by Lexi Blake
Logan picked up the Styrofoam container and walked toward the bars. “I think it’s pancakes and sausage.”
The minute the deputy was in reach, Alexei reached out and grabbed him by the neck. He heard Holly gasp. The tall deputy didn’t weigh much. It was easy to haul him close and grab the gun out of his holster. Alexei turned him quickly, pulling his back against the bars. He wrapped an arm around the deputy’s neck. He could break it if he wasn’t careful.
“I need you to be listening. There are very bad men be coming into station house. They will kill you both unless you do this right.”
“Yeah, well, I’m getting the feeling you’re the one who is going to kill me.” Though Logan’s voice was steady, it was soft. A fine tremble went through the younger man. “You get out of here, Holly.”
“Don’t. If you run, they will stop you. They will be here in seconds.” He softened his hold but didn’t let Logan go. There wasn’t time to run. Pushkin and his men crossed the street, moving ever forward, snaking through the crowd toward their destination. “You cannot to tell where painting is. If you tell, you die.”
“Fine. If I don’t tell?” Logan asked.
“You be beaten badly.” The deputy would be tortured, and Alexei would have to wait and watch until he could gain the advantage.
“Why should I trust you?” The question came from between gritted teeth.
He put his heart and soul into his reply. He had to make Logan believe him. “Please to trust. Please, I can’t…I can’t take more killings. I will help as soon as I can, but there are three of them and one of me. I will have to go with them for while. But help will come. It will.”
There was no time to get Holly out. She stood staring at them, terror in her eyes. He had to deal with her, too. Pushkin was at the door. The outer doors opened with a swooshing sound. In a moment, they would be inside, and he wouldn’t be able to explain.
“I need you to listen, Holly. I want to see you safe. You must to take the gun. Hold it on the deputy like you are trying to get me out. You are my ho.”
Her spine snapped to attention, and her green eyes flashed. She took the gun from him anyway. When their fingers touched, Alexei felt a jolt of connection. “I am so not your ho.”
Panic threatened to overtake him. “You must pretend. If you are mine then they will not rape your body and slit your throat.”
Logan nodded, his head tapping against the bars. “I think you should be his ho, Holly.”
“Fine, but I’m not happy about it.” She held the gun out, her hands trembling.
The door opened, and Luka walked in first, with Pushkin behind him.
“It took you long enough.” Alexei switched to Russian. “I was beginning to believe you would leave me to rot in this hellhole.”
Pushkin surveyed the room while Oleg bolted the door. “I suspected something had gone wrong when neither you nor Ivan would answer the phone. Ivan told me you were having difficulties. I do not like difficulties, so I come myself. I’m not happy, Alexei. The trip was horribly long, and we had to drive through a storm. Where is Ivan? And who is the girl?”
“Mine. The girl is mine.” He brought his arm back through the bars, freeing Logan, who slumped to the floor as though overwhelmed. “Holly, dearest, you can put the gun down now. These are my friends. I told you about them.”
He sent a silent prayer that she would be able to play along. They were locked in with men who wouldn’t think twice about raping and killing her. Oleg prowled around the room, looking for anyone else they might have missed. He was too close to Holly for his comfort.
The gun came down at her side. “Does this mean we can get out of here, baby?”
Luka reached down and hauled Logan to his feet. “You open the door and let my friend out.”
Logan stumbled a bit as he dug into his pocket for the keys. His eyes came up and met Alexei’s. There was a wary plea in his gaze, but there was strength there, too. The deputy was young, but a stubborn will lit him now.
The cell swung open, and he grabbed Logan by his shirt, pulling him forward savagely. He brought him close and whispered. “Survive. Tell them you know nothing. I won’t leave you, but you must survive.”
“Just get Holly out,” the deputy whispered.
Alexei let his voice rise as he shoved Logan back. “I promised you payback, you swine.”
The other Russians laughed.
“Did this skinny thing give you trouble, Alexei?” Luka asked, his Russian dark and thick with menace.
“He’s like all pigs. Police are the same everywhere.” He stalked out of the cage and slid an arm around Holly, pulling her close. He slid the gun from her hand to his, the weight a welcome burden. He was armed. He would find a way. Patience. But first, he had to get to the bad part. “Ivan is dead.”
A loud curse filled the room.
“How?” Pushkin grunted the question.
“I can guess.” Oleg brought his booted foot out and kicked the deputy squarely in the gut.
Alexei’s arm tightened around Holly as she stiffened. He saw how she bit back a cry. This would be hard on her. He pressed her face into his chest. “It wasn’t this cop. It was the sheriff. Ivan was foolish. He killed a girl and didn’t do a good job hiding the body. The police came after us, and Ivan pulled his gun. I knew I could escape with Holly’s help. I thought it was better to stay alive.”
Pushkin circled Logan like a shark playing with its food. “Where is this sheriff?”
Logan’s throat worked up and down. “At the festival. He won’t be in today. I was only in because we have a prisoner.”
A predatory smile crept across Pushkin’s face. “I noticed you have Closed sign on your door. That is quaint…and helpful to us. Tell me something, Alexei. Do you know where the painting is?”
