The Investigator: Norcross Series

by Hackett, Anna

  They split, coming in fast on either side of the truck.

  Suddenly, the two SUVs swerved to a stop in front of the truck, blocking the road.

  The truck screeched to a halt, rocking lightly.

  Rhys pulled up on his side and slid off his bike. He pulled out his Glock. Maybe this would go down easy?

  The passenger door of the truck opened. A big guy slid out, lifting a rifle.

  Or not.

  Rhys fired. The guy spun around and laid down a volley of bullets.

  Running, Rhys ducked around the back of the truck.

  Vander slid in beside him from the other side.

  “I’ve got one guy,” Rhys said. “Armed with an AR-15.”

  “Same with the driver.”

  “We’re closing in.” Rome’s deep, calm voice came through the earpiece. The guy never lost his cool.

  Gunfire sounded from the front of the truck. Rome, Saxon, and Easton had engaged.

  Then Rhys heard a yelp. He peered quickly around the corner of the truck.

  His guy was down on one knee.

  Rhys strode out of cover and broke into a sprint. He pressed his Glock to the back of the man’s head. “Drop it.”

  The man made an angry noise, but tossed his rifle to the ground.

  Saxon and Easton appeared, their weapons aimed at the man.

  Rhys patted the guy down, and pulled a handgun from his waistband, and a knife off his belt.

  Saxon held up some zip ties, and they quickly tied the man up.

  A shout cut through the air, and Rhys turned to look through the open door of the delivery truck.

  On the other side of the vehicle, he saw Vander deliver a hard front kick to the driver. The man staggered and Vander kicked the gun out of the man’s hands. Next, Vander delivered a powerful side kick, followed by a punch to the face, and an elbow to the jaw. The driver went down.

  Rome moved to help Vander secure the man.

  “Ace,” Vander said. “Call Hunt. Tell him we have some friends for him to come and collect.”

  “Oh, Detective Morgan will be thrilled,” Ace drawled.

  “Well, that was easy,” Easton said.

  Those words sent a tingle down Rhys’ spine. A little too easy.

  He strode to the back of the truck and listened. “Can’t hear anyone.”

  As Rome and Saxon dragged the two subdued men toward the SUVs, Vander, Easton and Rhys got ready to open the back of the truck.

  Vander and Easton stood to the side, weapons up.

  Rhys opened the latch and swung the doors open. He whipped his Glock around and looked inside.

  Then he cursed.

  He heard Easton mutter some very nasty words.

  The back of the truck was empty.

  There were no thugs. No painting. Nothing.

  “Someone set us up,” Vander bit out. Fury throbbed off him.

  Rhys felt a sick curl in his gut. He yanked out his phone and called Haven.

  It rang and rang.

  Pick up, Haven.

  Dread solidified as the call cut off. The others were all watching him. He ground his teeth together and called again. Still no answer.

  “Haven’s not answering her phone.”

  “Fuck,” Easton muttered.

  Rhys sucked in a breath. He had no proof, but he was positive Volkov had Haven.

  * * *

  Haven paced across Rhys’ living room, swiveled, and paced back. She’d been at it for a while.

  This was torture.

  The waiting. The wondering what was going on. Were Rhys and the others okay?

  She moved to the windows overlooking the balcony. The sun had risen, washing the bay and the bridge in golden light. She wrapped her arms around herself.

  He’d be okay. He knew what he was doing. All the Norcross men were good.

  She couldn’t lose Rhys. Her throat went tight, her heart squeezing in her chest. Oh God. She was in love with Rhys.

  She pressed her palm to her chest. She’d thought for a while that she would fall in love with Leo. When things between them had been good and fun.

  But it had never really happened. What she felt for Rhys was bigger, bolder, and brighter than the best of anything she’d felt for Leo.

  Rhys had done nothing but care for her. Sure, he could be bossy, and sometimes made her mad, but she realized now that this was real. That was life. Real love was give and take. It wasn’t making yourself less so someone else felt good all the time. It was being there, through the good and bad, no matter what.

  She staggered to the couch and dropped down. She was in love with Rhys.

