by Sharon Dunn
She wasn’t totally buying his story. He had to hand it to her—she was pretty savvy at reading him.
“Chances are, it was in some kind of container. Did you throw things away? Did you move them around?”
“Of course I did. I hurried through the house and straightened up a bunch of stuff and then you knocked on the door. I don’t remember every little item. I did throw some things away in the kitchen. I suppose we could check the garbage.”
“That would be a start,” he said. They still had to find a way out of here. “I didn’t notice any cars other than yours or mine. Is there anything parked in that garage?”
She stood up and walked toward him shaking her head. “The Wilsons bring their own car.”
Jason’s thoughts raced as he tried to come up with a plan. “The thief must have parked his car a ways from the property.” That meant even if the thieves wanted to leave, they probably couldn’t until the storm let up. They wouldn’t risk freezing in the blizzard. Jason and Isabel were trapped here and so were the two thieves.
What would be the best thing to do? To wait it out and hope they wouldn’t be found here...or to go back to the house? One thing was certain: they needed to stay together.
He stood up and looked out the window.
Night would be falling soon. They’d have the cover of darkness. It wasn’t that long a walk from the studio to the house, but in blizzard conditions, it would be easy enough to get disoriented.
As a boy, he remembered his father, a sheriff in another county, telling stories of men who froze to death walking from a barn to the house in whiteout conditions.
Isabel shifted a little closer to him. “We don’t know anything about the other guy. What if he has a gun?”
Jason had thought of that too. “When are the Wilsons supposed to get here?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. I have other houses to deal with tomorrow, so I had to fit this one in today.”
The door rattled and shook. Jason took a step back. It could have been the wind.
“It’s really blowing out there.” Isabel’s voice held only a trace of fear. “I say we stay here.”
He nodded and then looked around the studio space for anything that might be of use.
His search was interrupted by the glass in the window shattering.
FOUR
A scream caught in Isabel’s throat. Glass flew everywhere as a gun was fired through the window. Both of them ducked to the floor. She lifted her head. Though she could only discern his silhouette, this was a different man than Mr. Knife, shorter and more muscular.
Jason grabbed her and led her toward the door, where he pushed away the heavy metal sculpture.
Mr. Gun must know they’d try the door.
Her gaze darted around the room. There was no other way to escape.
Jason yanked open the door and drew his own gun. They rushed out into the dark of night. The cold permeated her skin almost immediately. Wind pushed on her body. Swordlike snowflakes sliced across her face and neck.
Jason’s hand slipped into hers. She bent her head to shield it from the assault of the storm.
Gunfire reverberated through the woods. Any doubt that Mr. Knife had an accomplice was removed. Mr. Gun was after them.
Jason’s fingers gripped hers like iron. He pulled her sideways until they entered a grove of trees that provided only a small amount of shelter.
Through the haze of snow, she saw a light bob past them. Jason aimed his gun toward the light but didn’t pull the trigger. Once it was clear their pursuer hadn’t seen them, he put the gun back in his waistband.
Mr. Gun was probably better dressed and equipped to deal with the snow, and he had a flashlight.
Isabel shivered. If she was cold, Jason must be close to hypothermia with thin layers of fabric to protect him.
He leaned close to her and whispered in her ear. “He’s gone past us.”
He took her hand again, which warmed hers despite the conditions. He wove through the trees.
“Do you know where you’re going?”
“I’m hoping to see light from the house,” he said.
The sheets of snow and darkness made it hard to see the landscape clearly. “There was no light on in the house earlier. I think the storm might have knocked out the electricity.”
As they stumbled through the trees, she felt hope fading. One small light that pierced the reduced visibility of the storm was all they needed.
“He went ahead of us. Watch for his flashlight,” Jason said. He had to lean close to her and shout to be heard above the shrill cry of the storm.
She could barely see three feet in front of her. They would have to be right on top of the thief before they saw him. It was a dangerous game they were playing.
Jason claimed he was not on the wrong side of the law. His story made sense...sort of. Why he needed the bookmark was a little perplexing. Even if he was a detective, maybe he saw the possibility of financial gain in finding it. It wouldn’t be the first time a law-enforcement guy was on the take.
She leaned closer to him and trudged forward. Not because she totally trusted him, but because getting too far away from him increased her chances of ending up a Popsicle.
Up ahead, a light winked in and out of view. They veered toward where they’d last seen it.
Wind pressed on her from three sides like being inside a vacuum cleaner. Its howling and the creaking of trees surrounded her. She lifted her head slightly, hoping to see the light again.
Isabel squinted against the onslaught of icy snow and intense wind. The pinpricks of the flakes on her skin were like a thousand tiny needles.
Jason wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in a new direction. He must have seen something she’d missed. If they got too close to the thief, he would shoot them.
She lifted her head again, thinking the house should’ve come into view by now. Jason let go of her. She reached out for his hand as her heart squeezed tight with fear. He was her lifeline. She did not want to get lost in this storm.
