BRONZED BETRAYALS

by Ritter Ames

  Jack’s face paled. “You learned that from Moran? It was definitely his granddaughter like we guessed?”

  I nodded. “Absolutely.”

  I knew I was probably overstating, but something inside me had to get out all my reasoning for doing what I’d done. Looking down, I realized I’d braided my fingers. Nerves. I took a deep breath. “Even if Colle doesn’t learn from leaked information, just think about how many people like him purchase high-priced attorneys who work their legal shenanigans until the felons die a natural death, never spending a day in prison. That alone bothers me on so many levels.”

  “And in prison, he could…”

  “Continue to order hits on me,” I finished the sentence he let hang.

  He grasped my shoulders and said, “Please don’t tell me Moran promised out loud to kill Colle.”

  “First, no, I would never ask him to do that, and I would have shut him down if he’d started to say so. But he wouldn’t. We both used burner phones. I put the information on a flash drive to avoid having an internet connection with him. He was the one who suggested a dead drop so there wouldn’t be any mail or video trace between us.”

  I recalled a phone conversation from years ago I had with one of the crime bosses who made me pay off part of the debt accrued by Daddy Dearest. “If I really wanted to be sure Colle was killed fast, Moran would not have been the person I’d have called.”

  “You have a direct link to a hitman?” Jack asked, a dark eyebrow shooting toward his hairline.

  “Next best thing if I intended to use that option. One of the loan sharks my father was in debt to when he died used to call me every week. He’d ask me in his gravelly voice how I was doing in school and how I was holding up. And finally, like any regular debt collector, he’d ask how much I could pay down on the debt. Then he would send a man by to pick up whatever money we agreed to. After a couple of months, I walked into the university bursar’s office to explain why I couldn’t pay my tuition and learned the semester was already paid in full. When I’d paid twenty percent of the original debt, he said I could stop paying him, but I’d better stay in school. He may have shown kindness to me, but I’d wager if I contacted him and asked if he or any of his working associates might want to ‘talk’ to Colle before he was arrested by Interpol, the conversation would be between Colle and an assassin’s bullet.” This knowledge was what I’d come to realize was likely the real reason he wanted me dead. “If I’d wanted to put out a contract on Beacham/Colle, I wouldn’t have risked just calling Moran.”

  “Wow.” Jack shook his head. “That was one of the most frightening and sexiest things I’ve ever heard you say.”

  I gave his shoulder a shove. He laughed and reached out, grabbing the back of my head to pull me close for a kiss. The big brown book played chaperone.

  As we broke from the kiss, I said, “And face it. With the kind of money and connections Moran has, he may want Colle to serve time in a French prison for his brother’s murder. A French prison where Moran likely has his own paid guards, maybe even the warden. Where he can get the prisoner moved to a miserable cell in solitary confinement, so Colle can’t even order his own dinner, let alone order a hit on me or anyone else. In that scenario, if he tried to get anyone assassinated, it would likely be himself to end the misery. I’d be completely good with that too, by the way.”

  “Brilliant summation. I know you trust Moran.” Jack chuckled. “Though I honestly don’t understand why. But after charming loan sharks, I guess talking to crime bosses is kind of your superpower. If you call each of the guys you paid off back then and tell them how to find the very much not-dead Beacham/Colle, and who the guy really is, think they’d give you all your money back from the estate?”

  “I’m not proud to admit the thought has crossed my mind,” I said.

  He kissed my forehead. “Be proud. Your admission of thinking about it but not following through proves you’re not his daughter. No DNA test necessary.”

  “I forgot, you were going to bring a swab thingy,” I said.

  Jack pulled a long silver cylinder from his pocket. “Open your mouth.”

  He pulled out a swab and ran it all around my mouth, then slipped it into the container. “You’re done,” he said and returned the cylinder to his pocket.

  “Easy,” I said. “I’ve seen them do it on television, but always imagined there would be blood involved.”

