“Sounds good.”
When Tarrant hung up, Nic slid his phone back into his pocket. He glanced toward the store and thought about going back in to warn Mario about contacting any other buyers. Then he shrugged. It wouldn’t really matter anyway. Nic was here in Las Vegas. He had the name of the seller and would be contacting her in about an hour. No other buyer could move that fast.
Still, he couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding that filled him as he drove away.
…
Jeremiah Dent closed his account book and pushed it aside. Unlike many of his counterparts, he kept his records the old-fashioned way, using paper and pen. There were too many people with the ability to hack into computers for him to feel safe having his personal business there.
He pushed away from his desk and walked over to the open door of his safe and went inside. He loved the smell of old books. Many in here were one of a kind, filled with information that could give a man power if he knew how to use it.
He set his record book in its place and left the safe, making sure it was locked behind him. He touched a hidden button on the wall and a panel slid over the door, hiding it from sight.
Like his safe, he kept his true self hidden. To the world he was a sixty-year-old man with graying hair, who favored oversize cardigans and spent his time lost in the world of antiquarian books. Even his friends thought him little more than an absent-minded bookish sort, more content to watch from afar than dirty his hands in the sometimes dangerous business of the Knights of the Dragon.
It served his purpose for them to think that. It kept him relatively safe from the infighting and power plays within the ranks of the Knights.
He wandered back to his desk and sat in his chair, enjoying a rare moment of quiet contemplation.
It might be time to start expanding his plans. He wasn’t getting any younger. What he needed was a dragon of his own. Their blood could cure disease and prolong life, but it lost potency soon after being removed from the source and couldn’t be replicated in a lab, at least, not yet. A few dragons were being held captive by members of the society, but their whereabouts were strictly guarded.
The Knights didn’t like to share, not even with one another. They’d do it if pressured by the group as a whole, but having possession of a dragon gave them great power.
His phone rang, and he sighed. So much for his peace and quiet. He picked it up and checked before answering. “Yes.”
“There’s been a development,” Mario Gonzales began.
The conversation was short and to the point. That two-timing seller had contacted another buyer. Jeremiah barely restrained himself from slamming down the phone when he was done. It had cost him extra, but he now had the name of the seller. He’d handle negotiations himself.
As a rare-book dealer, he’d amassed quite a collection over the course of his lifetime and had an entire section devoted to the Knights of the Dragon. He remembered reading a journal from the early 1800s that made mention of a set of statues, and there wasn’t just one, but four. And they were used to catch dragons.
He punched a number only he knew into his phone. Like most members of the Knights’ inner circle, he had cultivated a team of mercenaries who answered only to him. Unlike his counterparts, he kept that information to himself.
“Sir.” the voice on the other end was brisk.
“You’re close to Las Vegas?”
“We’re there. We moved as soon as you contacted us.”
“Excellent.” Jeremiah was glad he’d followed his hunch and moved some of his men into the area when he’d originally heard from Mario. He’d considered his options and thought he had a plan, but this latest conversation with his contact had changed his mind. After all the trouble he was being put through, he was no longer willing to pay for the statue. He didn’t worry about Mario Gonzales. Old men died every day.
But he needed to know if the seller had any of the other statues. “I want to know everything about a Constance Owens.” He rattled off the contact information he’d been given.
“On it.” There was clicking in the background that told him his man was already working on the situation. Unlike his counterparts, Jeremiah employed men like himself. They weren’t flashy. They were methodical and content to remain in the background, but they got the job done.
“Sir, she has a younger sister, Abigail.”
That was interesting. “Take the sister.”
“Sir?”
“Take the sister and leave a burner phone at the house. Leave a man to watch and let me know as soon as Constance returns home. She has something I want, but she may also lead me to a much bigger prize.”
“We’re on it. I’ll contact you as soon as we have the sister secured.”
“I don’t have to tell you not to be seen.”
“No, sir.”
“Excellent.” He ended the call and sat back in his desk chair. If he could get his hands on all four statues, he might be able to use them at some point down the road to capture his very own dragon. If nothing else, they were a valuable bargaining chip to have stashed away. It never hurt to have such an item in his possession.
Less than an hour later, his phone rang again. “Yes.”
“It’s done.”
Jeremiah took down the information he needed and ended the call. “Let the games begin.”
…
Constance was having an excellent day, in spite of being nervous over carrying around that darn statue in her bag. She’d unloaded both the small table and iron headboard at a tidy profit, and she’d mailed the items she’d sold online.
She pulled the van into the driveway and patted the door when she stepped out. Her vehicle was still purring like a kitten, in spite of its age. “Life is good,” she whispered.
She hitched her bag over her shoulder and headed to the house. She’d relax once the statue was back in the safe with its buddies. She hoped Mario’s local buyer had contacted him. She wanted to find a buyer sooner rather than later.
“It will be worth the finder’s fee.” The old goat would milk the deal for all it was worth, but her grandpa hadn’t raised any fools. Mario would only get a broker fee on the dragon she’d showed him and not on the other three. If the buyer wanted those as well, hey, it had nothing to do with Mario.
