by Tara Janzen
“Explain.”
“Suzi’s AWOL, and the contact she told you about, Jimmy Ruiz? He’s dead. Shot to death in her room. Rumors are running wild out here, but it sounds like the police have all her luggage, and she is definitely numero uno on their suspect list. I thought we should-”
“I’m on it. Stay on the line,” Dylan said, then Creed heard him talking to someone else, giving an order-Get Grant on the horn.
He stopped with his back to one of the portico’s marble columns and lit up a cigar he’d bummed off the boss, holding the phone between his shoulder and ear while he bent his head over the lighter cupped in his hands. He puffed until he got the cigar going, then he closed the lighter and took the phone back in his hand.
Sucking in a mouthful of smoke, he leaned back against the column and visually quartered the area, from the parking lot, to the entrance, to the valet stand and the doormen, and back again to the parking lot.
And he waited, letting the smoke slowly drift out of his mouth.
Fucking twilight zone, that’s where they’d landed with this Sphinx business. He’d seen it coming, and Suzi was in the middle of it. Dammit. That just coddled his balls.
One of the first things he’d seen when he’d walked into the Gran Chaco was the police security on her room, and it hadn’t taken more than two minutes of hanging around in the lobby to find out why. Jimmy Ruiz had been massacred in there. By all accounts, and there were a hundred available, the deed had been a lovers’ quarrel, with the Paraguayan man killed by the beautiful gringa in a jealous rage. Creed could guarantee there hadn’t been any lovers’ quarrel, but that didn’t mean Suzi hadn’t shot Jimmy Ruiz.
Somebody sure had, and Suzi was gone.
“Beranger’s gallery is on Carlos Lopez Avenue, Galeria Viejo,” Dylan came back on the line. “He lives up on the second floor, so he shouldn’t be too hard to find. And I’ve got a confirmed location for one of the dealers short-listed by the DIA as a potential buyer for the Sphinx-Levi Asher. He’s at El Caribe.”
“Got it,” he said, pushing off the marble column and crossing the street to the parking lot.
“One more thing,” Dylan said.
“Yeah?”
“Suzi told Grant that Dax Killian was at the gallery this afternoon. Apparently there was a run-in with the police, and he got her out of there.”
Dax Killian?
“I don’t believe in coincidence, boss. What the fuck do you think is going on?”
“I don’t know, and Grant hasn’t been able to find out, so we’ll play it as it comes.”
“Roger that,” he said, heading back to his car. “I’ll let you know what I find at the gallery.”
Women, Levi thought.
There was just no telling what got into them sometimes. Suzi Toussi had looked a little murderous there, a state of affairs that was absolutely beyond his ability to comprehend.
Suzanna Toussi, ready to pounce on him-and not in a good way. Oh, no.
He hoped she bounced back to her normal, coolheaded self by tomorrow morning. It simply wouldn’t do to send a half-deranged woman up the river.
He shuffled around in his luxury suite, dropping clothes everywhere he went-his jacket in the hall, his tie on the table, a shoe here, a shoe there, his shirt over the back of the couch, his pants on the floor. He’d dismissed Gervais at the door. He felt terrible and simply needed to be alone.
He’d eaten too much, drunk too much, was too hot, feeling light-headed, and his stomach was in distress.
He padded into the bathroom to get a towel to mop his brow, and while leaning over the sink, took stock of himself.
He wasn’t a bad man, but he’d done a bad thing, involving her, and felt very remorseful. Not so much remorse that he would change the course of events, but he felt remorse.
Suzi would be fine, he told himself. It would be an adventure for her to go up the river and meet with this crazy dangerous man with the hot-crawly weapon who was not quite right.
Levi considered himself a very astute judge of people, and this man from Beranger’s who had grabbed Gervais, asked questions, and then invited them all up the river to get the Sphinx-well, he was quite dangerous.
Quite.
Big, strong, determined, fierce-Gervais had said the man’s arms were marked, scarred, and that there had been other scars on his face and neck.