He caught her hand again.
The house appeared suddenly in her field of vision. They were only feet away from it. Jason pulled her toward him. She reached out for the security of the outside wall.
When they got the door open, they both fell inside onto a tiled floor.
Before she even had time to take a deep breath—now that she wasn’t fighting wind, snow and cold—she heard footsteps pounding, growing louder. The room was almost completely dark.
Jason tugged on her sleeve. He opened a small door, and they both crawled inside. The space was so small they sat facing each other, knees touching. They seemed to be in some sort of laundry chute.
Footsteps seemed to be pounding all around them. Had Mr. Knife figured out they were in the house or was his frantic search for something else? The footsteps grew closer. Maybe Mr. Gun was in the house by now.
Isabel could hear the sound of her own breathing in the tiny space.
The footsteps stopped.
Jason whispered only one word. “Down.”
She angled her body and slid down the aluminum slide, landing on a pile of linens.
Jason’s silhouette blotted out some of the bright light that shone from the top of the chute from the thieves’ flashlight. Jason slid down beside her on the pile of dirty laundry.
She was grateful the cleaning crew hadn’t tossed the sheets in the washing machine like they were supposed to.
Jason squeezed her elbow. “Come on. He’s going to find this room soon enough.”
She glanced back up the chute, which had gone dark. Apparently, Mr. Knife, or maybe it was Mr. Gun, had opted not to follow them down it, which meant he was using the stairs.
She leaped to her feet, falling in behind him and squinting to see in the dark room.
“There has to be a good place to hide,” said Jason.
Though she had been through the ten-thousand-square-foot home many times, she hadn’t been thinking about hiding places. Even as Jason started moving toward the door, she racked her brain.
They hurried down a hallway.
She tugged on his arm. “He’ll be coming down the stairs. We can’t go that way.”
“I know, but he’ll be looking for us on this floor.”
She turned and ran in the other direction. There had to be another way up to the main floor. They ran past the laundry room. Footsteps sounded above them. She sprinted toward a door and swung it open, finding a narrow back stairway similar to servants’ stairs in older houses. These stairs led into the kitchen. Probably so cooks had quick, discreet access to any food and wine stored in the basement.
The stairs were not carpeted, which made the potential for noise that much greater. Stepping as softly as possible, they hurried up and into the kitchen. There was no place to hide in the kitchen that wouldn’t be obvious. Isabel grabbed keys off a hook where they were hanging. She filed through them, holding them close to her face to see better.
She’d never been in the greenhouse but had noticed the labeled key for it. Maybe they could lock it from the inside. Jason leaned close to her, trying to see what she was doing. She could feel his warm breath on her neck.
A pang of guilt shot through her. She wasn’t supposed to go into the greenhouse. That wasn’t part of her job. She vowed that if she got a chance, she’d explain and apologize to the Wilsons. If she got the chance...
Isabel felt along the wall for the door that led to the greenhouse where it connected with the kitchen. She leaned close to the keyhole in an effort to insert the key. Humid air floated around her when she opened the door.
They slipped inside. The room was filled with plants though she could not discern what kind in the dim light. The Wilsons must hire a gardener to care for the plants in their absence.
The door did not lock from the inside.
Through the clear glass, a shadow stalked past them.
Jason pulled Isabel to the floor. Her heart revved into high gear as they scurried around to the far side of a bench and slipped into a tight space between the tall potting benches. At least they were out of view. Once again, their knees were touching as they faced each other in a small space.
After a moment, Jason spoke in a hushed tone. “Can you remember what you straightened up and what you threw away?”
Isabel waited for her heart to slow down before responding. Of course he was thinking about the bookmark. She closed her eyes, trying to remember. “There were some things left in the kitchen by the cleaning crew, just packaging from cleaning products.”
“No boxes or anything that something might be hidden in.”
Her memory fogged. The whole thing felt like it had happened a lifetime ago. “I’m not sure. I just automatically straighten up as I do my first walk through the house.”
“It’s okay.” He reached over and touched her knee. “I know this violence is probably not what you’re used to.”
He had no idea. She’d pulled off her impression of respectability enough that he probably would never guess that running from the law, sneaking around and hiding were what she was proficient in at one time in her life.
“Can you visualize the rooms you went into and what you did in each one?”
She understood what he was doing. They couldn’t just randomly go banging through the house. They had to be stealthy about where they searched.
She closed her eyes and tried to remember. Her usual routine was to go to the kitchen first and throw out food in the cupboards that looked like it was past its expiration date and then walk through the main rooms in the house, but was that what she had done this time? “Mostly I just closed doors and straightened things.”
She lifted her head in time to see a bright light flashing. “He’s coming this way.”
Both of them rolled underneath benches that held heavy foliage.
The door creaked open. Footsteps tapped on the concrete floor as the flashlight illuminated different sections of the room.