She knew he’d bluster about that while at the same time he’d be proud of her. They had an odd relationship, but it worked for them.
“I’m home,” she called out. Abigail wasn’t in the living room, nor did she answer. Neither was surprising. Her sister was most likely in their shared workspace, and when Abigail got focused on a new project, the world could explode around her and she wouldn’t notice.
“Hey.” Constance set her bag down on the kitchen table and dug the statue out. She grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator before heading down the short hallway. “I sold both furniture pieces.” This last trip was shaping up to be a profitable one.
The workroom was empty. Abigail’s sewing machine was set up with a piece of fabric halfway hemmed. It looked as though her sister had stopped suddenly and simply walked away from the project.
She set the statue on the table. “Abigail? Where are you?” Constance hurried to her sister’s room and opened the door, half expecting to find her lying on her bed talking on her phone to one of her friends.
It was empty.
She checked the bathroom next. Had her sister taken ill?
The bathroom was empty.
Constance’s stomach was in knots. Where was her sister? If anything had happened, she’d go next door to Mrs. Karsh. Maybe it was Mrs. Karsh who’d had the emergency.
She released a breath and nodded. That made sense.
She was on her way back to the front door when a phone rang. That made her stop and frown. Her phone was in her purse, and Abigail’s phone was practically glued to her hand.
Constance hurried back into the workroom. There, sitting on the table in the center of the space, not far from w
here she’d set the statue, was a phone in a plain black case. She didn’t recognize it.
It rang again, and she lunged for it. “Yes. Who is this?”
“You have something I want, and I have something you want.”
Her knees went weak, and she slid down onto the floor. “You have my sister?” Why would anyone take Abigail?
“There’s no reason for her to get hurt, not as long as you do as I ask.” The voice was calm and controlled and slightly cultured.
“This is about the statue, isn’t it?” There wasn’t anything else it could be about. The only thing out of the ordinary was those statues.
The man on the end of the line chuckled. That turned her fear into anger, and she surged back to her feet. “If you harm one hair on my sister’s head, I’ll destroy it.”
“Don’t threaten me.” The voice was deadly serious. “Or your sister will pay the price.”
Anger vibrated in her chest. “All you had to do was make an offer. I would have sold you the damn thing, no questions asked.”
“I’d planned to do just that, but your friend Mario told me there is another interested party.”
She was going to kill that old man if something happened to Abigail because of his greed. “I had no idea he would do that. All I wanted was a quick sale. That can still happen.”
“I believe it can. I’ll be in contact soon about where to bring the statue.” He paused. “I’d heard there was more than one.” She could tell from his tone he probably knew there were more but didn’t know if she had them and was fishing for information.
Her gut clenched, and her instincts screamed that she keep the truth from him or at least some of it. She didn’t trust him and knew she’d need an ace in the hole going forward.
“There was one more.” She somehow knew he’d never buy that there was only one. She went with her instincts and prayed she didn’t get her sister killed.
“Excellent. Which one?”
The man on the other end of this phone knew exactly what these statues were. If he was willing to kidnap a woman for them, they were even more dangerous than she’s imagined.
“Crystal with emerald eyes.”
“I want that one as well. And Ms. Owens, tell no one about this, or your sister will pay the price.”
The call ended before she could demand to speak with Abigail. She stared at the phone. What the hell was happening? How had her very ordinary life become something out of a thriller novel within a matter of hours? Who the hell was the man behind the call? And how was she going to get her sister back?
First things first. She grabbed the statue and went to the large safe in the closet. She had to keep the damn thing secure when all she wanted to do was smash it into a hundred pieces.
“If something seems too good to be true, it probably is,” she muttered. Her grandpa had said that over and over again. It was the mantra he’d lived by. Too bad she had to prove him right.
Her hands were shaking as she attempted to unlock the safe. It was much harder than it should be. By the time she’d opened the damn thing, she could barely see through her tears.
Someone had her sister.
She glared at all four dragons. This was their fault. No, it was hers for buying the damn things in the first place. For the first time in her life, she cursed her talent for finding treasure where others saw only junk. If she hadn’t followed her instincts to the basement, she never would have come across the statues or the necklace.
She locked the safe again and went back to the table and stared down at the phone. Staring at it wouldn’t make it ring. Constance swiped at the tears on her cheeks. Crying wouldn’t solve anything.
She needed information. And she knew just where to get it.
Chapter Four
“Who the hell did you contact about the statue?” Constance demanded. She had the phone the kidnapper had left for her in one hand and her phone in the other.
“What are you talking about, girl?” Mario demanded.
“Someone contacted me.”
“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” She heard him shuffling in the background.
“No, no, it’s not. Do you know why, Mario?” She took a deep breath, conscious of the fact her voice was getting louder and louder. “One of the buyers you contacted—and, yes, I know you contacted at least two people—wasn’t happy about that fact. They took Abigail.”