Honestly, Levi had been in a perfect quandary. He wanted the Sphinx, or rather he wanted his Japanese buyer’s money for the Sphinx, but he didn’t care for the company of men under the best of circumstances, and he didn’t care for the company of dangerous men under any circumstances. He hadn’t known what he was going to do, until Suzi Toussi had called.
She was perfect.
The fifty-fifty part, the percentages could be manipulated later, if she actually made it back with the statue.
He reached up and combed his fingers through his hair, arranging it a bit. He wished he hadn’t mentioned that girl in Ukraine and her daughter again, poor little thing. He’d just been trying to be nice, but all that should have waited until after the deal. It wasn’t good to have Suzi upset. He needed her on her game. He needed an expert up there to deal with this man from Costa del Rey That’s the place where he’d told Gervais to come, Costa del Rey King’s Coast, and if the Memphis Sphinx was truly there, then it was a king’s coast indeed. Levi hadn’t come all this way to pay a million dollars for a fake, and Suzanna Royale Toussi could smell a fake from a hundred miles. She was so very talented, a superb negotiator, her instincts impeccable when it came to art and artifacts-but not when it came to men, and Levi didn’t think she’d done any better for herself this time.
“Danny Kane,” he muttered. Suzi always went for brawn instead of brains. It’s why she never went for him, though she’d come close tonight, up until she’d gotten so unreasonably upset.
But up until then, she’d definitely been on track for his bed.
He smiled at himself in the mirror-and something caught his eye and held his beady little orbs like they were in a vise. His smile froze in a moment of stark and utter terror, his lips stuck to his teeth, his arms trembling on either side of the sink.
A shadow, that’s what he’d thought, if he’d given the dark reflection in the mirror any thought at all, which he hadn’t-not until he’d smiled and the shadow had smiled back.
It was him, the crazy dangerous man from Costa del Rey in the suite’s living room, standing quietly against a wall, and for an odd, confusing second, Levi wondered if he’d walked right past him while he’d been taking off his clothes, not even aware that he hadn’t been alone.
“The woman,” the man said. He was big, just like Gervais had said, with short dark hair and very well defined features, chiseled, high cheekbones, a strong jaw, firm mouth, arms like pile drivers. “The redhead, Suzanna Toussi, where is she?”
Now, this was shameful, truly it was, but Levi didn’t hesitate for a second to give the girl away. There was no thought to it at all, let alone a second thought.
“I-I picked her up at th-the Po-po-po-”
“Posada Plaza?” the man asked.
“Y-yes.”
“Where is she now?” For a crazy man, his voice was very calm, very measured, and somehow, very reassuring.
“On h-her way back, I th-think, w-with a m-m-m-m-m-”
“Take a breath, Levi. Everything is fine.”
He did exactly as he was told. That was his new plan, to do everything exactly as he was told, to not cause this man any trouble, so he took a breath.
“A m-man,” he finished. “D-danny Kane, a repor-porter.”
“How well do you know her, Suzanna Toussi?”
Oh, God, a trick question. Levi’s panic skyrocketed again. He didn’t know what to say. If he didn’t know her very well, would the man leave? Or would it be best to admit that he did know her very well, and leave himself wide open for God only knew what?
He was frozen in indecision, nearly crushed senseles
s by the weight of the question. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake. The truth? Or a lie?
God, he shouldn’t have had so much champagne.
In the end, with the seconds ticking away and his indecision spiraling out of control, the heat and the booze and the fear got the best of him-and he crumpled in a faint to the floor.
“One dead body rotting in the heat,” Creed said into the phone, talking to Dylan. “The place was torn apart. No sign of any priceless statue, that’s for damn sure.”
“Who’s the body?”
“Remy Beranger,” Creed said, making a right-hand turn in the Jeep. “I checked his wallet. He’d been moved around a little since he died, and I moved him a little more, but I don’t think anybody really much cares about old Remy.”
