by Unknown
Judy also bought a case of the lollipops with different western shapes. The chocolates and lollipops were for a small store she owned in Santa Fe, New Mexico, that catered to tourists. Judy liked to travel to the various tradeshows rather than order direct—Natasha had a feeling that Judy wanted to socialize more than anything else.
After they chatted a bit, Judy placed her order, set a time to pick it up, and scurried out the door. “I must stop and see Gary,” Judy called over her shoulder as she entered the doorway. “Bye, sweetie.”
Natasha didn’t want to explain to Judy why she wouldn’t find Gary with his display, so she just smiled and waved. “See you later, Judy.”
A few moments after Judy left, the classy brunette approached Natasha with purpose in her step. Without waiting for Natasha to speak, the woman swept her hand to indicate the framed numbered prints.
“I’ll take all your prints for my gallery.” The woman gave Natasha a hard look. “What is your price for the lot?”
Natasha blinked. “You want all twenty-four prints?”
The woman scowled. “That’s what I said.”
Completely taken off guard, Natasha ran through prices in her head before she named a figure roughly ten percent below the combined original asking price of the prints. She expected the woman to haggle, but the brunette slipped her hand into her purse, pulled out a wallet, and picked out a credit card. It was one of many cards stuffed inside the expensive wallet that matched her purse.
Natasha took the American Express card and read the name printed at the bottom. Victoria Ash. The sophisticated-sounding name suited her. “I’ll charge your purchase to this card, and you can take possession at the end of the show, Ms. Ash.”
“I am familiar with WESA’s rules.” Victoria waited while Natasha ran the card. Immediately, the transaction came back as approved and spit out a sales slip. Victoria took the slip from Natasha and signed it with an unreadable flourish. “You will make sure none of these are sold before I have them picked up?”
“Of course.” Natasha didn’t let the woman’s irritating tone bother her. The commission on this sale would pad Natasha’s savings account nicely. She took the signed sales slip and handed Victoria the receipt that had printed out after the transaction was approved. “I will put sold signs on every one of the prints.”
Victoria frowned. “I will be extremely displeased if even one of my purchases is not in the crates when I pick up the order. I will examine them, one by one.”
“That’s fine, but you don’t need to be concerned.” Natasha tried to keep smiling, even though the woman’s attitude was on the verge of getting on her nerves. “I don’t double sell products. As far as the public is concerned, I no longer have numbered prints available. It’s as simple as that.”
Victoria glanced at the receipt before sliding it into her wallet as she spoke. “My men will pick up the purchase, but I will be here to supervise.” She fastened the wallet before she dropped it into her purse.
Natasha drew her phone out of one of the pockets she’d sewn into her skirt. She pulled up her schedule. “We need to set an appointment for your pick-up. How is thirty minutes after the show closing on Sunday?”
Victoria consulted her own phone and keyed in the information as she said, “That will be fine.” She slid the phone into her purse.
Natasha held out her hand. “I look forward to seeing you at the end of the show.”
Victoria hesitated. This time she didn’t ignore Natasha’s hand but gave her a fingers-only limp-wristed shake. She pulled her cold fingers away almost immediately before turning and leaving the room with the same determined stride she had used when she’d arrived.
Well, that had been interesting. And lucrative.
A few moments after Victoria walked out, a dark-haired, dark-eyed man entered the room. He wore a sharp, expensive-looking suit, and his shoes were polished to a shine. Victoria and the man could have worked for the same company, as professional as they both looked. Maybe he owned a gallery, too.
Natasha greeted him in the same way she had approached Victoria, and the man appeared to be much nicer and shook Natasha’s hand. Even though he seemed to be friendlier it was clear he was direct, with a keen gaze that was enough to throw anyone off balance. “I am Hector Gonzales.”
“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Gonzales. I’m Natasha Simpson.” She smiled. “Whatever I can do for you, just ask.”
His gaze drifted over her body from head to toe and back, and her cheeks warmed. If he made any lewd remarks to that innocent statement, she was going to punch him.
Fortunately he simply gave a slight nod before scanning her showroom. “Is this all of your merchandise?”
“It’s a sample of what I have brought to the show.” She gestured to the numbered art prints. “The prints are sold, but everything else is available. Some, like the paintings, are originals, but most of what I have comes in bulk quantities.” Another exception was that she only purchased one of each limited edition, numbered print.
While Natasha stepped aside, he perused her paintings, sculptures, and other art. His gaze skipped the numbered prints before resting on the cowboy and Native American resin statuettes. He walked to the small display table where she had placed the pair.
“Ah.” He picked up the cowboy, examined it, and smiled at Natasha as he set the piece down. “Exactly what I need for my store.”
Her estimation of the man dropped about fifty points. No way was he a serious art dealer if he was buying the resin. She carried a very few in her own store, but she was in a small tourist town and had on hand a variety of things for customers who didn’t have the money for the real art.
