One Sizzling Night

by Jo Leigh

  He strapped his tablet into a holster that he’d rigged earlier and made sure the computer was ready to accept any input from the snake Kensey was going to release. Then he set his stopwatch for two minutes, nine seconds, which was when he’d be in the clear to scale the iron gates. He’d have four minutes, forty-eight seconds to get inside the home without being seen by security. From there, he’d go down the emergency stairwell to the bottom floor. That was when he’d turn Kensey’s ear receiver on.

  This was fight mode, and this, too, was part of his DNA. God help Holstrom if he touched her...

  * * *

  KENSEY GASPED WHEN she felt Ian behind her, putting something over her eyes.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said, his voice so close she could feel his breath. “Trust me. You’ll like this next bit.”

  It was all she could do not to elbow him in the stomach, then take him down like the pervert he was, before he realized what was happening. Then she’d take off the blindfold. That was the only way she would “like this next bit.”

  He propelled her forward, her hands out in front of her because the bright light of the secret room was now an afterimage that would take a while to disappear once he took the blindfold off.

  And why the blindfold in the first place? As she took her next tentative step, she remembered all too well what Logan had overheard. The second she could be sure they were inside the room, she would accidentally elbow Ian and use that moment to both release the camera and take the thing off her eyes.

  The way he was breathing told her that his fondest wish would be to screw her while looking at his stolen treasures.

  “Just another few seconds,” he said.

  She didn’t wait. Her elbow went back. She heard his umph as she spun around, and ripped off the blindfold, which was actually his silk tie. “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,” she said, quickly dropping the bracelet. “Did I hurt you? Is there something I can do?”

  She knew she’d hit him hard enough in the diaphragm to wind him. The satisfaction of seeing his red face gasping for air was pleasurable in the extreme. Not that she showed it. Concern was all he would see as she made anxious noises.

  “I didn’t realize you were so close,” she said, remembering a bit late that she didn’t want Logan running in. “But don’t worry. I must have hit the wrong spot and made your diaphragm spasm. You’ll get your breath back in a minute, I swear.”

  It took longer than a minute. But finally, he was upright and not pleased with her at all. She could see he wanted to punish her, and the only thing she could think to do was turn around to the showroom and gasp at the first picture she saw. “It can’t be, can it?” She looked behind her, all innocence and wonder, before turning back. “That’s Waterloo Bridge. The Monet. It was supposed to have been burnt by the thief’s mother.”

  He chuckled, moved closer to her. One look at him, and she could tell he wanted this part of the evening like a junkie wanted heroin. She was his perfect audience. Someone who could actually understand the breadth of his collection.

  “Oh, no,” she said, not having to fake her earnest disbelief. “You have both of them? The Charing Cross Bridge, too? I can’t even imagine what they’d go for at Christie’s.”

  She started moving faster, anxious to find the Degas among the labyrinth of paintings. The room was large, possibly half the length of his house. And set up a great deal like the Metropolitan Museum in New York. The extensive collection of pieces he’d hoarded was staggering, all properly lit and framed, the temperature and humidity of the room perfectly calibrated. Whoever had built this room understood the care of fine art, and how easy it was for moisture to damage them.

  “You have the entire Rotterdam collection?”

  “You tell me,” he said.

  She moved to the next work, laughing at the sheer joy of seeing that Lucian Freud, and Meijer de Haan’s self portrait hadn’t been destroyed.

  She stopped. Couldn’t have moved for anything when she saw Picasso’s Tête d’Arlequin. Tears came to her eyes, but also, a lot of anger. This unbelievable bastard was worse than she’d ever imagined. When she looked toward the back wall, she saw it. The missing Degas. The original.

  “So you like my little collection, eh?”

  Holstrom had moved directly behind her, and his hands clamped around her arms, holding them tight against her body. “I knew you would. You’re a little art whore, aren’t you?”

  Here was the punishment she’d earned by her trick.

