by Nancy Warren
She nodded, satisfied. “You said you had some information that might help prevent a couture theft.”
“You know me, darling. I always have the inside scoop on everything.” He turned to the full-length wall mirror and adjusted the collar of his pimp coat. Diamonds flashed on his hands and in his ears. Holden swallowed his impatience, but he was getting a feeling that Peacock didn’t know jack and they were here on a wild-goose chase they didn’t have time for.
He was getting ready to open the door at his back and haul Kimi out. He needed to make sure the security was drum tight for tonight’s event, and knowing Kimi, she’d need extra time to dress.
She obviously shared his impatience. “Look, Brewster, you’re not my favorite person right now, so if you have information, you should give it to us. If you don’t, quit wasting my time.”
“I’m hurt. Didn’t I help you reconnect with Daddy Dearest and your precious little sister?”
Holden could have sworn he heard Kimi’s teeth grinding from across the room. “No, you really didn’t. We’ve known all about each other forever.”
He chuckled. “You’re a good spin doctor, my precious, but you and I both know I outed you. Now, come on, let’s all be friends and come and look at the delicious gossip I’ve got for you.”
She crossed her hands under her breasts. “What is it?”
“I have definite information that the most spectacular couture piece in a century is going to be stolen.” He paused for emphasis, his pale eyes gleaming with excitement. “Tonight.”
“Every designer thinks every garment they create is the most spectacular piece of this or any century. You’ll have to do better than that.”
He smirked at her. “You can’t think of one piece this season that is perhaps slightly more special than all the other pretty frocks?”
He watched her face change. Surprise turned to shock. “You don’t mean—”
“Now you’re using your brains.”
“What’s he talking about?” Holden asked.
Brewster deferred to Kimi. “The wedding dress. Pietra’s wedding gown. It’s supposed to be breathtaking. Remember what Marcy said? A bodice covered with flawless diamonds? Even without the cachet of having been designed for the hottest movie-star couple on the planet, the dress itself would be worth a fortune.”
“But with its provenance—” Peacock shrugged his ridiculous purple and yellow shoulders “—the sky’s the limit. Perhaps it will one day be worn by a bride, but I doubt it.” He shook his head. “There are collectors who love that which is so rare as to be unattainable. And this—” he made a grand gesture “—this is the theft not only of the most eagerly awaited couture piece of the season, but it’s a perfect scandal. Oh, what fun we’ll have.”
“There’s more security around that dress than around the Mona Lisa or the crown jewels,” Holden said. “What proof do you have that the wedding gown is the target?”
Again that self-satisfied chuckle. The man had a laugh that was the aural equivalent of too-sweet candy. “Come over here and let me show you.”
Holden hesitated, not liking to leave his position by the door, but the peacock beckoned and there was nobody there but the three of them. And he could take that over-stuffed parrot any day.
“Here’s what I wanted to show you,” Brewster Peacock said.
He reached for a portfolio case that Holden hadn’t noticed leaning against the side of the sewing table and took out a sheaf of glossy photos. “Ohmygod,” squealed Kimi. “Where did you get these? Oh, it’s gorgeous.” She glanced up. “Look, Holden. The wedding gown and matching toddler gown.”
He walked forward, curious to see what kind of wedding dress was worth the fuss this thing was causing. “Hmm,” he said, “looks like something Marie Antoinette would have worn.”
“Exactly, but she’s added an entirely modern sensibility,” Kimi gushed. “The way the silk sweeps, and the clever way she’s used nothing but diamonds so it has a fairy quality.” She touched the photo as though it were the precious dress. “This is the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.”
He heard the squeak of a hinge and was immediately alert, swinging his body around to confront—he had no idea what. The door that had been closed opened, and out came Claudia’s fiancé.
“Vladimir?” Kimi cried out. “What are you doing here?”
Holden didn’t bother asking questions, he was already on the balls of his feet ready to pounce.