This was the bad part. His gut felt tight as he did what he had to do. “I don’t, but he knows. He talked to the sheriff about it. They have stashed it. They don’t mean to turn it in. They mean to sell it. Like I said, police are the same everywhere.”
Oleg reached down and brought Logan’s head up by his brown hair. He spoke in thickly accented English. “This is true?”
“I don’t know. I don’t speak Russian, asshole. I have no idea what any of you has said for the past couple of minutes.” Logan’s whole body was tense, but the words spat from his mouth.
Pushkin slapped him, the sound reverberating through the room. He switched to heavily accented English. “Then let me speak your language. You will tell me where my painting is.”
“Can’t help you, buddy. I don’t know nothing about art. I’m just a country boy.” Logan’s face was bright red, the imprint of Pushkin’s hand plain on the skin.
Pushkin snapped, and Oleg began to drag Logan toward a desk in an office at the back of the room. It was far from the front door. That desk would serve as Logan’s torture chamber. All the while Luka watched Alexei, his gun close at hand. His eyes were on the woman in Alexei’s arms. He got the feeling Luka wasn’t convinced that all was as it seemed.
He would have to wait.
He prayed Logan would survive the experience.
Chapter Seventeen
Stef’s first instinct was to find her. His second instinct was to tie her up, throw her over his shoulder, haul her ass back home, and never allow her to leave again.
That was why he was attempting to ignore his first instinct.
“You want to hand me that rope, or are you going to hang yourself with it?” Rye stared at him, his hand out.
Stef passed him the rope but thought seriously about hanging him with it. Asshole. Rye had it all. Rye had a wife and a brother and a baby on the way. Rye never fucked things up the way he did. If Rye had been Jennifer’s lover, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Rye rarely questioned himself, and his easy confidence pricked at Stef’s finely held temper. Still, he’d come here to look specifically for Rye. He was restless, utterly uneasy, a need rolling in him that was going to find its way out. He
’d realized he could pick a fight with Max or Zane or he could try…talking about his feelings. He just wasn’t sure where to start. “Here you go.”
Rye took the rope and started to put together the corral. He and Max were expanding their pony rides. It had been a big hit yesterday, with long lines of kids waiting to ride the gentle horses. He couldn’t help but think about the fact that it wouldn’t be too long before Rye’s son would be learning to ride. Rye’s son would grow up in Bliss. He would run wild in the wilderness with his brothers and sisters like he and Max and Rye had.
A sudden image of his own kids running around Bliss and sleeping on the mountain made his heart feel too big for his chest. He would have told anyone who asked that he didn’t want kids, but he’d lain awake last night thinking about the fact that Max and Rye’s and Callie’s kids would be here soon. Everyone was talking about the fact that Callie was pregnant. He wanted kids. He wanted his and Jennifer’s babies to grow up with their cousins.
“Are you going to talk about it or did you come here for a nice long brood?” Rye asked as he pulled on the knot he’d tied.
Brooding hadn’t gotten him anywhere. “I’m afraid.”
Rye tipped back his hat and placed one hand on his hip. “I know you are. You’ve always been afraid of this.”
He was startled by the statement. “What does that mean? I’ve never had a real relationship until I met Jen.”
Rye nodded. “That would be my point. Hell, even Max had a girlfriend or two. I’ve known you most of my life. The truth is I don’t remember much of a time before I knew you. I watched you push away most people.”
“I didn’t push away you and Max or Callie.”
“We’re safe. You needed us, and we needed you. And you made damn sure we needed you.”
This was a dangerous conversation. Without meaning to, he even took a step back. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Stef, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, but it’s become a habit with you, and it needs to stop. You buy people’s affections, at least that’s what you think you’re doing. We met during the summer. I remember it like it was yesterday. When Max, Callie, and I were going to have to go back to school, what did you do?”
God, he felt like he was fucking eight years old again. Vulnerable. Needy. Desperate to keep his newfound friends. “I asked my dad to bring in a tutor because the bus trip was so long into Del Norte.”
“Is that really why you did it?”
He shook his head. He remembered, too. He remembered pleading with his father. He hadn’t needed to. His dad had been more than happy to do it. His father had paid for tutors for the Bliss kids from that point on. They’d converted part of the mansion into a schoolroom that had housed them through high school. “No. I was afraid the three of you would get to school and find other friends, and I would be out.”
“I know, brother.” Rye walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. “I know that’s why you did it. I know that’s why you built the town hall, and that’s why you give loans to anyone in Bliss who needs one and never charge interest or even ask them to repay you.”
The money didn’t bother Stef. His father had set up a trust fund he would never be able to get through in one lifetime. “If they can, they will. If they can’t, then I won’t miss the money.”
“Stef, you throw money around this town.”
King Stefan. He could hear Jennifer say the words in his head. Pathetic. He was still a boy trying to tie people to his side.
Another voice spoke up as Max walked around the side of the trailer. “Man, you have to know that we don’t love you because you paid for our school.”
Max’s face was bunched up, his brows forming a V over concerned eyes.
“He knows,” Rye said with more confidence than Stef felt. “He just lets a lot of the past get in the way. He’s real damn good about figuring out everyone else’s motivations. He’s not so smart when it comes to his own.”