Well, despite the expensive suit, perhaps this man had the same kind of store she did, and carried a few things like the statuettes. Maybe he even owned a chain of stores.
She almost shook her head. It had been a matter of perhaps thirty minutes before someone was looking to buy some of her resin inventory. It had been that way at every trade show from the very first one Natasha had gone to. Almost as soon as doors opened, there was always someone wanting to buy the statuettes. It was like the people made a beeline straight for her display.
Was this crazy or what? She supposed a good number of storeowners shared information about where they had purchased their products.
She moved beside him and stood next to the pair of eighteen-inch tall statuettes. She picked up the Native American. For some reason the statuettes always felt a little heavier at the shows. “Each one comes in a crate of twenty-five.”
“How many do you have?” he asked.
“I have two crates of Native American and two crates of cowboy statuettes.” Although she wasn’t likely to sell all four crates.
He nodded. “How much for each crate?” She named off an amount and he said, “What will you take for all four?”
She almost dropped the Native American statuette she was holding. Holy crap. Forty-five minutes from the start of the show and she was going to sell most of what she had brought with her? Well, maybe. She hadn’t given him an amount yet.
Trying not to stumble in her excitement, she calmly gave him a figure with a discount of ten percent. Once again she expected her customer to haggle, but the man pulled a wallet from inside his suit jacket. “Is American Express fine?”
Another AmEx? Hector and Victoria must have resources to use a card that had to be paid off right away.
She was pleased with herself for her composure—she could be an excellent actress. She made an even bigger margin off the damned resin statuettes than she did the numbered prints.
Hello, Caribbean cruise.
She set the statuette on the table, next to the credit card reader. Once again she found an American Express card in her hand and was running it through her reader. The transaction was approved immediately. She had him sign and gave him his receipt.
When she finished that part of the transaction, she set up a time for him to pick up the crates of statuett
es. He tucked his wallet inside his blazer.
“Thank you, Mr. Gonzales.” She picked up the statuette she had set next to the card reader. “This pair will go back in the crates before you pick them up.”
“Very good.” He reached out his hand.
She started to shift the statuette to one arm so that she could shake his hand. In her hurry, thanks to her excitement, she moved a little too quickly. The statuette slipped from her grasp. She gave a small cry as it crashed to the floor.
The base of the statuette broke off in a huge chunk. With a groan of dismay, she crouched to pick up the pieces. “I’m so sorry. I’m a bit accident-prone at times. I can mail you another one to replace it as soon as I get back to—”
She picked up the broken statuette and frowned as a bag of white powder dropped out of the base. “What in the world?”
Did the manufacturer put bags of something in the bases to help balance the weight? Sand was often used, but white powder?
Bewildered, she looked up, her mouth open to apologize again. Her eyes widened and her heart nearly exploded when she saw the barrel of a handgun pointed at her face.
“Don’t say a word.” His voice was calm yet harsh at the same time. He held the gun close so that his open suit jacket hid it from view. A click and she knew the man had flicked off the safety. “Slowly put the bag back into the piece and put it all under the table. Make sure it is well covered.”
Her heart thundered. So many things ran through her mind. Should she scream? Would he shoot her if she did? Why was he was doing this? All she’d done was break a resin statue—
That had a bag of white powder hidden in the base.
Everything flooded through her at once as she stared at the gun barrel. She had worked as a police dispatcher. Her uncle had been a police officer. On top of that, she’d seen enough law enforcement shows on TV to have a clear guess as to what was going on, especially with a gun in her face.
The baggie of powder in the statuette had to contain a drug, likely cocaine. Why would cocaine be in the statuettes?
The complete realization came to her in a rush. She was delivering coke-filled statuettes to buyers who came early to the shows to make sure they got their product. That’s why they sold so fast and so well.
She’d never had a clue. She’d been trafficking drugs for Mark. It was the only answer.
“Do what I said.” Hector’s voice grew icier. Meaner. “Now.”
Her hands shook as she looked down at the broken piece before stuffing the bag of white powder inside the hollow statuette and gathering everything together. She nearly dropped the pieces before she thrust them beneath the table and covered it all with her coat.
She swallowed as she looked at Hector again, and she didn’t dare speak. He no longer held the gun, but it didn’t make her breathe any easier. As a matter of fact, she was sure she was about to hyperventilate then pass out.
“Okle told me you didn’t know, but gave me orders if anything was to happen.” Hector narrowed his gaze. “Now that you know what’s inside, you need to know a few other things.”
Natasha’s skin felt tight and her head buzzed.
“If you open your mouth, everyone you care about will die.” Hector’s words cut the air like knives, and Natasha felt as if they were slicing open her chest. “One person at a time.”
Terror made her entire body shake and she swallowed down a scream.
“I don’t know the details of who your family and friends are, but Okle does and that’s all that matters.” Hector narrowed his gaze. “I do know what will happen if you go to law enforcement. Wherever the people you care about live, they will be killed off one at a time. You will not die, at least not right away. Instead you will watch each of them as they suffer a slow, painful death.”