“I wouldn’t if I were you, Holden,” said Brewster Peacock from behind him, and a glance over his shoulder confirmed his worst fears. They’d been set up. Peacock held a 9mm Glock and had it trained on Kimi.
“Shit,” he said, cursing his own stupidity for blundering into a trap like a rank beginner.
“I don’t understand,” Kimi said, sounding more puzzled than scared. “Brewster, what is going on?”
“I did withhold a little information from you, darling Kimi. It turns out, I’m being paid a fabulous amount of money to steal poor Nicola’s wedding gown. It’s sad to know she’ll have to wear something off the rack, but next to fashion, you know I love money best.”
“But why would you steal couture?”
“I’ve been doing it for years for extra pocket money. But never on this scale. This is my retirement fund. My swan song. My—”
“Your 401K, we get it. Who’s paying you?”
Another chuckle. “He has no subtlety, Kimi. Really, you could do much better. I know you like all that uncivilized brawn, but your usual types are so much more…elegant.” Then he shrugged. “Do pat him down well, Vlad, before you tie them up.”
Only the knowledge that Kimi had a Glock trained on her by a hand that was both steady and clearly practiced caused Holden to stay still while Vladimir patted him down like a pro. He confirmed his earlier guess that the guy was former military. It would be interesting to see what Interpol turned up on the guy based on the latest information and photos he’d sent his contact there. Holden only hoped they’d move fast.
Of course, Vladimir found the ankle knife, the only weapon Holden carried, and he took the small pocket camera from his jacket.
He snatched out Holden’s wallet, flipped through it and then calmly pocketed it like a small-time crook. Holden wanted to strike out at him so badly he could taste his restraint. From the cold expression in the Russian’s eyes, he’d have welcomed a fight.
But he could hear Kimi behind him, her breathing a little shallow, but not panicked. And because he realized that nothing mattered more than keeping her safe, he forced himself not to fight back.
“If you’re going to ruin our evening, at least tell us who’s paying you,” she said. Good girl.
“Friends of Vlad’s. People with deep pockets and good taste.”
“What about Claudia?” Kimi asked.
The Russian’s eyes didn’t so much as flicker. Again Brewster was the one doing the talking. “Poor little thing. But you can be a good big sister and explain that the marriage would never have worked. Vladimir isn’t the marrying kind.”
Vladimir pulled a chair into the middle of the room. “Sit,” he ordered.
“Don’t be difficult, Holden,” Peacock chided, taking a step closer to Kimi with the gun.
His eyes connected with hers and he realized in that moment that he loved her. Just one of those stupid moments of blinding clarity that come at the most inopportune moments.
Talk about bad timing.
17
HE WAS ALMOST CERTAIN her eyes were telegraphing back the same message. He winked at her and sat.
“Now, we’re going to have to restrain you, I’m afraid. Can’t have you spoiling the fun, but look at these darling zip ties.” He pulled a dozen or so of the plastic ties often used by police departments as temporary handcuffs. “They come in such fun colors. Who says crime has to be dull.”
“I think red for you, Kimi,” he said, fishing out a couple of the ties. “And blue for Holden. He likes his manly
blue, I’ve noticed.”
Naturally, Vlad had to show off what a he-man he was by tugging the plastic grip tighter than necessary as he bound Holden hand and foot to the chair.
“Don’t worry, darling,” Peacock told Kimi when she made a sound of distress. “I’ll send a message to your family in the morning telling them where to find you and Holden. But I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here tonight. You’ll miss a wonderful party and, of course, the scandal of the century. I can hardly wait. Come now and sit down.”
“Wait, I really need to pee. I’ll never make it until tomorrow.”
He admired her for her initiative in a tough situation, but it was obvious Peacock wasn’t going to let her out of the room.
But, even as Peacock started to shake his head, Vlad made a sound of contempt. “Shut up and sit down.”