  Flutters started in her belly and she felt a flicker of panic. No, that was the old Haven.

  He’d told her that he was falling for her. She had to trust him, trust them.

  Now, he just had to come back to her.

  On that thought, she started pacing again. She went over to his fancy sound system and put on some music. Then she turned it off. She needed to do something. She stomped into the kitchen and cleaned the dishes in the sink.

  Then her cell phone rang and she jolted. It was barely six o’clock. It couldn’t be over yet, could it?

  Then she saw Harry’s name on her phone.

  “Hey, Harry. I thought you didn’t get out of bed before seven.”

  “Haven.”

  His serious voice sent chills through her. “What’s wrong?”

  “I was up early. A delivery was screwed up at the gallery yesterday, so I had to schlep out to Dogpatch at the crack of dawn to the delivery company’s warehouse to collect it.”

  “Okay.”

  Harry sucked in a breath. “I saw a truck. They were shifting something. I just got a glimpse. Doll face, I’m sure it was the Water Lilies. I recognized the frame. They loaded it into the truck.”

  That couldn’t be right? The Water Lilies was in a truck leaving Volkov’s mansion on the other side of the city. She froze. Was this all a ruse? A decoy?

  Her mind churned. Had Mr. Irvine lied to them? No. More likely, the guards who’d spoken like he wasn’t there were probably well aware of what they were doing.

  “Harry, where are you?”

  “Hiding in my car, spying out the window.”

  “The truck’s still there?”

  “Yes. For now. It looks like they’re getting ready to leave soon.”

  “Okay, don’t take your eyes off it. I’m calling Rhys and the others.”

  “Where’s your badass?”

  “Busy, but I’ll get a message to him. Hold tight.”

  She hung up and pressed the number that Rhys had left for Ace.

  It rang and rang.

  “Come on.”

  God, had something gone wrong with the mission? There was a beep. There was no message but she knew it was recording.

  “Uh, hi, it’s Haven. My friend Harry called.” She relayed the info that Harry had shared. “Since I can’t reach you, I’ll head there. I’ll trail the truck until Rhys and the others can get there. Bye.”

  Haven raced to the bedroom, yanked off Rhys’ T-shirt and pulled on some leggings, T-shirt, and running shoes. She pulled her hair up in a ponytail. She kept her diamond on, tucking it under her shirt. Then she pulled on a light sports jacket.

  She grabbed Rhys’ car keys and her phone, then headed out the door. She’d have to borrow Rhys’ GTS and hope he didn’t get mad.

  In the elevator, she texted Harry that she couldn’t reach Rhys, but that she was on her way.

  The elevator doors opened. The parking garage was empty and her shoes squeaked on the concrete. She bleeped the locks on Rhys’ Mercedes. God, it was sexy. Low-slung and fast-looking.

  She heard a noise and turned.

  The garage was empty. She scanned the area, her pulse racing. Ugh, parking garages were always creepy when you were alone.

  As she crossed the space, she moved the keys into her left hand, poking each one through her fingers as a makeshift weapon. She still
didn’t see anyone.

  She picked up the pace, half running toward the car.

  The dull thud of footsteps behind her. Before she could turn, beefy arms wrapped around her and lifted her off her feet. No! She swung her body around, and swiped out with her hand. The keys met flesh, and a masculine grunt filled her ears.

  Her attacker dropped her, and she took in the big man with three fresh gouges down his cheek. “Ivan.”

  “Mr. Volkov wants you.”

  “Well, he can’t have me.” She scrambled back. “You can’t just decide you want a person and take them. I’m not a thing.”

  She shook her head. Why did she attract crazy guys? Rhys excluded, of course.

  Oh God. When Rhys learned she’d left the apartment and this had happened…

  She’d have to soften him up and distract him.

  “You’re coming with me,” Ivan rumbled. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Just leave. My boyfriend is going to be pissed.”

  “Zane Roth?”

  “Um, no. He’s actually not my boyfriend.”

  Ivan looked confused, then his face hardened. He advanced on her.

