Hart Attack

by Cristin Harber

  The door opened, and there he was, dressed to the nines, holding a glass of champagne. “Beth, you look stunning.”

  “Thanks.”

  He handed her the crystal flute. “I figured we could toast to our planned acquisition.”

  Something about him was off as she took the glass. “Cheers.”

  He sniffed then cocked his head to the side. “Every time I see you, you look more… full of life.”

  She stifled a response, because it was Roman who had made her that way. “And you? You seem excited for this.”

  “Beyond words.”

  “Wow. Art does that to you?”

  “I had a semi-related work project come in, paying very, very handsomely in the near future.”

  “Good for you.” She tucked that tidbit in her memory to pass along to the Agency, then fake-smiled. For the first time, her gut screamed that his work projects were not on the up-and-up. An evil glint sparkled in his eyes, and the eeriness made her take a step back. A knock at the door interrupted his response.

  Greg glared then walked toward the door. Before answering, he turned to her. “Have you ever been spoiled by someone? Spoiled beyond anything you could imagine?”

  Oh, boy. “Someone, like a man?”

  He nodded.

  “No,” she lied, because Roman had just finished doing that to her in bed. More than once.

  Greg smiled sweetly with his crooked grin, but it didn’t mask the hint of darkness. “Then prepare yourself, Beth Tourne, for the kind of spoiling women dream of. After the auction, I think you will be happily surprised.”

  “I’m not a surprises kind of girl.” But she remembered what Roman had said about falling for her, maybe loving her. That had been a surprise. That had been epic. Maybe she liked surprises, just only with Roman.

  Her fake smile seemed to charm Greg. “I’ll change your mind.”

  “It’d have to be a one-in-a-million surprise, the kind you remember forever. That’s the only type of surprise I might like.”

  Knock. Knock. Roman wasn’t fooling around anymore.

  “Think we should let him in? My bulldog is liable to tear that off its hinges.”

  Greg scowled but opened the door. Roman barged in, ignoring Greg and letting his gaze rake over her. She could feel his heat, but by the time Greg stepped around him, Roman had gone cold, masking the energy between them with the look of a disinterested bodyguard.

  Clearing his throat, Greg asked, “Ready?”

  “Yes.” She stepped toward the door, out of Greg’s arm’s reach. As they walked down the hall, Roman took the lead, calling the elevator, then watched her and Greg approach. His resolve was steely—a hardened jaw, tight eyes. He swept the hall, on the constant lookout for trouble when they both knew trouble was walking next to her.

  Greg turned to Roman. “We won’t need your services after the auction. Thank you.”

  His jaw flexed. “I go where she goes. That’s what I was hired to do.”

  The elevator opened, and they walked in.

  “Miss Tourne and I have plans to celebrate.”

  Roman’s eyes slid to Beth’s. She couldn’t disagree, and Roman was aware of the date.

  So she smiled and said, “We have plans.”

  His lips went flat. “Let me know where. I’ll be out of sight.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Greg replied as the elevator doors opened again.

  “It’s nonnegotiable.” Roman took a step out of the car.

  Beth weighed the pros and cons of interceding, knowing very well she could handle herself in many bad situations. Roman should know that too. “I am curious where we’re going.”

  “It’s a surprise,” Greg said smartly.

  Roman led them to the small meeting room on the second floor, moving through the invitation-only process of check-in and then past armed guards and behind closed doors.

  Greg’s excitement was palpable. Entering the room, he was given a marker to flag bids, along with a small catalog of the day’s items. Five only. One was the Sun Bowl, but all were of major historic value.

  A man in a dark suit approached. “Mr. Naydenov? Thank you for coming. The items are available for your review.”

  Greg accepted, and their threesome followed the suited man. They walked through a side door and down a hall, and there were the items for the day’s auction.

  He moved straight for the Sun Bowl, beaming over it. “Ms. Tourne? Please be my guest.”

  She stepped forward, inspecting without touching, searching for everything she knew to positively identify the piece and confirm its integrity and quality. After several minutes, she stepped away from it and tilted her head. “Authentic. The starting price is well placed. Good luck.”