Peacock pursed his lips in annoyance. He liked to be in control then. Interesting. “We aren’t all barbarians,” he said, giving the Russian a cutting look. “Of course you can tinkle. Give me your cell phone and your pretty Chanel bag. I’ll take you to the bathroom myself.”
Vladimir began cursing in Russian until Peacock sighed and turned. “If we’re not back in five minutes, kill Holden,” he said, and then he led Kimi through the same door Vladimir had hidden behind.
In far fewer than five minutes, the pair returned.
This time, when Peacock told her to sit in the chair Vladimir had set across from the one Holden now occupied, she did.
Vlad did his he-man thing again and when he tightened the tie around Kimi’s wrist she cried out in pain. Holden tried to jerk out of his chair, but all he did was yank his own bonds tighter. “Leave her alone, you bastard,” he snapped. He didn’t remember ever feeling this sense of impotent fury. He’d been a fool, a patsy, an easy mark. And that pair of dress thieves better run far and fast, because if he got out of here alive, he was going to track them down and make them very sorry they’d made Kimi cry out in pain.
“No need to be such a brute,” Peacock fussed. “Here, you take the gun. I’ll do Kimi.” It was clear that Vladimir didn’t care for the change in plan, but he didn’t say anything, merely took the gun with an expression that suggested he’d like to use it on all of them.
Once Peacock had trussed her up, he said, “I’m very sorry to have to do this, love, but it’s in my nature to be extra cautious.”
“Oh no,” she said when she saw the duct tape.
“Honestly, it hurts me as much as it hurts you,” he said, taking sewing scissors out of one of the drawers and cutting off a length of tape than smoothing it over her mouth.
Holden got the same treatment, without the phony “it hurts me more than you” crap.
Within two minutes, the pair had packed up and slipped out of the heavy metal door, locking it firmly behind them.
KIMI LOOKED OVER at Holden. His eyes blazed with fury. She felt sick knowing this was all her fault. Whatever happened to them, it was all her fault. Weakness washed over her and her eyes wanted to fill, but she squelched the urge. She wouldn’t give Brewster Peacock the satisfaction of making her cry.
Besides, they weren’t beaten yet. She’d done more in that nasty, tiny bathroom than pee. Nobody’d bothered to pat her down and she happened to have her mini-manicure compact set in the pocket of her slacks. In the bathroom, she’d flipped it open and pushed it up her sleeve, above the elbow. Of course, her arms were tied behind her by a plastic tab that looked more like an office product, although it wasn’t very tight, thanks to her whiny-baby act. However, the tie wasn’t exactly falling off her either.
Holden was already working his chair around and she realized he was going to get them back to back and try to untie her with his fingers, which she guessed must be already losing feeling since he was tied much tighter than she was and had been so for longer. However, it wasn’t as if they had a lot of options.
She began doing the same. Or trying to. But with their legs tied, it was almost impossible to move the chair without toppling over. Almost impossible, but she found, with determination and experimentation, she could sort of hop the chair. It was painful, and she felt as though her tailbone was getting bruised. Her arms were already cramping and stiff, her fingers losing feeling, and the duct tape was itching. If she ever got out of this, she was going to track down Brewster Peacock and kill him with her bare hands.
Finally, they maneuvered themselves into positions where they could touch each other’s fingers from behind. Good. This was good. But it was only the beginning. He was trying to get hold of the tie tab binding her, but she shoved her wrists against him, trying to indicate that he should try to get the nail file. Oh, what she wouldn’t do to be able to talk.
She grunted. He grunted back. It would be funny if it weren’t so dangerous. The chances that those two clowns were going to let her family know where she was were, she figured, slim to none.
If they didn’t get themselves out of this mess, they’d be here until someone entered this place and, based on the junk accumulated, she didn’t think it was anyone’s regular workplace.
She wasn’t going to think about death. It was claustrophobic enough with her mouth taped shut so she could only breathe through her nose, and hyperventilating was a very bad idea. All she knew was that she wasn’t going to die at the hands of a bitchy columnist in blue velvet and a Russian mafia cliché.