  “Old school. We only use the new and improved methods. Less icky,” he replied. “But speaking of blood, what was Moran’s explanation for the Amazon continually coming after you?”

  “Believe it or not, she was protecting me. Just seems to be lacking in interpersonal people skills. You can give Timms another heads up as well about how she got inside the hotel. She’d been on the housekeeping staff a couple of days already.”

  “Seriously?”

  I nodded. “Go over the hotel videos again paying attention to brown-haired maids, or have Danny do so.” I gave him the rest of the synopsis about that part of the conversation with Moran, finishing up just as my phone buzzed with a text from Cassie. I picked it up and saw I’d be met at the front door of the British Library by her friend Ian. I removed the hoodie by pulling it over my head and refluffed my blonde curls with one hand while shoving my phone into my pocket.

  “You coming with me?” I asked Jack.

  “I will since you’ve changed out of that hoodie.”

  “Good, you can carry the book.” I stood to get my coat and dropped the heavy tome onto the sofa beside him.

  Twenty-Four

  The rain had stopped, but I got a plastic bag to protect the book just in case the weather changed again. Before we left the flat, Jack said, “The British Library isn’t far from the office. Let’s stop in and see if the keypad has been improved while we were gone.”

  “Will they use the old code? Or change it?” I asked.

  “I just want to see if the unit’s been pulled or changed out,” he said. “There’s nothing inside to protect anyway.”

  “I should have asked Moran to get the Amazon to return the papers she took from the office and my suitcases, but I was too busy trying to outwit him on evidence.” I snapped my fingers. “That reminds me.”

  I ran back to the bedroom and grabbed the backpack I’d used for the heist, pulling out the auction card to leave on the bed.

  “Why are you taking the bag?” Jack asked when I reappeared.

  “I want to leave the escape line. I figure if it’s in the office we’ll never need it, but if it’s not there I run the risk again of having to use the curtains. My face still burns from my cheek rubbing against the rough fabric on the way down.” I also pulled Arlo’s Swiss Army knife from my Prada and added it to the front pocket of the backpack. For the last day and a half, I’d felt guilty every time I’d accidentally touched the knife while it was in my purse. Maybe having it in our escape bag would take away some of the taint.

  Two bags. Did I really want to carry two bags?

  “Do you have the keys?” I asked Jack.

  He dangled the key ring.

  I hung my purse on one of the coat hooks. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Cassie’s friend was waiting exactly where he said he would.

  “Hello, Ian.” As he walked toward us, I said, “I’m sorry. Thank you for waiting for us.” I hurried to shake the man’s hand. “I’m Laurel, and this is Jack.”

  “No, no need to apologize. I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.” He shook Jack’s hand and accepted the book, taking a peek inside the white plastic bag.

  It took several minutes of small talk, then Ian went back into the Library, and we headed for the office.

  “Well, that was a nice yet awkward encounter,” I said, as I slipped my hand into the crook of Jack’s elbow, the backpack-Prada-replacement-bag dangling from my other shoulder.

 
“We Brits tend to apologize more than other people.” Jack covered my fingers with his free hand. “You started the whole thing by apologizing first. Then old Ian felt compelled to apologize for making you apologize, and you can see by that exchange how a situation of the kind can snowball.”

  “I promise never to say I’m sorry again.”

  “Then I think you have to become a lawyer.”

  “I don’t like the white wigs.”

  “Those are barristers.”

  “So, do I need to stick with being a solicitor?” I asked.

  “How about if you stay an art recovery expert and I clap a hand over your mouth anytime I hear you start apologizing?” he responded.

  “Deal.”

  The office building was in sight, the front door of the ground floor restaurant busy with Saturday lunch customers. We picked up our pace and angled for the side entrance.

  “Where do you want to eat lunch?” Jack asked as we reached the first landing.

  “I don’t know…Paris?” I twisted on the stairs to face him and grinned.