  He kissed her neck. Then bit her. Just enough for her to cry out. “I am,” she said. “And I want the same thing you do, but I have to see the rest. Please. I’m desperate to see everything.”

  The way he squeezed her arms would leave bruises. But instead of giving in to the urge to pull away, she stood her ground and moaned as if she wanted him to hurt her.

  “I’ll guide you. After all, I know what you like.”

  She just nodded obediently and the pressure on her arms relaxed, but not by much. “Now, what’s this one?”

  “Henri Matisse. La Liseuse en Blanc et Jaune.”

  Holstrom let go of her arms. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll let you see more,” he whispered. “I want you to put your hands behind your back. Don’t move them until I tell you. You don’t need hands to look, do you?”

  “No,” she said. “Of course not. It’s fine.” The last bit was for Logan, certainly not the sadist in back of her. She obeyed, hating him more than she’d ever hated anyone. Still, she kept her eyes reverent, her voice submissive. She had to be sure the camera had enough time to do its job. If Logan barged in now...

  Oh, God.

  “You’ve kept them in perfect condition,” she said, then sent Logan another message. “It’s smart to have me put my hands behind my back. I’d never forgive myself if I accidently touched one of these masterpieces. I can’t even imagine what they’re worth. Millions.”

  “Millions?” Ian laughed. “Turn around.”

  She did. His hands went to her wrists this time. Holding them with the intent to bruise.

  “Close your eyes. I’ll tell you when to open them.”

  Of course, she obeyed. He moved her forward, then turned her and stopped.

  “You may open your eyes now.”

  Again, she gasped. No wonder he’d laughed when she said millions. She was looking at something she thought she’d never see in her lifetime. “That’s Rembrandt. That’s Rembrandt. Storm on the Sea of Galilee. It’s so...”

  He laughed again, but she didn’t care. No matter what happened to her, she had to get these paintings away from this madman. His right hand moved, and she felt it under her sweater. Moving up until he reached her bra. He found a way to tuck the top part of her cup under her bra so her breast was completely exposed.

  She wondered if he’d just broken the contact she had with Logan. But then she shifted her entire focus to the painting...on the brushstrokes, and shading. No one had bettered Rembrandt even after all these years.

  Holstrom teased her nipple. “Tell me what you know.”

  She held in a curse. “It was painted in 1633. Stolen on the morning of March 18th, 1990, from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum by thieves dressed like policemen.”

  “Very good,” he said, then he squeezed her nipple so hard she couldn’t hold back a shocked cry. She wanted to tell Logan to wait. That she was fine. Maybe it was for the best if the wire had stopped working.

  Finally, Holstrom let go, and she breathed again. He took her down the row of eleven other stolen or “destroyed” pieces, and she told him about each one. But he didn’t hurt her, except when he reclaimed her wrists. At least his sick game was keeping him occupied. Letting the camera snake do its work.

  Finally, he stopped her in front of the Degas. Her breath escaped her in a whoosh and her le
gs got a bit wobbly. Not just because this would prove her father didn’t steal it, but because she didn’t know if he was the one who’d stolen it in the first place.

  Holstrom’s right hand left her wrist and before she could catch her breath again, she felt it on her inner thigh.

  There weren’t that many paintings left. As soon as they were out of this room, she would have him on his damn knees.

  Just as his hand was inches away from her crotch, she heard Logan.

  “Don’t move.”

  It wasn’t coming from the earpiece. He was in the room with them.

  “Except for that hand of yours,” Logan said. “Unless you don’t mind losing it.”

  “What the hell... McCabe?” The hand disappeared from her thigh, but the other was still on her wrist, squeezing hard. Holstrom stared at Logan as if he were seeing a ghost. His gaze swung briefly to her, before returning to Logan. “What are you going to do, shoot me?” he asked. “There are priceless works of art in here.”

  “I know a really good art restorer. I’m sure she could do wonders.”