“Is that why Rach keeps calling him a dumbass?”
He felt himself stiffen. “Your wife has very little respect for me.”
Rye shook his head, a laugh escaping his lips. “Our wife loves you. But she thinks you’re wrong about Jen. I remember the day Jen walked into town looking for you. She wanted art lessons or something.”
“She’d made a study of my work. She wanted me to mentor her.” When he thought about it, he’d taught her a few things, just nothing of value. He hadn’t taught her how much he loved her.
“She tracked you down to the diner,” Rye continued.
Max smiled at the memory, obviously caught in it. “Stella thought she’d have to toss you out. You two sat there for eight hours talking and arguing.”
He’d been in love with her about twenty minutes after meeting her. She’d been so vibrant. She’d argued with him about the importance of the Impressionists and held several wrong views of the eminent Jackson Pollock, but he’d been utterly fascinated with her, hanging on to her every word.
“And the next day, you told her politely that you didn’t teach art and holed up in your studio for three weeks,” Max said.
He’d brooded. He’d worked. He’d done just about anything to avoid that girl with the killer smile and a saucy comeback to everything he said. He’d been afraid of her then. He was terrified now. Only now, he was starting to be more afraid of being without her.
“You think you’re sending her away because you want her to have the things she needs, but, damn, you’re trying to make her grateful to you,” Rye pointed out. “Can’t you see this is the same thing as what you did back when you were a kid? You think you can buy her a career and she’ll be happy and grateful, and she won’t leave you because you made it possible.”
Max nodded sharply. “Rach is right. He’s a dumbass. Jen already loves him. No woman puts up with the shit he’s shoveled out if she isn’t in love.”
“He thinks she’s too young, but she’s not. He thinks she wants some megapowerful career, but she doesn’t,” Rye said. “She wants to live here in Bliss and paint and have a happy life with the man she loves. You took me aside the day I finally got together with Rachel, and do you remember what you said to me?”
“I said she’s ready.” Stef felt his heart seize. What if she really was ready? What if he was just a dumbass who let his past hold him back? What if he chucked that past aside and went after what he wanted?
Rye and Max looked at each other, doing that weird twin thing they’d always done, as though, at times, they spoke to each other without saying a word.
“She’s ready, Stef. Go get your girl,” they said in perfect harmony.
A blanket dropped over his soul, a warm, perfect feeling of complete certainty. She was his. He was hers. They didn’t have to follow anyone’s path but the one they set themselves. She wouldn’t leave. If she wanted to see the world, she would turn to him and tell him to show it to her. And he would. If she wanted to show in galleries, she would turn to him and ask him to help her. And he would.
He was her slave, and she would never leave him behind.
“I’ve got to find her.” Now that he’d made the decision, he couldn’t stand the thought of a moment going by without telling her. Telling her? Hell, he’d probably have to beg her. Maybe if he offered to turn the trip to Paris into a honeymoon, just maybe, she wouldn’t attempt to cut off his balls with a rusty knife.
“She was with Rachel and Callie. They were heading to the diner,” Rye said.
Nope. If she was with Rachel, she would definitely try to cut his balls off. He smiled at the thought. Jennifer was a lot like Rachel, brave and unwilling to take a bunch of crap from anyone. Except him. She’d taken his crap for a while now, and he swore he’d never give it to her again. He had other things he wanted to give.
The phone in his pocket rang. He reached in and pulled it out, hoping it was Jennifer. It wasn’t. He slid the bar to answer the phone anyway, stepping away from Max and Rye. He couldn’t ignore this call.
> “Finn, what’s up? Have you managed to get the charges dropped?” He prayed the answer was yes. Before this moment, he’d been willing to allow justice to move slowly. Jennifer couldn’t start her new life until the charges against her were cleared. Now that her new life would be with him, he wanted that cloud out of the way immediately. He was doing it again. He was trying to give her what she wanted, what she needed, so she would be grateful. He wasn’t going to change. He would always move heaven and earth to get her what she wanted. But from now on, he would make damn sure it was really what she wanted. “Give me some good news, man.”
“The charges have been dropped.” Finn’s voice came over the phone loud and clear. “The DA filed the papers this morning. As of 8:00 a.m., your girl is free and clear.”
He clenched his fist in victory. Now nothing loomed over them. They were both free and clear. “Finn, you’ve done an excellent job. Please let your Master know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I’ll talk to my father about transferring some of Talbot Industries’ legal work your way. We’re always getting sued for something.”
Finn laughed over the phone. “Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Talbot, I would love the work, but I didn’t really have much of a hand in this. The police found the painting.”
“What do you mean they found the painting?” He stopped, his feet halting as though a wall had been thrown up in front of him. The painting was supposed to be here. Why had those Russians come to Bliss and taken Jen if they weren’t looking for the painting? “The police found the Picasso?”
“Yes, it was hidden in a vault at the gallery. I have no idea what kind of games Renard was playing, but they go deep. The guys at McKay-Taggart connected him to the mob, believe it or not. Taggart is still worried about a couple of things, but I personally think everything is fine. He’s a little on the paranoid side.”