  He scooted around her, and her stomach plummeted when Greg picked the ancient artifact up, turning it over. “Excellent—”

  “Greg!”

  He should’ve known better, and both she and the security agents were about to tell him that.

  “Sorry. Sorry.” He set it down carefully. “Won’t happen again. Until I own it.” He laughed. “Absolutely beautiful.” His eyes went wide. His tongue licked his lips, and his gaze followed someone over her shoulder. Abruptly, he pushed away. “Excuse me. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Power and money—no, not just money, wealth—gave him a spectacular high. But Greg couldn’t help himself when he saw her across the room. He held his breath, appreciating the rush that was soon coming, the rush that was better than the Sun Bowl and its microscopic hidden file. He’d touched it, confirmed it. His blood had raced. But nothing like it was now.

  “Greg?” Beth called after him as he took off.

  He glanced back. She eyed him warily, as though ready to scold a toddler for touching someone else’s toys. For the first time, she didn’t push his buttons. The worry pinching her face slowed his adrenaline rush. Screw her and the brooding bulldog who was never far from her side.

  What he wanted was the slender brunette walking across the far side of the room. Greg knew her. Well.

  His mouth watered. She was a semi-regular fixture on the high-end antiquities market. She was also an extraordinarily high-priced call girl who’d given him the goods many times for free. Greg passed through the crowd, ignoring chit-chat and competitive hellos, and followed her down the back hall.

  He made quick work of getting to her, because better than her semi-decent dick-sucking skills, she was likely to have blow in her purse. Dirty fucking whore. Exactly what he needed. Screw Beth Tourne and the good-girl routine.

  How many times had he had this coke-whore? Still, not even a guess of a name came to mind. Maybe he wasn’t anywhere near ready for retirement.

  Searching room to room, he found locked doors but not her. Where did she go? His pulse thumped in his neck, his body shivered, craving—a hand touched his shoulder, and he spun.

  “Looking for me, are you?”

  He felt beads of sweat spring on his brow, in his armpits, and under his pressed shirt. He was seconds away from her nose candy, and the jittery need almost choked him. “Let’s go.”

  She laughed. She probably thought it was her he wanted. Maybe in a second. But first…

  He ducked into a small broom closet, yanking her in behind him. “Open your purse. Let’s go.”

  Her laughter cackled. “Greedy, are you?”

  “Open your goddamn purse.” His need pounded in his neck. Salivating, he could taste the coke. Flashbacks of a million different snorts made him hover over her. “Now.”

  “Greedy man.” But she dug into her tiny purse and retrieved a bumper. She handed it to him.

  Once. Twice. White lightning burned his nose. Set his mind on fire, easing his rabid tension. Finally. She took it from him, hit both of her nostrils, then offered him one more. Yes. That was what he needed. It’d been too long.

  In that beautifully high moment, he knew he wasn’t walking away from this life. Not fro
m the mega millions he made selling to the highest bidder and cleaning their money. What had he been thinking? Drugs. Sex. Money. That was him.

  “On your knees.” He kept the small vial, pocketing her coke, and pressed a hand on her shoulder. Greg leaned against the wall as she unbuckled his pants and sucked him deep down her throat.

  Perfect. A cocksucker and cocaine. He rubbed his nose as she tugged on his sac. A professional blowjob was far handier than a woman who enjoyed archeology. Next time his brain made decisions about the future, he’d run it by his dick and nose first.

  ***

  Wherever Greg had disappeared to, it’d been perfect timing. Beth scoured the auction, memorizing faces and registering who wanted what, who seemed interested in whom. It would have been much easier had the CIA told her what they wanted to know in addition to her simply accompanying Greg on this trip, but apparently, that was too much to ask for.

  Twenty minutes later, Greg reappeared in the crowd. He clapped backs, smiled, and talked to others. He was evidently energized and in a decidedly better mood. She hoped he would tone down the flirtations in front of Roman.