Tears burned at the back of Natasha’s eyes. The thought of any of those she loved being murdered was enough to tear her apart.
She heard laughter as someone entered her showroom. Hector straightened and changed his expression so that it was a pleasant one. His dark eyes remained cold. “Stand and smile.”
Her legs vibrated as she got to her feet, her gaze never leaving Hector’s. She forced a smile and her lips trembled.
“Greet your customers.” He maintained a pleasant expression. “Make sure they know the prints and statuettes are not available.”
Why did he care about the prints? She faced three women who had entered the showroom and were discussing Natasha’s display.
“Welcome to Precious Treasures.” Natasha heard the shakiness in her words as she projected her voice so the women would hear her. When she had their attention, she added, “The numbered prints and the resin statuettes are all sold. Everything else is available for purchase.”
One of the women said something polite but Natasha couldn’t hear because her ears were buzzing so loudly now.
The man continued to smile as she turned her gaze back to him. He kept his voice low enough that only she could hear, but the danger in his words was unmistakable. “Stay away from all law enforcement. Do not tell anyone. I have made it very clear what will happen if you do.”
“My family and friends will die,” she whispered, holding back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.
He raised the receipt, almost looking friendly. “I will see you at our appointed time on closing day.”
Natasha said nothing. Just stared after him without seeing anything.
The letter. The image of the mysterious note she had received in the mail came to her in a rush.
She realized one of the women was speaking to her. Natasha fixed a smile and somehow managed to reply automatically to whatever the question was.
When the woman returned to the others, Natasha reached below the table for her purse, careful to not bump her coat or the statue. She reached inside and her fingers touched the envelope containing the letter, and she drew it out of her purse.
She wondered if her hands would ever stop shaking. She slid the folded piece of paper out of the envelope. The paper shook, her fingers barely holding onto it as she read it over again.
Natasha,
I have no choice but to be cryptic in this message, in case the letter falls into the wrong hands.
No matter what happens, do as you are told. Do not involve law enforcement of any kind, including family members and friends.
This means especially Trace and Christie. If you tell them, their lives, and the life of their daughter, will be in danger.
This is not a prank or a joke. You are in a deadly serious situation, even though you do not know it. If something happens at one of your tradeshows, remember what I have told you.
Your life depends on it.
A friend
A friend. What friend would send a message like this?
Yet it was strangely comforting. Someone out there knew what Natasha was going through. That meant she wasn’t entirely alone.
She wished she knew who had written the letter. If it wasn’t for the paper in her hands, she might have thought she had just imagined everything that had happened in the last fifteen minutes.
Her throat hurt from swallowing so much. She closed her eyes. How was she going to survive this?
She opened her eyes again and stared out the showroom windows at the growing number of people.
Whatever it took to keep everyone safe, she would do it. She would stay away from anyone in law enforcement, including her cousin’s husband, Trace. She’d have to grow distant, but she couldn’t let anything happen to anyone she loved.
Tears bit at the backs of her eyes again. How could she stay away from people who meant more to her than anything?
That was it. They meant too much to put them in danger.
Her heart leapt into her throat as she saw the K9 officer walk by the showroom window with his canine companion. Panic caused her heart to slam in her chest. If they came into the showroom, the dog would no doubt sniff out the cocaine.
God, she
prayed they wouldn’t come in.
The officer’s gaze met hers and she wondered if he could see the secrets and the lies she would have to tell for as long as Mark had this hold over her.
Which could be for the rest of her life.
CHAPTER 8
The sound of chicken noodle soup being slurped by one of the retirees set Mark’s teeth on edge. He had the sudden desire to grab the bowl from Henry’s shaky hands and dump it on his fucking head.
Mark forced himself to calm his emotions as he swept his gaze over the elderly gathered around the long dinner table in the retirement center. Some residents took their meals in their rooms, but most liked the social aspect of eating a meal together.
In addition to the soup, today’s fare included the worst meatloaf Mark had ever remembered having, lumpy mashed potatoes, creamed corn, and canned fruit. At least the warm smells of a home cooked meal were good and the chocolate cake was decent.
With the money he earned from his lucrative side business, Mark intended to have someone prepare meals for him when he retired. Perhaps a live-in housekeeper who also cooked, once Mark reached an age where he couldn’t do those things for himself. He was not settling for bad meatloaf.
He looked across the table at Selena and his mother, Martha. Selena was so damned gorgeous that it made his chest ache. She was even more beautiful to him as she laughed and talked with Martha, who wiped her nose with a wrinkled tissue that she’d pulled out of the pocket of her flowered muumuu. It was obvious Selena cared for Martha, and that warmed his heart in a way that nothing else could or would.
He always found it fascinating how a killer like Selena could be so friendly and caring.
Guilt about getting his mother sick weighed heavy on his belly. Six of the center’s residents had come down with colds since he came last week, and two of them were having a hard time recovering.