  Haven held up her hands. “Please—”

  She darted left and ran between two cars.

  She heard him chasing after her, and she circled a Chevy SUV and sprinted. She needed to get to the stairs.

  Breaking out from behind a car, she pushed for speed, her chest heaving. Damn, she needed to go to the gym more.

  Unfortunately, Ivan was faster than he looked. He tackled her, and they both smacked into the concrete. Ow. The wind was knocked out of Haven and her bones rattled.

  Before she could catch her breath, Ivan rose and yanked her up.

  Haven fought. She tried to scratch and kick, and she wriggled like crazy.

  Nothing worked. The man was unmovable.

  He maneuvered her toward a plain, silver sedan. He yanked open the back door and shoved her into the back seat. Despite her struggles, he managed to duct tape her wrists together, then her ankles.

  Shit. Damn. Fuck.

  Tears pricked her eyes but she fought them back. She couldn’t afford to lose it.

  Ivan shoved her again, and she fell flat on the seat. She glared at him as he shut the door, then climbed into the driver’s seat. “My boyfriend is going to be pissed as hell. And I’m telling him that you’re an asshole.”

  “He won’t find you. Mr. Volkov has plans for you.”

  Those ominous words sent a wave of nausea through her. That didn’t sound good.

  Rhys would find her…right? “We’ll see.” Haven dredged up all the bravado she could. “Rhys is going to—”

  “Quiet. I don’t want to hear your jabbering.”

  She flopped back against the seat. “I don’t like you, Ivan.”

  That got her a grunt.

  Then he turned, and leaned through the gap between the front seats. “We have a drive ahead of us, and Mr. Volkov wants you out for the ride.”

  Ivan held a syringe in his hand.

  “No!” she cried.

  She tried to fight, but he was too strong. There was a brief, sharp prick in her neck.

  As she blinked her eyes, Ivan pulled back into the driver’s seat. A second later, the car pulled out of the parking garage. Haven bit her lip as her vision blurred. Oh, shit.

  Then, there was nothing but darkness.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Haven groaned.

  Her head was throbbing, her mouth dry. She opened her eyes. She was lying on a leather couch. She blinked a few more times, and the room came into view.

  It was a spacious, light-filled office, with pale, glossy, wooden floors and a large, wooden desk set in front of French doors. Sunlight streamed in. There was lots of wood around the room and everything was decorated in shades of brown and tan. The French doors offered a gorgeous view of… She propped herself up on her elbow. Grapevines. Rows and rows of grapevines.

  Haven sat up, looked around and jolted.

  The Water Lilies was leaning against the far wall.

  Her pulse spiked. It looked fine. There appeared to be no obvious damage to it. Thank God.

  She rubbed her hands. The duct tape was gone, but there was still sticky residue on her wrists. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and she jerked her head around. Aleksandr Volkov came out of an adjoining doorway.

  “Ah, you’re awake,” he said.

  She glared at him, but inside she was quaking.

  “Do you need some water?” he asked. “The drugs can leave your mouth dry, I hear.”

  “I don’t want anything from you. You can’t just kidnap me!”

  He moved to the desk and leaned his hip against it. “I can do anything I want, Haven. I always have, I always will.”

  “You’re going to regret this.”

  “I’m not afraid of Zane Roth.”

  “Zane is a friend of my boyfriend’s. He’s not mine.”

  Volkov cocked his head, a furrow forming on his brow. “It doesn’t matter, you’re mine now.”

  Annoyed, Haven leaned back against the couch. “Seriously, what is it about me that attracts obsessive, creepy men?”

  Volkov’s eyes flashed. “Careful. I don’t allow disobedience or insolence.”

  The tone of his voice sent a tremor of fear through her belly.

  “I can give you so many things, Haven.” He spread his hands. “Dresses, shoes, jewelry, the finest of everything.”

  “You really think I care about that?”

  He tilted his head. “I should’ve known you’d have more class. I have art that you’ll love to see. As soon as the buyer arrives—” he nodded at the Monet “—and I complete the sale of the painting, my good friend Sergei Zakharov will transfer me my share.”