  He approached with flushed cheeks, and if she hadn’t known better, she’d think he’d downed a few glasses of bubbly when she wasn’t looking, along with a Red Bull or two. “Beth.” He sniffed. Once. Twice. Then beamed again. “I love a good auction!”

  Her stomach churned. Something was in play. Her intuition promised it, but her eyes couldn’t find the missing piece. She glanced at Roman, and his stance stated his agreement.

  “Ready?” Greg asked.

  “Guess so…” she replied, but he’d already disappeared again.

  Roman trailed behind her as she followed Greg to the bidding room. Moments later, they were in the front row of an auction, surrounded by the world’s most elite ancient-art fiends. Two she recognized from Interpol’s most-wanted list, and she added that to her mental list for Evan. Her handler should be happy with the intel; then he could finally move her to a decent project.

  “Thank you, distinguished guests,” the man at the lectern announced. Beth hadn’t seen anyone distinguished so much as illicit. “Wire transfers are to be made immediately at the close of bidding. Confirmations of funds should be presented afterward. And let the night begin.”

  The auctioneer took off with an impressive start. Hands went up and down. Millions were thrown around. The first four pieces went without much fanfare, just simple multimillion-dollar deals with minimal excitement and polite applause. But the mood in the room shifted as the Sun Bowl was brought out. The air tingled with anticipation. Beth glanced at Roman. Again, it was evident he’d sensed the shift as well. While the relic was rare, there shouldn’t have been this kind of tension in the room.

  The bidding started at a decent one million. Every bidder in the room raised a hand. Her stomach dropped. Something wasn’t right.

  One million went directly to five. She looked at Greg, and he hadn’t so much as balked. His hand easily shot up, signaling the auctioneer.

  Five. Ten. Fifteen million dollars. A few bidders fell off. Some grumbled, and a few laughed knowingly. What was happening?

  She cleared her throat, trying to catch Greg’s eye, and then she did. He was on a high, wide eyed and hungry. That was absolute confirmation that she didn’t know what the hell was happening. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, and Greg’s crooked smile beamed as he tossed his hand up again.

  Twenty million. Twenty-five.

  Finally, it was just Greg and one of the Interpol men. Beth took another moment to study everything in the room. The people. The faces, their mannerisms and accents, and the way they stood. She committed to memory the auctioneer, the armed guards. The art. Hell, the carpet, walls, and chairs. Everything. Because someone would need all the details she could manage to help stop whatever was happening.

  The bidding continued back and forth until it was just Greg. Greg smiled like a maniac, like he was king of the world. His winning bid was a cool thirty-five million dollars dumped on an ancient gold bowl that was worth a couple of million, max.

  He turned to the man he had been bidding against and acknowledging an apparent relationship already there. Ignoring Beth, he pulled out his phone, presumably to make that absurd transfer.

  “Greg?”

  He waved her off as the small crowd began to move.

  Roman leaned next to her. “What the fuck just happened here?”

  She shook her head, trying to act as if she wasn’t terrified of what they’d missed. “Something very bad. We have to keep an eye on him.”

  “Agreed.” Roman kept his eyes moving. “Sending out a heads-up?”

  Pivoting on her heel, she shifted her gaze. “Yup.”

  He tilted his head. “Here comes your boy. Does he get into a little—”

  Greg’s speed walk was faster than either expected. “That was great.” He greeted Roman with a slap to his arm, and Beth’s eyes almost fell out of her head. Greg was practically delirious. “Ready?”

  She remained quiet.

  Greg stepped closer. “Beth?” His eyes bounced around the room.

  “You pushed far past what my appraisal was.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Wasn’t it phenomenal? I haven’t been in a bidding war like that in ages.” He looked at Roman. “Will you see that Ms. Tourne makes it to her room safely? I have business to take care of.”

  “Greg—”

  “Don’t worry. Our date is still on. It will be a celebration.”