“Why not?”
“Well, boss, he’s been there for a while, all day I’d say, and if the police did this, like Suzi told Grant, then I’d say nobody gives a hill of beans for this guy and his gallery.”
“So you think the statue is gone.”
“Hell and gone.”
“And who the hell has it?” Dylan asked.
Creed took the next left and shifted up into third. “I think we need to ask Suzi. I’m headed over to El Caribe and this Levi Asher guy, and if I come up empty-handed there, then we’ve got a real problem on our hands.”
“Suzi can handle herself.”
Creed wasn’t so sure, but he kept his mouth shut. Dylan had more faith in the girl than he did. Oh, he adored her, all right, but he had to say, despite Hawkins’s stellar success with Skeeter and Red Dog-okay, astounding success-Creed thought Superman had pushed his luck with Suzi. The girl was just too girly too hothouse orchid.
Hawkins, though, hell, he thought every girl could be toughened up with PT, physical training, and a.45-and he was right, of course. Creed just didn’t think that made them tough enough for Ciudad del Este, especially with dead bodies piling up all around-except, of course, for Skeeter and Red Dog. Those two were tough enough, period.
“I’m almost to the hotel,” he said. “I’ll call you after I talk to Asher.”
He ended the call and pocketed his phone.
Talk. Right. Suzi Toussi had gone missing off a damn “pink” op that should have been a cake-walk-and Creed was damn well going to find her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Well, that had gone well, Dax thought, pulling up in front of the Posada Plaza and throwing the Land Cruiser into park.
He looked over at Suzi, who was just sitting there in the passenger seat. She hadn’t said a word, not one word since he’d kept her from jumping Levi Asher and hauled her out of El Caribe.
Geezus.
The girl had been ready to rumble. She actually had a little muscle action in her arms, some biceps business, and some deltoid business. He didn’t doubt for a minute that she could have done some damage.
Of course, he would have had to take Gervais out, and then the other bodyguard would have shown up, and on and on. In a social situation like that, the best fight was no fight, every time.
He put his hand over his mouth and looked out the windshield, thinking, but all he could think was Three years old.
He’d known-he was damn good at his job-but reading it in a pile of documents and hearing it bandied about in a damn casino restaurant by some drunk were two different things, and he couldn’t let it stand, not like it was, with her shell-shocked and silent, and definitely exhausted, emotionally and physically.
Geezus. Levi Asher might be the stupidest bastard on the planet.
“Tell me your daughter’s name.” It wasn’t a request, no matter how careful he was to keep his tone neutral.
When she didn’t answer, he slanted his gaze across the front seat. There weren’t many streetlights in Ciudad del Este, but the Posada Plaza had a big pink neon sign on the front of the building, and the light shone down on her, limning her profile, softening the garish colors of her bustier, and turning her skin into a silken wash of rose and pale peach.
Her eyes were dark, the downward cast of her gaze making it hard to discern her mood. She was so quiet.
Too quiet.
“Your daughter’s name,” he said. “I need to know.”
And he waited, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest.
“Here,” he said, opening one of the bottles of water they’d left in the Cruiser and handing it over. “Take a drink.”
He was being very deliberate with his words, keeping everything simple and direct.
With the water bottle half in her lap, she went ahead and took it from his hand. A small drink later, she gave him what he’d asked for.
“Adriana,” she said, her voice not very loud but very distinct. “Adriana Louise Weymouth.”
“Thank you.” It hurt hearing it, because he hurt for her. He wasn’t going to tell her he was sorry, though. There wasn’t enough sorry in the world to cover this.
“It was an accident,” she said, and he nodded silently over on his side of the car.
An accidental shooting. Man, that was a nightmare.
“It wasn’t me who had the gun,” she said, “and sometimes I think if I went back and shot Nathan, killed him, like he killed our baby, that maybe it would help.”
Nathan had been her first husband, back when she’d been in her early twenties.