  “Are you serious? I mean…” He shrugged. “Lunch would be late and all, but I guess we could.”

  I turned back around and resumed climbing. “No, I’m kidding. I just think we got a little shortchanged from our Paris trip this week.”

  “Definitely.” A couple of steps later, he added, “Not feeling a little jealous Nico and Cassie are still there, are you?”

  “No.” I looked over my shoulder and frowned. “Maybe. I mean, I know I told them to stay the weekend to be safe while we were traveling with Clive, but now we’re back and they’re still there, eating the great food and seeing the great sights, and…Yeah, I’m probably jealous.”

  Jack rubbed his free hand up and down my back. “Remember neither of them knows a crime boss who’ll take out a hit anytime they ask.”

  “You are never going to let that alone, are you, Hawkes?”

  “I’m telling you, ask any guy and he’ll admit that story is a turn on. Ask Williams, he’ll back me up on this. No, don’t, Williams already fancies you. We don’t need to make it worse.”

  I laughed. “Danny just wants to get your goat.”

  “No, he wants to get my girl.”

  I knew I was blushing, and Jack immediately went silent. I had the feeling we both knew we were suddenly on a slippery verbal slope. We hadn’t talked about where we were in our relationship, but we’d been together enough that I knew we were pretty much exclusive. Even if we hadn’t verbalized any promises. Still, I thought it best to let the comment slide, particularly since I wasn’t ready to address it. When we got to the top floor I said, “I need to use the restroom. Check out the keypad and I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Two steps into the hallway, however, and a huge blur suddenly emerged from behind the blind corner and slammed me into the wall. It took a second to get my senses back, and I saw the damned giant from the National Gallery charging Jack. He jumped out of the way a second before King Kong could knock him down the stairs.

  I pulled out my phone and dialed, choosing Timms over 999. “The giant is trying to kill Jack,” I screamed when Timms answered. “We’re in the hallway of our office, top floor.” The giant grabbed my phone—“Send help!” I screamed—and he backhanded me with the meaty paw he was using to crush my phone. I remembered hitting the floor and having the impression of something being thrown down the stairwell. I hoped it was my phone instead of Jack.

  A second later, Jack landed beside my head, and I worked my way back to a sitting position. I saw the giant coming at us slowly, wearing a wicked smile with bad teeth. His huge hand clutched a lethal-looking knife.

  Scrabbling into the front pocket of the backpack, I pulled out Arlo’s Swiss Army knife, opened the longest blade, and pressed it on Jack. He looked at the knife as if in disbelief, before giving me an apologetic look like all was lost. I realized what he was thinking: the giant was seven feet tall with a longer knife blade, and Jack’s reach was at least six inches too short. The ogre could swing his knife, cut Jack, and only risk losing a finger.

  “Fire escape. Go!” Jack whispered, pulling me to my feet as he stood up. Double vision hit when I tried to turn my head, and I was incredibly dizzy. When Jack let go of me, I grabbed the door frame to keep on my feet. No way I’d make it down the outside fire escape without falling over the edge.

  Jack launched himself at the giant’s leg, aiming Arlo’s knife toward the femoral artery. While the giant’s thinking was slower, he still recognized a threat.

  “No!” I screamed, grabbing the ogre’s attention.

  But getting stabbed got his attention right back on Jack and made him mad. The giant roared and swung back his leg. I looked for some way to equalize things. Jack rolled, and the kick missed his head by mere inches.

  The fire extinguisher.

  I unclamped it from the wall, nearly falling over.

  “Hey, loser!” I yelled at the giant, pulling the pin on the fire extinguisher. He looked at me, while holding Jack’s arm and plunging the knife into Jack.

  I blasted his face with the white foam.

  He let go of Jack to claw at his face. I kept the foam pumping right into his eyes and nose. But the weight of the extinguisher was getting heavier instead of lighter. I saw spots before my eyes and knew I was about to black out.