Wasn’t going to happen.
So, she twisted her wrists until she’d have cried out with pain if her mouth hadn’t been taped shut and she was giving herself the worst case of plastic rope burn, and she felt the nail file shift. Yes.
She could do this. A little more. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to make the gap just a little wider. Surely plastic could stretch if you tried hard enough. Not thinking of the pain, only of freedom, she kept pulling and suddenly, the file emerged so she felt its sharp point against her fingertips.
And so did Holden. Immediately, he began working the compact down and then he took the file between his cold fingers and together they worked it out until it was in his hands. She felt him move the compact until he came to the tiny scissors.
How he did it she’d never know. But somehow he managed to get the little scissors and start working on the plastic.
Please let this work.
She could hear tiny clicks behind her and felt the heat coming off Holden’s body as he concentrated, but had no idea if anything was happening. She couldn’t see behind her and Holden couldn’t see. But sometimes, you simply had to have faith.
There was something capable about Holden. He was the kind of guy who could make fire from two sticks without breaking a sweat, he could survive in the woods. He’d been so cool during the recent altercation with the two stooges that she had to wonder about his background.
Somehow, she thought, if anyone could cut through plastic bonds with a mini-manicure set it would be him.
But it wasn’t a fast process. After a long while when she’d started cataloging every Chanel suit and the subtle changes each year, and then done a photographic catalog in her mind of every pair of shoes she’d ever owned and loved, not owned and coveted, or owned and regretted—fortunately few in number—she moved on to teasing her mind with fashion trivia. Anything to keep her mind off the agonizing numbness in her hands and the stiffness in her muscles.
By now, the light was fading. It was early evening, she supposed, and, naturally, Peacock and Vladimir, or should that be Vladimir and Peacock, which made them sound like magicians, circus performers or ventriloquist and dummy, had not left a light burning. If they didn’t get free soon, it would be dark, and getting through that locked door in pitch darkness was going to be even tougher than escaping in the light.
Okay, don’t think of the door, she scolded herself as a bubble of panic formed and tried to rise. Was the tie feeling looser? She thought perhaps it was. She strained against the bonds and, while they didn’t snap open, she definitely felt some movement.
Patience h
ad never been her dominant virtue.
Okay. Tired of fashion, she thought back to the moment when she’d first bumped into Holden and then tried to catalog every moment they’d spent together. It was surprisingly easy to do, mainly because they’d known each other less than a week. Yet she already knew so much about him. That he loved the outdoors passionately, was a talented and inventive lover, an inspired photographer and a man with integrity.
She knew he liked his coffee black, preferred beer to wine, plain food to fancy and that there was a ticklish spot above his hip that drove him crazy if she wanted to torment him. He could talk seriously and brilliantly about environmental destruction and she knew he put time and money into his causes, but he wasn’t a doom-and-gloom type. He was mostly optimistic about the future of the planet and believed that people would save the earth before it was too late. Then, as suddenly as he’d gone all serious on her, he’d laugh at a corny joke, or tease her into bed again.
He was a complex man, and one who she thought she could spend a lot of weeks getting to know.
If only they had a future. But, even supposing they could get out of here alive, there couldn’t be two people with less in common.
Still, she thought she’d be perfectly happy just knowing he was out there alive and living his life. And for him to do that, they had to get free.
She could feel his fingers getting sweaty with the effort, and once, terrifyingly, she felt the compact slide, scooping her fingers at the last second to catch the thing.
She closed her eyes and breathed slowly. She felt him trying to flex his fingers then, carefully, he took the compact back.
A few minutes later, she felt the plastic loosen a little more. She yanked her hands, heard a final snip of scissor on plastic, then felt the final piece of plastic holding her tear.
Her hands were free.
18
IT WAS SUCH A SHOCK that it took her a moment to realize she was halfway to freedom. She rubbed her hands to get some feeling back and then yanked off the tape from her mouth, trying not to cry out with the pain.