“Probably not.” He told her the truth. He wasn’t against revenge for people who had the stomach for it, but he knew it was a dangerous indulgence for those who didn’t. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”
She let him help her out of the car and hold on to her through the whole elevator ride. He hadn’t thought either of them had the strength for the stairs, and it didn’t take more than one look at her for Marcella and Marceline to call a temporary truce on the action in the lift.
Inside the room, he turned the radio on low to have something to break the quiet, and he opened the doors onto the balcony to let the moonlight and the sounds of the city night in.
While he set out the food he’d gotten for her before he’d gone to El Caribe, she stayed next to the closed door to the hall, her back literally up against the wall.
“Do you want to eat something?” he asked.
She shook her head, standing in Marcella’s too-high platform heels, looking like she could either collapse or bolt-and he’d be damned if he let her bolt.
“You might feel better.” He opened the room’s small refrigerator again and pulled out a beer.
She let out a short laugh. “You don’t know anything about it.”
“So tell me.” He sat down at the table and popped the top off the beer.
He saw her sigh, and he took a drink-and from across the room, she met his gaze.
“That’s a nice wooden shipping crate you’ve got there on the table.”
Yes, it was, or it would have been if it had still had its contents.
“Thank you.” He wasn’t going to deny anything.
“It wasn’t in the room when I left for El Caribe.”
“No,” he agreed. “At that point, it was still hidden in the cistern at Beranger’s.” He reached inside, took out the top half of the foam core, and showed it to her. The cut-out area for the Sphinx was very clear. “And for all the trouble I went to, I got nothing.”
Suzi tilted her head back against the wall, exposing the slender column of her throat, and he felt the first coiling promise of desire come to life deep inside his body. Inappropriate, yeah, but undeniable. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and he’d been chasing her for six long months, even if it had only been the facts of her life he’d been getting.
Denver-that’s where he’d been heading as soon as he’d finished his business with Erich Warner. He would have been there a long time before now if this deal hadn’t come up.
“As bad as it’s been for me, as bad as it is,” she said, her voice so low he could barely hear her, “I know it’s worse for Nathan, and… sometimes… that’s the only
thing that keeps me going, knowing he’s suffering even more than me and still living, day after day.”
He took another long swallow off his beer. Suzanna Royale Toussi, Suzi Q with her lush body and sophisticated style, with her designer clothes and highbrow art, living in the wasteland. He knew what it was like. He’d seen it. He’d felt it. He’d been there.
But he’d never lost a child, and he knew that place was different from all the others.
Inconsolable.
She started to tremble over on her side of the room. He saw it in her shoulders and in the way she wrapped her arms around herself, like she was trying to hold herself together.
Before the first sob broke free from her lips, he was there, holding her.
“No,” she said, covering her face with her hand. “Don’t touch me.”
She was still backed up against the wall, her body so stiff, and yet shaking-everywhere, all over.
“D-don’t,” she repeated, not looking at him, keeping her hand over her face.
“Suzi,” he said, wanting to help and yet feeling so helpless.
“No.” Another sob broke free, and then another, and she dropped her hand, looking at him, everything awful showing in her stricken gaze.
He moved in closer. This was going bad fast, and there wasn’t any help for it.
Tears started running down her face in dark tracks of smudged makeup, and inch by inch, he felt her crumple and begin to slide down the wall, her knees weakening. He tightened his grip, with predictable results.
She sobbed and slapped him, and he let it happen. He could have stopped her. He’d seen it coming.
Oh, hell yeah. He’d seen it coming from a mile off, the flash of fear and anger and anguish in her eyes, the tension holding her on the edge of an abyss. Hell, for what she needed, he’d have let her hit him twice.
Not that it didn’t hurt. The side of his face stung like hell, but he couldn’t have cared less about getting his face slapped. Not when everything was welling up inside her and getting ready to break her the hard way.
“You… y-you bastard.”
That’s right, baby. That was him, the bastard.