Isabel held her breath. Her stomach pressed against the cold concrete floor. The thief leaned over and shone the light beneath the benches, coming within a few inches of where she hid.
Oh God, don’t let him find us.
The thief dropped the flashlight. It rolled across the floor, lighting up the area just in front of Jason’s face.
The flashlight blinked on and off. The batteries must’ve been failing. The thief picked it up and tapped it on his palm. The light stabilized for a moment and then went out altogether.
The thief cursed.
She heard a second voice at the doorway. “Come on. We got to hurry.”
“My flashlight went out, man.” The voice was Mr. Knife’s.
“Never mind. I have mine. Forget about those two for now. Let’s keep looking. We got to get out of here as soon as there is a break in the storm.”
“What if they have it already?”
After a long pause, Mr. Gun spoke up. “We’ll find them soon enough and deal with them whether they have the merchandise or not.”
Mr. Knife let out a heavy breath that sounded more like a groan. “Yeah, they’ll get what’s coming to them. No one horns in on our sweet deal.”
The words chilled Isabel to the bone. She remained still until she could no longer hear their footsteps. Jason had already rolled out from underneath the bench.
Her eyes had adjusted more to the darkness, and she could see actual plants, vegetables and orchids instead of just shadows and outlines. Her eyes landed on a book placed on a waist-high bench, probably a book about gardening. Why else would it be in here?
A memory clicked in her head. Books...out of place. “I picked up some books that were by the entryway table and put them back in the library on the fourth floor.” When she’d first arrived, she’d whirred through the house picking up, throwing away and straightening.
“That would be a good place to hide a bookmark,” he said. “Lead the way.”
They’d have to go through the house and take the main stairway to get to it.
As though he’d read her mind, Jason said, “Maybe I should lead the way.”
“Good idea.”
“Stay low and close to the wall,” he said.
They slipped out of the greenhouse and into the shadows. Isabel pressed close to Jason and listened for the sound of approaching assassins.
* * *
Jason scanned the open area on the main floor and then searched the darker corners for movement. He hated putting Isabel at risk like this, but the last time he’d left her alone, the man with the knife had taken her. The safest place for her in a house with armed men bent on killing them was right by his side.
It made sense that the bookmark was in some books on the entryway table. Hiding things in plain sight was the strategy of the courier who dropped off the stolen treasure.
Jason had taken footage through a window of a painting stolen from a European art gallery. The drop-off man had hung it among the much more amateur efforts of the homeowner. This information helped the FBI understand the mind of the man or woman who was engineering the smuggling. There had to be easier ways to smuggle valuables into the country. There must be a reason why the mastermind chose vacation homes.
The whole investigation was quite involved. Several other private investigators had been hired to watch unoccupied houses for activity. Usually, the Bureau would get wind of items being stolen in different parts of the world from US Customs or foreign governments, and then within a week or so, activity would pick up in Silver Strike.
Jason and Isabel hurried toward the stairs with Isabel taking the lead since she knew the layout of the house.
Light flashed at
the end of the hallway.
Jason pressed against the wall and held out a protective hand toward Isabel. She stood close enough for her soft hair to brush under his chin. Her hand cupped his arm just above the elbow. Her touch sent a charge of electricity through him.
She was afraid, but brave enough to keep her cool.
The light disappeared into a room.
Isabel tugged on Jason’s sleeve and turned to take the stairs that led to the second floor.
The thieves had to know the bookmark was in a book. They must have found the library by now but clearly hadn’t found the bookmark. He hoped they weren’t walking into a trap.
He glanced over his shoulder. The light bobbed at the end of the hallway but didn’t reach them.
They raced up to the second-story landing, which was almost completely dark. They had only a short stairway to get up to the dome.
The pounding of footfalls behind them reached Jason’s ear. Then the cool metal of a knife blade pressed into his neck. He steeled himself against the attack, ready to fight back.
“Go,” he said to the darkness, hoping that Isabel would understand.
He could handle this guy but he didn’t want her hurt.
“Where is it?” said the thief. “We looked in the library.”
Jason elbowed the man in the stomach. The man backed away. In the darkness, Jason had to rely on his other senses to figure out where his opponent was. He was grateful for the years he’d spent studying martial arts.
He swung at the air, colliding with flesh. A hand gripped his wrist and yanked him around. His head rammed against a wall. Stunned, he whirled around and landed a blow that made the man groan. He hit the man’s back with a karate chop. The thief fell to the floor, making a cracking sound followed by another thud.
Jason braced himself for the man to jump to his feet and lay into him again, but he didn’t move. Jason kicked him. He must have hit his head against the banister. Jason leaned over. The man was still breathing but out cold.
He felt around for the knife but couldn’t find it, and he couldn’t waste any more time. The noise of the fight might have alerted the other man on the floor below and that guy had a flashlight and a gun.