“Took her?” She heard the disbelief in his voice. “What do you mean took her?”
“As in kidnapped her. Apparently, the buyer wants to make sure he gets the statue.”
“Shit, it has to be Wilde. The other buyer is in New York.”
Okay, this was good. She needed all the information she could get. “Who exactly is this Wilde?”
“Ah, Nicodemus Wilde. He collects a bit of everything. Thing is, I can’t see him kidnapping Abigail.”
“But he’s the only one local.” It had to be this Wilde guy. “Where can I find him?”
“I don’t know for certain. I have a phone number and email address.”
“Give them to me.”
“Hang on.” She heard movement and knew Mario was heading out back to his office. She grabbed a pen and piece of paper and waited. “Okay, here it is.” She copied down the information. It wasn’t much, but it was a starting point.
“We’ll get her back.”
“We? No, I’ll get her back. You stay out of it.” The last thing she needed was Mario getting hurt. She might be angry with him, but he was still her friend, more family really. “You need to step away from this.” There was one thing he could do for her. “Is there anything you can tell me about the statue?”
“Haven’t had time to research it yet. I just knew I had two potential buyers.” He heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry, Constance. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt either of you.”
“I know.” And she did know that. He’d try to weasel as much money out of a deal as possible, but he’d never knowingly harm a hair on their heads.
“I’ll see what I can find out and get back to you.”
“Okay, but don’t take any unnecessary risks, and for God’s sake, don’t talk to anyone else about the damn statue.”
“On my honor,” he promised.
A loud knock came on the front door. “I’ve got to go. There’s someone here.”
“Do you think it’s the kidnapper?” Mario asked.
“Of course not. He wouldn’t knock on the front door. Work on the statue problem.” She ended the call and tossed both phones on the coffee table. It was probably only Mrs. Karsh from next door.
She did not want to deal with her well-meaning but nosy neighbor right now. She went to the front door and pulled it open without even looking through the narrow window that ran alongside.
It wasn’t Mrs. Karsh. It was a man. A very tall, very large, ruggedly handsome man was standing on her front stoop. She looked behind him to the classic American muscle car parked in the driveway and then back at the man. “Can I help you?” She had no idea who he was, but she had to get rid of him.
He nodded. “I’m Nicodemus Wilde.”
This was Wilde, the man who’d most likely kidnapped her sister. “You bastard,” she yelled. Then she launched herself at him.
…
Nic barely had time to blink before the woman was on him. She beat her fists against his shoulders and chest. It didn’t hurt him, but it had to be hurting her hands. He caught her around the waist, lifted her off her feet, and carried her inside. The last thing he needed was the neighbors wondering what the ruckus was all about.
Tarrant had called him fifteen minutes ago and given him a rundown on what he’d been able to discover about the statue, and it hadn’t been good. There had originally been four of them, and they’d been commissioned by a prominent member of the Knights of the Dragon almost three hundred years ago. And they were thought to have mystical powers, ones that could effectively trap a drakon without walls or chains.
His brother
’s final words to him had been, “Get that damn statue.” He’d also been ordered to see if Constance Owens had any of the others. It was conceivable the set had been split up years ago. But the seller might be holding back.
Never had he expected to be met at the door by a whirling dervish trying to punch his lights out. He kicked the door shut behind him but didn’t let go of the woman. This had to be Constance. The other sister was barely out of her teens. Still, best to be sure.
“Constance.” He gripped her shoulders and forced her to take a step back. He controlled his strength so he didn’t hurt her, but it wasn’t easy with her swinging at his face and chest. “Constance.” He said her name a little louder.
“What have you done with my sister, you son of a bitch?”
He took a good look at her now that she’d stopped trying to hit him. She stood about five and a half feet tall and was slender in build. She had shoulder-length, straight blond hair, but the last few inches of it had been dyed a vibrant cherry red. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, and her blue eyes snapped with anger. She was a fighter and had quite a mouth on her. He liked that.
“Nothing. I don’t even know your sister.”
She seemed to deflate right in front of his eyes. “You don’t? But you have to. You’re the only buyer who’s local.”
Nic slowly released his hold on her and held out his hand once again. “I’m Nicodemus Wilde, but you can call me Nic.”
She ignored his hand and raked her shaky fingers through her hair. The red tips feathered around her shoulders. She took a deep breath and slowly released it. This was a woman on the edge, but she was doing her best to pull herself together. “Constance Owens.”
Now that she wasn’t yelling at him, the smooth sound of her voice slid over his body and into his soul. His dragon stretched inside him, wanting to get closer. He ruthlessly pulled the creature back under his control. The last thing he needed to do was shift in the middle of the woman’s living room.
She was standing just inside the door trembling, so he took her by the hand and led her into the living room. It was a comfortable room with a sofa and chair set that looked like it came straight from the fifties. Several paintings by artists he recognized graced the walls, and there was a shelf in the corner with pictures and knickknacks. It was homey and lived in without being cluttered.
Drakon's Past Page 3