  Holstrom grunted, and released her.

  She spun around. Logan’s eyes were both wild with fury and so in control it was chilling. “Get out of here, Kensey.”

  “We all have to get out of here. But, if he doesn’t cooperate, please shoot him in the knees, using a downward trajectory. That way the paintings will only have minimal damage.”

  “What the hell is this?” Holstrom didn’t sound so smug anymore.

  “This,” Kensey said, “is where we leave the room.” She let Logan usher Holstrom out, while she walked around until she found the camera snake. It was moving back toward the door, but not on the same side as the Degas. She hoped it had already gotten the right picture, but she couldn’t tell.

  Taking a final look around at all the breathtakingly exquisite paintings, she wished she could do something to ensure Holstrom went to jail for this crime against humanity, but she couldn’t. Not now, at least. She picked up the bracelet and put it back on her wrist. The pictures might provide grounds for a warrant, but Holstrom would have moved every last painting before the ink was dry. But she’d known that coming into this mess.

  When she joined the men outside the room, Holstrom, hands still up, was glaring at Logan, his face red with fury. “I gave you a goddamned contract, you bastard. For three times what your lousy company is worth.”

  “Yeah, about that... I’ve changed my mind,” Logan said calmly. “Kensey, do me a favor. Take this gun. Feel free to shoot him anywhere. The spatter won’t matter out here.”

  Holstrom didn’t move a muscle during the transfer, though it felt great to point the weapon at him. But before she could truly enjoy the feeling of power, Logan landed a punch so hard, Holstrom hit the floor like a discarded rag. A second later, Logan pulled him up by his tailored shirt, just to hit him again.

  “Logan,” she said, fearing he wasn’t nearly done. “Enough.”

  He didn’t look at her. His gaze never left Holstrom’s face as the man struggled to stand up again. Kensey wasn’t sure if Logan had heard her. He looked like nothing could stop him. A frisson ran down her spine. Earlier she’d seen his military side, but this was the warrior. Terrifying and hot as hell.

  “Go ahead, rough me up,” Holstrom said, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth. “It’ll look good when the police get here and I explain how you broke in and tried to kill me.”

  “Sure, let’s call them.” Logan took the gun. “I’m sure they’d enjoy a viewing of your private collection, too.”

  Fury settled in Ian’s shrewd eyes. “You honestly think I’d do one day in jail? No judge in this state would deny me bail. As for your precious military, you think they’d let me be put away? They come crawling to me for weapons,” he said, looking at Logan. “You shouldn’t have hooked up with this con artist. Because I’m going to make sure there isn’t one person on earth who will fund your pet project. I won’t quit until you’re homeless. You understand me?”

  Logan’s smile turned predatory. Dangerous. “No matter what, you won’t come out of this smelling like a rose, Holstrom. I promise you that. The stolen artwork aside, you assaulted Kensey.”

  “As if anyone would take her word over mine.”

  “They don’t have to. We’ve got everything on tape. Can you imagine, Kensey, what all his customers would think if the details were leaked? I bet he wouldn’t be getting any more humanitarian awards. In fact, you know what? I’d love to have an extra souvenir.” He reached with his free hand into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “Why don’t you go take a picture? I don’t care what painting it is. You choose. We’ll wait here.”

  She didn’t think twice, just took his phone.

  “Hold up,” Logan said before she took another step. “I think I’d like me and my buddy to be in the shot. Just a small insurance—I meant to say memento of our visit.” He grabbed Holstrom by the collar. “What do you say, Ian?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Logan?” Kensey didn’t give a damn that she heard Holstrom’s shirt tear but it was risky to go near the art again. “Let’s not—”

  Logan’s warning look silenced her.

  She moved aside, then followed him to the back of the room where she watched him position Holstrom next to the Degas. Then Logan pulled something out of his back pocket. He unfolded the front page of today’s paper and held it up in front of him.

  He gave her a nod. “Okay, Ian, say cheese.”