  She didn’t want to leave Greg’s side. Whatever business was about to happen, she wanted in. “Congratulations. This is all spectacular. I’d love to stay and—”

  “No.” The unexpected stern tone of his voice shut her down. The swing in moods was wild.

  “But—”

  “No.” He nodded at Roman. “Escort her, please.”

  Greg’s true colors were showing.

  “Of course.”

  As Roman led her out, she ran through everything she knew about this job, making her irritation at Evan and Jasper grow. They’d known this was more than an art auction. They had to. And she’d gone in blind. Again. If this was a test, then screw them. And if this wasn’t a test, then the Agency had big, unknown problems.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Roman had one arm out, leading Beth toward the elevators. He wanted no one around her until they knew exactly what had happened and who else was in the hotel. Parker could help with that. Titan had eyes everywhere, especially in this hotel.

  Whatever had just sold, it wasn’t an ancient piece of pottery. But what the fuck was it, and how unnerved should they be that Gregori Naydenov was now the proud owner?

  As soon as the elevator doors closed, he pulled her close. “What do you think?”

  She shook her head. “Still no idea.”

  “I’ll get Parker to pull surveillance and try to place some of those faces.”

  “Okay.” As the elevator climbed to their floor, she leaned against him. “I have a bad feeling.”

  She stepped away, and he missed her against him, as if she were his to hold, to take on her weight and worries. More than just feeling her, he knew their interactions had changed. It worked for him.

  Beth took the lead down the hall, and his eyes trailed to her tight ass swaying. Sky-high legs, right-left, right-left, were walking him to the edge.

  His phone buzzed with an alert he had set for her room. With a fifteen-second head start, someone had entered Beth’s room around the corner. “Wait.”

  Pulled out of his trance, he tucked her behind him and thought about what to do with her. He could stash her in his room, but she wouldn’t stay. He could hole her up in the stairwell, give her a weapon and permission to blast anyone she didn’t recognize, but his overprotective nature made him want to take care of her safety himself. So Beth was with him. Not the best option.

  He pulled out his sidearm and walked them to her room. “Keycard, sweetheart.”

&
nbsp; She handed him the card. He slipped it into the reader then opened the door with a hard kick, his gun pointed ahead. A man screamed. Like screamed.

  “Hands in the air!” Roman stepped forward aggressively, finger on the trigger. He did a visual sweep of the room. “Shut your mouth.”

  The whimpering man did as told.

  “Beth, honey, Glock in my back holster.”

  She slipped her hands under his suit jacket and removed the weapon.

  “He moves, you shoot.”

  She nodded.

  Roman sidestepped to the bathroom and checked behind the door and shower curtain. He moved through the rooms, clearing each as he went. No one else. He returned to see his girl handling the man like a pro, which made his chest swell. But he’d deal with that later.

  He turned his attention to the squirming man. “Any weapons?”

  “Weapons?” the man asked in a thick accent. “No.”

  Roman checked him anyway. Dude wasn’t lying. Good. “Name.”

  “Abdul,” he squeaked.

  “Abdul.” Roman scanned the room. “Sit.”

  The man dropped onto the closest couch. “I… I… I’m—”

  “Explain.”

  “Mr. Nay-den-ovv.” Abdul’s voice cracked.

  Of course this had to do with motherfuckin’ Gregori Naydenov. “What about him?”

  “Hired me. Th-th-the dress.” He pointed toward the bedroom.

  “Beth. Bedroom. Check for a dress.” Had he seen a dress? No idea. He hadn’t been searching for fashion.

  She hurried into the bedroom. Beads of sweat formed on Abdul’s forehead as they waited. Seconds later, she returned with a frown.

  “What is it? A dress?”

  Beth nodded. “An evening gown. Shoes and jewelry.”

  “What?” Roman lowered the weapon slightly. He turned back to Abdul. “Explain.”

  “I’m a wardrobe consultant. Mr. Naydenov had the concierge hire me with the instructions to provide a woman with an outfit and accessories.”

  Beth’s head dropped. “My stupid date.”

  Roman holstered his weapon and rubbed his temples. “Out, Abdul.”