  Scumbag. Her nails bit into her palms.

  “Then we’ll head to my oceanside estate in Mexico. You’ll love it. My art collection is incredible.”

  She tasted bile in her mouth. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Rhys will come for me.”

  Volkov looked unimpressed. “The boyfriend?”

  “Yes, Rhys Norcross.”

  The older man straightened like he’d been stung by something. “Norcross?”

  She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

  He muttered a curse. “Related to Easton and Vander?”

  “Their brother.”

  The look on Volkov’s face turned unhappy and disturbed. Then he shook his head. “No one will find you here, not even the Norcross brothers. After the buyer arrives from Silicon Valley, we’re leaving. We’ll be long gone before any Norcross can track you down.”

  Haven glared at him.

  “I want you to go into the adjoining bathroom. I have an outfit in there that I want you to change into.” He gave her activewear a slight sneer.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “No.”

  Volkov smiled coldly. “If you don’t reconsider, I will undress you myself.”

  Ick. She didn’t want this man’s hands anywhere near her.

  Glaring at him, Haven stomped through the doorway he indicated. Inside was a small, but nicely appointed bathroom with brown-granite countertops shot through with gold.

  Hanging on a hook on the wall was a fire-engine-red dress, and a pair of strappy, silver shoes with four-inch heels. Ordinarily, she’d drool over the shoes, but since Volkov had bought them, she didn’t. The dress wasn’t nice, though. It was far too short, far too clingy, and far too low-cut to be something she’d usually wear.

  Annoyed, she pulled her gear off and slid the dress on. Great, she looked like a high-class escort. She slipped the shoes on and decided to leave her ponytail. She wasn’t pandering to him any more than she had to. She strode out, glaring at him.

  His eyes lit up. “Good. Soon, we’ll be on our way.” He strode out.

  Haven pressed her hands to her face. Shit, she hoped that wasn’t true. Rhys would come.

  She dragged in a sha
ky breath.

  Damn, she really wished she’d told him that she loved him.

  Okay, well she wasn’t going to sit around hoping to be rescued like some lousy damsel in distress. She definitely wasn’t going to let herself be whisked off to a skeevy bad guy’s estate, no matter how much art he had.

  First, she checked the French doors. Locked, and no key in sight. She figured smashing the glass would make too much noise.

  She walked back to the bathroom and searched it. She found a small air freshener spray in the cupboard under the sink. It wasn’t mace, but it would do.

  Back in the office, she glanced at the desk. Maybe there was a phone? A jolt of adrenaline rushed through her and she hurried to the desk. She checked everything. One drawer was locked, one had nothing but a notepad and pen, and the others were empty. Nothing else, not even a stapler.

  She huffed out a breath. Dammit.

  She moved over to the main door, expecting it to be locked. The handle turned, and she swallowed a gasp.

  Haven peeked into the hall.

  There were no beefy guards waiting. She guessed they were around somewhere, or Volkov wouldn’t have left the door unlocked.

  Quietly, she slipped into the hall. The house was gorgeous, and much nicer than Volkov’s San Francisco mansion. The wooden floors were beautiful, and the place had a relaxed, rustic edge to it.

  She walked on her toes so she didn’t make any noise with the heels, and reached the end of the hall. She saw a large, open plan living area. Nice, comfy suede couches dominated the space. There was a monstrous flatscreen TV on the wall next to a large, stone-lined fireplace.

  There were lots more French doors, all opening onto a large, flagstone terrace. Beyond that, she saw a pool and gazebo, and beyond that vines as far as she could see.

  Okay. Get to the vines, hide, and run. Maybe she could find a road and flag down a car or something.

  Haven darted across the living room. The first French door was locked, but on the second one, she got lucky.

  She pulled it open, grinning as she slipped outside. She pulled in a deep breath of fresh air.

  She loved Napa. Maybe after all this was over, she’d convinced Rhys to come away with her for a long weekend.

  Sex, wine, and Rhys. Mmm.

  She darted along the terrace, her heels clicking. First, she needed to get out of here.