  She took the shot, the scope of Logan’s cleverness slowly sinking into her poor muddled brain. The picture, establishing today’s date, probably wouldn’t stand up in court, but there was a good chance it could be used to clear her father. Her hands shook a bit, so she snapped a second shot for good measure.

  As soon as they were out of the room again, she put his phone back into his pocket.

  “Well, guess we’d better be going,” he said. “Not that we haven’t enjoyed your hospitality.”

  Holstrom looked at her, then at Logan before he put his hands down. His lip and left cheek were already swelling. “Why the hurry? You know, there’s a deal to be made here. I’m sure you two didn’t go to all this trouble just to walk away with nothing to show for it.”

  “Thanks for the offer,” Logan said and glanced at his watch. “Maybe next time.”

  “Here,” she said, handing him the tie Holstrom had used to blindfold her. “Maybe you can make a knot that won’t take him all night to get out of.”

  “My pleasure,” he said, passing her the Glock.

  Kensey wanted so much to just take the Rembrandt. Arrange for it to mysteriously appear at the door of the Museum of Fine Arts. Weirdly, almost as though he knew what she was thinking, Logan gave a small shake of his head.

  She wouldn’t have taken it, anyway. The risk for damage was too great. At least when Holstrom moved everything, which he absolutely would do, he’d take good care of the paintings. He might be a sadistic prick, but he was too greedy to cause them any harm.

  Of course, she thought of just calling the police. Since Holstrom was restrained, he’d be caught red-handed. But she couldn’t see his guards allowing anyone, not even the police, onto the estate without Holstrom giving the okay.

  They were armed and they’d come looking for him, and she refused to risk a shootout with Logan. She’d just trust Neil to help get Holstrom later.

  Getting out was relatively easy. She found her purse on the table where Ian had put it. They waited until the timing was right and—hidden from any electronic alarms and security cameras—they ran for it.

  Thankfully, Logan’s rental van wasn’t too far away. It finally hit her that it was over. She’d found what she’d been looking for. And just as he unlocked the passenger door, she realized she was still shaking, only
harder now. “Logan.”

  He stopped, looked at her.

  “Where are the guards?” she asked. “There were two men...”

  “I didn’t hurt them if that’s what you’re thinking. My guess is they’re about ten minutes away from finding Holstrom.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “His security system is set up with some kind of fail-safe signal tied to the lower floor access and probably other parts of the house. If it times out, the guards would automatically do a check.” Logan shrugged. “I don’t know for sure but that’s what I would do. That’s why he tried to stall us at the end. You okay?”

  She nodded, leaning against the side of the van. “I want you to know I was ready to take him down myself so you wouldn’t have to get involved. I really was. I never wanted you to lose anything on my account. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “You’re trembling.”

  She felt just a bit lightheaded but she’d be all right once she sat down. “I hope you believe me,” she said, as her vision got narrower and narrower.

  Suddenly, his arms were around her, holding her close. She might have lost a few moments there, but now she relaxed in the comfort and safety of his arms, even if it was temporary.

  It couldn’t last forever, though. “Thanks,” she said, taking a step back. “I’m fine, really.” She looked up, hoping he might kiss her.

  “Good.” He let her go, opened the passenger door and walked to the driver’s side.

  Kensey prayed he could see now that she’d told him as much as she could, that she’d never once tried to trick him. “You know I had nothing to do with Neil calling Sam, don’t you? I expressly asked him not to tell anyone.”

  Logan’s response was to start the engine and get them onto the main road. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said finally. “And I hope you got what you needed.”

  “I hope so, too,” she said, so softly he probably didn’t even hear.

  “I couldn’t have worked for him,” Logan said. “He’s a real snake and I’m sorry he touched you. I wish I could have stopped that...” His mouth tightened. “No sense rehashing things. We’re done now. I’ll return everything to Sam, then catch the first flight out to La Guardia.”