  Jack wasn’t moving. Under his coat, a red stain expanded across his shirt.

  “No, no, no, no, no,” I cried.

  Aiming at the floor, I hit the whole area around where the giant stood with foam. My legs were giving out. While the big man roared and tried to clear his eyes, I dove for his legs, pushing King Kong toward the stairs.

  The foam made the concrete floors slippery enough that my nudge sent the ogre scrambling, trying to keep his balance in the slickness. Just when I was afraid the effort wouldn’t be enough, his boot caught the edge of the top step. He slid off and began tumbling down the flight. He didn’t move once he hit the landing.

  I crawled over to Jack, praying, reaching to touch his neck, and begging the heavens for a pulse. It was slow, but it was there.

  Suddenly, I heard sirens. That was when I finally passed out.

  I woke strapped to a gurney outside the building. Emergency personnel and vehicles were all around.

  “Jack,” I screamed, trying to grab someone dressed in white. “Did you get Jack? He’s been stabbed.”

  The EMT spoke softly, “Yes, miss, don’t worry. He’s been transported to hospital, but he should be fine. He’s lost some blood, but the punctures didn’t look like any major organs were hit. We’re getting ready to transport you there too.”

  Twenty-Five

  We didn’t get a trip to Paris. We did spend the weekend in bed, but it was at Cassie’s instead of a room overlooking a fabulous, world-class view.

  The hospital didn’t want to let us go, but Nico showed up a couple of hours after we arrived. He got concerned when he couldn’t reach either of us by phone, and my GPS charm said I was in the middle of a London street and not moving. Well, concerned is probably an understatement, because he was worried enough to call a friend of his who got him on a fast chopper for the hop over the Channel. That was telling information, because while Nico isn’t a fan of flying, he particularly dislikes helicopters.

  It was still several more hours before Jack’s x-rays and my CAT scan said we were able to sign ourselves out of care. Though we were highly discouraged to follow that route. By then, Cassie had received Nico’s panicked text and grabbed a seat on the first available flight home. So, she was on hand in all her mother hen efficiency to make sure she understood every necessary instruction for our care and feeding during the convalescence period. She had a few things to say to Nico too. As if she could get him to change his night owl ways.

  When we were in the cab on the way back to the flat
, her phone rang.

  “It’s Danny Williams,” she said, then hit the speaker button. “Hi, Danny, what’s up?”

  “Cassie, I know you’re in Paris, but—”

  “No, I’m home. Jack and Laurel were hurt.”

  “That’s what I was going to tell you.”

  “Hey, Williams,” Jack said, his voice quiet and raspy enough that I took the phone from Cassie and held it closer to him. “Why didn’t you let me know Colle’s big hood from the National Gallery was turned loose?”

  “Someone came in and got all three out on bail,” Danny said. “I didn’t hear in time to warn you.”

  “Given that one of them tried to beat the hell out of you too, you might ask your superior why you weren’t one of the first people notified about the release.”

  “Already said almost that exact same thing,” Danny replied. “My supervisor promises to get an accounting of the situation and suggest new protocols.”

  “We’re on our way to Cassie’s place,” I said. “And I don’t know about Jack, but I’m only going to tell this story one more time. If you’d rather hear what happened from us, you’re welcome to come by the flat tonight. Otherwise, you can read the police reports.”

  “I’ll get there as quickly as I can.”

  When we got to the flat, Cassie immediately ordered us to bed.

  “Nico and I can bring chairs into the bedroom, so we can all talk and listen. You two need to be resting.”

  I found the auction card where I’d left it, scooped it up and pointed to the bed as I told Jack, “Sit here and wait until I get this to Nico. I’ll be right back. You’re going to have trouble getting that shirt off again without help.”

  “No argument from me.”

  I found Nico in the lounge and handed him the card. “This is the one I was telling you about. Whatever you can find out is more than we currently know.”