“What are they after?” Jared asked.
“Some bullshit statue. A Mother’s Souls? Lost Souls?”
“Mother of Lost Souls?” Ari looked to Jared. She thought she’d done a thorough job checking things out at Annandale, but she didn’t recall seeing that piece. Something flashed in Jared’s eyes, but then he looked away and shrugged.
“That’s the one,” Trick said.
“That’s a Scandinavian piece,” Ari said. She didn’t dare tell Trick that she hadn’t seen it at Annandale—she’d deal with that later, when she could get Jared alone again. “What do the Russians want with it?”
“No fuckin’ idea.” Trick shook his head, finally taking a bite of his half-eaten pie. He washed it down with the last of his coffee, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “But they want it bad enough to ice Davidson for it, and that motherfucker knows it.”
“The Russians,” Ari whispered, her heart leaping into her throat as the pieces clicked into place. “You get any of their names?”
“Davidson called one of them… what was it? Shirokov. They mentioned another guy, too, but it didn’t look like he was there. Berezin, I think. Davidson looked freaked when that name came up.”
Ari closed her eyes and willed the contents of her stomach to stay put.
Berezin.
Yeah. She was afraid of that.
She rose from the table for the last time and looked at Jared. “We need to go. Now.”
Chapter Six
Jared had barely had enough time to toss a few bills onto the table and give Trick a final menacing warning before Arianne was dragging him out the door.
“Berezin is the boss,” Arianne said the moment they stepped outside. She was walking so quickly, Jared had to jog to keep up. “There’s no one more high-ranking in the organization. Not here in the States. He reports directly to Moscow.”
“Arianne.” Jared stepped in front of her on the corner, putting his hands on her shoulders to stop her. “Slow down. What organization?”
“The Bratva,” she said. “Russian mob, Jared. This is serious shit.”
“It’s always been serious shit, love.”
“Not like this.” She looked up at him through those long, feathery lashes, her eyes wild. “My father was… he did some work for them. A lot of work, actually. But he never let me go with him to those meetings. Not even after I’d become part of the crew.” A darkness crept into Arianne’s features, and beneath Jared’s touch, she shivered. “These guys were heavy hitters, big-money clients. I’d beg him to bring me along, make the introductions, show me the ropes. But he never did. He was the only one from the crew that dealt with them face-to-face—those were his terms. And all he ever said about it was, ‘Ari, you do not want to meet men like this. Not under any circumstances. Understand?’ And then he’d be off, gone for hours, sometimes days at a time. I wasn’t allowed to call him, follow him, ask about the details, nothing. I’d just have to stay home and wait it out, hope he came back in once piece.”
“Jesus,” Jared said. Again it hit him, the loneliness she must’ve felt growing up. The fear. The uncertainty. It was no kind of life, and he marveled that she’d come out of it so strong, so whole. Despite everything, underneath it all, she was still Arianne, passionate and full of life. Beautiful.
She was shaking now, no doubt thinking about Natasha, and what this latest development meant. Jared pulled her into a hug, wrapping her in his arms, inhaling her lilac scent.
The Russian mafia.
Everywhere Jared turned, some new threat was after the woman he loved, each one more vicious and dangerous than the last. They still hadn’t even figured out what to do about Davidson, or Natasha, and now they had an international crime syndicate to deal with.
“What if they’re the ones who killed my father?” Ari’s voice cracked. “What if they want Tasha?”
“They’re not after you or your sister, love,” he said, clinging to that single shred of hope. “You’ve got nothing to do with this. They’re after Davidson.”
After a moment, she pulled herself together, and slipped out of his embrace. She took a deep breath, looking up at him with a determined gaze. Jared knew what was coming next.
“Mother of Lost Souls,” she said, and Jared nodded reluctantly. Arianne gripped his hands. “Tell me everything.”
Jared turned and stepped off the curb, raising his hand to hail a cab. “Come on,” he said. “It’s better if I show you.”
