the hotel phone, and he’s going to listen while I shoot one of you ladies. Then he’ll know that I mean what I say—that the hostage will only stay alive if I get off the island safely with the Monet and the money. Now let me see, which one will it be?”
Pepper watched in horror as he handed her his cell phone and then aimed his gun at Irene. “You, I think. Since you’ve given me the most trouble, I don’t want to risk taking you with me. Pass the painting to Evan. I don’t want it to be damaged.”
Irene clutched the painting even closer to her.
“Shooting her would be a big mistake,” Pepper said. “Butch Castellano loves her. She stole the painting to give to him for Valentine’s Day. If you kill her, he’ll hunt you down.”
“Really.”
Pepper held her breath. He hadn’t seen that one coming, but he was far from rattled.
“It’ll be bad enough for you if you steal his money,” she added.
“Then I’ll just shoot you,” LeBlanc said in a pleasant voice, shifting the muzzle of the gun so that it was inches from her head. “Make the call.”
“She’s my niece,” Irene said. “Butch won’t like it if you kill her. Plus, she’s got a boyfriend who’s ex-CIA and very resourceful. You shoot her, and you won’t get off the island.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Pepper saw LeBlanc’s hand tighten on the gun. Two thoughts raced through her mind. The good news—he was finally getting a little rattled. The bad news—it might cause him to pull that trigger just a tad early.
For a few seconds there was absolute silence in the room except for the steady tick of the grandfather clock.
Then LeBlanc shifted the barrel of the gun until it was pointed at Evan. “I guess it will have to be you. Make the call.”
Irene moved like lightning then, springing from the couch and landing on Evan’s lap. She’d managed to unfurl the painting and she was holding it in front of her like a shield. “Shoot us and you’ll have blood all over the Monet.”
It was the moment that Pepper had been waiting for. Once again, she went with instinct. Planting her hands firmly on the sofa, she kicked up with both feet at LeBlanc’s hand. When she connected with his wrist, everything happened in a series of freeze-framed flashes.
Her ears rang from the explosion, and she saw the flash of light as the gun sailed into the air. She also saw Cole and Butch burst through the shutters.
“Freeze or you’re a dead man, LeBlanc,” Cole said.
“Give him a reason to kill you,” Butch said as he walked toward him. “Nothing would make me happier than seeing you dead. Threaten my woman, will you?”
“Don’t kill him,” Irene cried out just as Butch’s fist connected with LeBlanc’s face.
17
Saturday, February 14—10:30 a.m.
“MORE CHAMPAGNE?” Gari asked.
Pepper held out her glass. Butch had whisked all of them off to his private residence as soon as LeBlanc had been handcuffed and taken into custody. To make sure that the thief would stay put while authorities battled over jurisdiction, Butch had assigned two of his men, Angelo and Armando, to assist the local police.
The hotel staff, headed by Gari, had served up heaping plates of eggs, sausages and croissants while everyone had told their stories.
It wasn’t until an overflowing plate had been in her hands that Pepper had realized she was starved. And from the looks of the empty plates that the staff was gathering up, she hadn’t been the only one. Her regard for Butch Castellano went up just a bit. He reminded her of her father, who felt that the solution to every crisis in life was food. Even though her brothers had explained to her that it was an Italian thing, she’d never understood it before. But as she glanced around the room, she could see that it was working. Irene’s color had improved and even Evan was looking less devastated than he had when they’d left the penthouse suite.
Evan had been the last to tell his story, and he’d given a shortened version. Of all of them, he had the most to recover from. Irene was currently holding his hand and no doubt offering some motherly advice.
Pepper glanced to where Happy and H were engaged in a heated debate over the proper lures to use for sail fishing. Happy was—well, happy. She’d never met a more unflappable man in her life. And as far as H went—she wasn’t sure that anyone ever knew what he was feeling.
Taking a sip of her champagne, she glanced around the large airy room they’d all gathered in. Butch had given them a brief tour of his residence when they’d arrived, explaining that he’d renovated the original plantation mansion. There was a wide veranda that looked out over formal gardens. Inside, the decorator had followed the same theme that had been so prevalent in the bungalow and the hotel, but three walls had been knocked out and replaced with glass, so that the eye was always drawn to the turquoise sea. Butch had built his paradise, all right. As she looked at the water and felt the pull, she realized that she didn’t want to leave.
Her gaze moved last to Cole. He’d stepped onto the v
eranda to place a call to Luke and Matt. He’d be giving them an edited version of the events of the past twenty-four hours. He hadn’t given her all the details, but they’d all agreed that Evan’s and Irene’s roles would be deleted from the official version of the theft and recovery of the Monet. After all, if LeBlanc gave a different version, who would believe a sociopathic thief?
Butch cleared his throat and raised his glass in a toast. “All’s well that ends well.”
Irene dropped Evan’s hand and set her flute down on a nearby table with an audible click. “I’m not drinking to that until I know exactly what the ending is going to be between you and me, Butch.”
Butch stared at her. “Well, I thought—”
“Hmph,” Irene snorted. “You thought the last time, too, as I recall. You thought exactly what my parents thought. No one consulted me. Then there’s all that thinking you did while you were in jail. I think it’s high time I told you what I think. ’Cause I think you’re a very stupid man.”
For a moment no one said a word. The exchange had even caught Cole’s attention. There was shock on Butch’s face. Pepper figured that he wasn’t much used to people talking to him in that tone. Or calling him stupid.
“Renie…” Butch began as he rose from his chair.
Irene pointed a finger at him. “Don’t Renie me. I’m not that naïve teenager anymore.”
Butch pulled out a cigar, and then glanced down at it as if he wondered how it had gotten into his hand.
He was speechless, Pepper realized and shifted her gaze to her aunt. You go, girl, she thought.
Butch glanced around the room and discovered that everyone was staring at him, except for the staff. But they were listening. His face flushed a deep red.
“My office,” he barked at Irene. Then he whirled and strode out of the room.
Irene sent Pepper one quick wink as she followed.
Pepper’s stomach lurched. Not a good sign, she thought as she tried to will away the queasy sensation. She should be thinking positive thoughts. In a moment, her aunt would know her fate. She stole a quick glance at Cole, but he’d turned and was intent on his phone conversation again. She admired her aunt’s courage in forcing the issue. She was about to rise from the sofa and do the same thing with Cole when she remembered the Rossi curse and the fact that she was sitting in the living room of Adam’s plantation—not the optimal setting for star-crossed lovers. It didn’t bode well for her or her aunt.