Chapter Seven
“Welcome to HQ,” Jared said, escorting Arianne through the massive glass-and-steel doors of FierceConnect’s offices. It wasn’t how he’d imagined bringing her here for the first time—that particular fantasy involved slipping in after hours, stripping her bare in the conference room, and having his way with her on the expansive mahogany table—but duty called. “Looks a bit different in the daylight, doesn’t it?”
Arianne managed a thin smile. “Yeah, especially when I’m not looking at it from behind those bushes, waiting for you and Evan to sneak out with a suitcase full of money.”
Jared laughed. “Touché.”
Just inside the door, a pair of armed guards sat at a large desk, signing in visitors. Jared nodded at them briefly, continuing on through the steel turnstiles with Arianne close behind. A quick ride up in the executive elevator, and they were on the 40th floor, Jared whisking Arianne past Paulina’s desk and into his private office without a word.
He shut the door behind them and let out a breath. “A few more months with you, love, and I’ll be ready for the MI6.”
“You and me both,” she said. “So this is where you work when you’re not playing hooky with me? Not a bad place to spend the day.”
Jared nodded. He wished there was time for a proper tour and introductions, but they were here for one reason only: the Mother of Lost Souls.
“Have a seat, love. There’s something you need to see.” Jared rummaged through his top desk drawer for the keys to the glass front bookcase that ran along the back wall. He’d just located them when Evan barged in.
“Still haven’t learned any manners, I see,” Jared said.
“I told Paulina to buzz me the second she saw you.” Evan’s eyes darted from Jared to Arianne, who sat in the chair in front of Jared’s desk, her knee bouncing, her patience fading.
“Come in if you’re going to come in,” Jared snapped. “And close the damn door.”
“Miss Holbrook,” Evan said, and Jared could’ve sworn there was genuine concern in his friend’s voice. “Are you alright? I was so sorry to hear about your sister, and everything that transpired last night.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m… hanging in there. Have you heard anything else from Kyle Errington?”
“No.” Evan finally shut the door and joined them at the desk, pulling up a chair next to Arianne. “Everything went smoothly with him last night. I don’t think he suspects. We’ve got another call scheduled next week.”
“Cancel it,” Jared said. “Your involvement in this is hereby non-existent.”
Arianne nodded. “There have been a few… complications. Things are a bit more dangerous than we anticipated.”
Evan scowled. “And?”
“Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot,” she said, and Evan immediately raised his hands, as if he could stop the force of Arianne Holbrook on a mission. Jared almost laughed. As expected, Arianne plowed on. “No, I don’t blame you. I was a mess when I met Jared. Still am, obviously. But I want you to know that you were right—that night in Madison Square Park? I… I care for him a great deal. I don’t want him—I don’t want either of you—to get hurt. Whatever you think of me, however much you want to protect Jared, you need to steer clear of this, Evan. Please.”
Jared lowered himself into his chair, looking back and forth between the two—his best mate and the woman he loved. Arianne was a force, but Evan wasn’t a pushover, either. Jared knew he wouldn’t let this go. He’d made that clear
from the start.
“What happened?” Evan asked. “What’s this new danger that you two don’t think I can handle?”
Jared and Arianne remained silent.
Evan rolled his eyes. “No secrets among friends, now. Let’s have it.”
“Oh, just a bit of mob violence,” Jared said. “The usual.”
“Go on,” Evan said.
Jared picked up the stress ball from his desk, mutilating it in his fist. He gave Evan the highlights version of what had transpired in the diner, along with what they’d learned about Natasha’s whereabouts and everything they’d pieced together from Errington’s files. He carefully skirted the issue of the video—he wasn’t ready to tell Arianne about that yet. They had more pressing matters to attend, anyway.
“Bloody hell,” Evan finally said. But despite the danger, he was undeterred. “What’s our next move? Can we get the girl out without risking her life?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Arianne said. Her voice had lost some of its luster, her fears creeping in again. “At this point we’re stuck in a holding pattern, waiting to see if my contact gets through to the others on the crew. As much as I hate waiting, getting my sister out will be a lot easier if we’ve got a few inside guys on our side.”
Jared nodded, relieved that she’d finally come to her senses on that point.
If Evan was surprised by Arianne’s candor, he hid it well. Jared wondered what he was thinking—whether he still considered Arianne a criminal, a woman who’d wreck Jared’s life, just like his ex had.
Not that it mattered; Jared had stopped thinking of Arianne as one of the bad guys long ago. Though he’d probably always have a soft spot for clever, beautiful women, he wasn’t so blindly trusting anymore. Unlike in his last relationship, he’d never denied or dismissed the red flags he’d gotten from Arianne; even when he couldn’t figure them out, he didn’t try to convince himself they weren’t there. But now that he’d gotten to know her, to really see her, he understood why she’d chosen the life she’d chosen. Call it love, call it compassion, but it wasn’t blind trust. He’d willingly opened himself up to her, and now that he’d let her in, nothing would make him cast her out again.
Even the well-meaning warnings of his best mate.
But now, Evan seemed to be warming to Arianne, too. The idea made Jared happy, despite their dire circumstances.
“So what about these Russians?” Evan asked. “Are they a threat to our team, or just to this Davidson prat?”
“As far as we know,” Arianne said, “we’re not on their radar. Davidson promised them a piece of art from the Annandale heist, but I didn’t see it at Annandale, and—”
“That’s because it isn’t there.” Jared chucked the stress ball and rose from his chair, turning toward the cabinet behind him. He jammed the keys into the lock, opened the glass door, and retrieved the sculpture that had begun his fascination with art more than a decade earlier.
It was a pregnant woman with four pendulous breasts, nude but for an ornate necklace of tiny skulls around her neck. Her facial features were exaggerated, and the look she wore was so fierce and frightening, Jared couldn’t stare at it for too long without getting seriously creeped out.
It had been a gift from his grandfather, and at the time, he hadn’t thought to ask about its origins.
The statue was nearly two feet tall, and heavy, too. Jared set it on the desk and sighed. “Here’s our girl. Have a look.”
But Arianne wasn’t waiting for permission. She was completely focused on the piece, studying it with an unbroken intensity that would’ve scared him if they weren’t on the same side.
Jared couldn’t help but smile. He loved watching her work, her left brow curved gently over her eye, bottom lip caught between her teeth. She was like an archeologist, her fingers exploring every curve and contour for clues about its origins.
The Mother of Lost Souls wasn’t a pretty piece, but something about it had always fascinated Jared. It was aggressive, unsettling. He’d always felt like it was watching him. It was one of the reasons he preferred to keep it in his office, out of his direct line of sight.
He couldn’t imagine what the head of a Russian crime syndicate wanted with such a strange piece, but he knew whatever the reason, Arianne would figure it out.
She was bloody brilliant.
“What does the Russian mafia want with that ugly bitch?” Evan asked.
“Don’t know,” Jared said. “Obviously she’s worth more than I imagined.”
Evan scoffed. “Not more than my Egyptian war goddess.”
“You two still getting on, then?”
“Sekhmet is quite happy in my living room,” Evan said, his attention still on the statue. Arianne turned it on its side, concentrating on the base, then set it back on the desk with a heavy sigh. She turned to look out the window, deep in thought.
“What do you think?” Evan asked. “Fifty thousand? Sixty? It can’t be worth more than sixty.”
“Depends,” Jared said. “There are some in this city who believe it’s worth a man’s life.” He leaned across the desk and picked up the statue, his fist wrapped around its pregnant middle. It was cold and smooth, and it felt much heavier than he’d even remembered. “I personally don’t believe the man in question to be worth more than a few dollars and a pack of cigarettes—and that’s being generous—but he might see it differently.”
“Count on it,” Arianne said firmly. She turned back from the window, but the look on her face was anything but triumphant. “Hate to break it to you, Jared, but this piece is a forgery.”
It took Jared a moment to realize she wasn’t kidding. “You’re serious.”
“Look.” She grabbed a pen from the desk, using it to direct his attention. “See these lines? They’re seams from a cast. The forgers likely made a mold from the original piece, then filled it with plaster. And these tiny grooves here? They’re from a plaster knife, probably used to scrape off the excess and try to smooth out the lines. Whoever did this was sloppy, though. They weighted it with something inside, then applied a glaze to make it look like a more expensive material, but it’s just plaster. Where did you purchase this?”
“I didn’t.” Jared picked it up and looked at it, squinting as if that might help him decipher the evidence as easily as Arianne had. For years, the Mother of Lost Souls had sat behind him in that glass cabinet. “It was given to me by my grandfather more than a decade ago. It was my first piece.”
“Well, granddad was duped,” she said.
“Christ.” Jared set it down harder than he’d meant to, and it wobbled. He reacted too quickly, jerking forward to steady it, managing only to knock it off the desk.
The Mother of Lost Souls hit the floor, shattering near Evan’s feet.
No one moved.
Jared closed his eyes, his stomach bottoming out.
“Forgery or not,” he finally said, “it was our bargaining chip. The one thing they were after, the one thing that could’ve made Davidson—”
“They weren’t after the statue, you git,” Evan said suddenly. He crouched down and retrieved something from beneath the pile of rubble. The object was wrapped in an old rag, dusty with plaster.
“Was that… inside the statue?” Arianne asked. Evan nodded, and in an instant, all the color drained from Arianne’s face.
She took the bundle from him, her hands shaking as she unwrapped it in her lap. Jared couldn’t see what it was, but her eyes were pinned to the object in question, her head shaking slowly as if she couldn’t believe it.
“What is it, love?” Jared asked.
When she finally met Jared’s eyes, her own were glazed with tears, her lips pale, her brow creased with worry. Through a nervous giggle that bubbled up out of nowhere, she said, “I believe this is the part where you Brits say, ‘things have officially gone pear-shaped, mates.’”
Chapter Eight
“Make mine a double.” Arianne kicked off her shoes and
headed into Jared’s living room while he went to make drinks.
They’d left Evan at FierceConnect and walked home in silence, and she’d yet to say anything about the mysterious object they’d discovered inside the fake Mother of Souls. It was some sort of old dagger, probably Russian in origin—and that’s all Jared knew.
When he returned from the kitchen with their drinks, Arianne was perched on the couch, elbows propped on her knees, staring at the dagger on the coffee table. Still partially wrapped in the rag, its presence put Jared on edge. He handed Arianne her drink, then took a long pull of his own before finally sitting down next to her.
With one hand tracing circles on her back, Jared said, “Here’s the plan, then. We let them break into Annandale on Saturday, but I’ll be waiting inside, ready to make the offer.”
Arianne was incredulous. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Davidson needs us now—his life depends on it. There’s no way he won’t make the trade.”
“For what?”
“We get Natasha back, unharmed, along with a guarantee of your perpetual freedom from Davidson. And he get’s this… whatever this dagger is.”
Arianne sipped her drink, holding his gaze over the rim of her glass, staring at him for so long he worried she might be suffering from a delayed concussion.
Finally, she set down the glass, letting out a shaky breath.
“Whatever this dagger is,” she repeated in a whisper. She rubbed her forehead, then gestured toward the knife. “Jared. It might not look like much to you, but this blade allegedly killed some of the highest ranking generals in Napoleon’s Grande Armée during the Battle of Borodino. Not to mention scores of secret police, government officials, thieves… It’s more than three hundred years old.”
Bared to the Billionaire: The Complete Series Page 42
