by Diana Duncan
“Etienne?” Cold apprehension slammed her. “What’s wrong?”
Aghast, he turned to Kate. Tried to speak. Failed. Tried again. “Les photos sont manquants,” he croaked.
Electric shock crackled over her. “What?”
“Volé!” Etienne whispered.
Kate rushed forward. Her horrified gaze flew inside. She gasped. The room was in chaos, furniture overturned, drapes torn. Except for dangling wires, the walls were bare.
Her photographs were gone!
They’d been stolen!
Chapter 8
7:00 p.m.
Liam said something behind her, but Kate couldn’t hear over the static in her ears. A familiar sinister envelope was taped to the inside of the door. She tore it open with shaking hands.
Liam’s hand cupped the back of her neck as he read the note aloud over her shoulder.
“I have the photographs. Obey me, and you may win back your prize. Refuse me, and they burn.”
She couldn’t catch her breath as the notepaper blackened, then crumbled to ashes. Though the ibuprofen had dulled her headache, pain roared back, nearly bowling her over.
Liam’s fingers kneaded her bowstring-taut muscles, offering solace. “Do you need to sit down?”
“No.” If she did, her wobbly knees might not support her to stand back up.
“C’est pas vrai!” Etienne raved. “I was merely absent for un petite moment to first-aid my face and change my bloody shirt! “Je n’y crois pas! Que se passe-t-il?” He stormed back and forth in front of the open doors, shrieking a stream of French she didn’t dare translate.
Liam made a circular hand motion. “Murphy, search.” The dog trotted into the room and began to sniff. Liam snatched his phone from his pocket. “Grady,” he said into the receiver. “It’s a 10-18. Get the clan to the Venetian—yesterday. The Allete auction. And alert the locals to process a crime scene. Grand theft.”
Her vision blurred from a combo of suppressed tears and shock and she staggered.
“Sit.” Liam eased her onto a love seat, then sat beside her. His strong arm encircled her shoulders. “We’ll get your photos back.”
“How? We don’t even know who this lunatic is.”
“Teamwork.” He gave her a reassuring hug. “The O’Rourkes are on your side.” He reached for his phone again and spoke to the head of security. Then he sent the hysterical Etienne to fetch coffee. Coffee sounded good. A hearty snifter of cognac even better. Liam gave her another squeeze. “Everything will be okay.”
Squaring her shoulders, she accessed her cell. “Damn straight. The creep only thinks he’s won. I have copies on cloud storage and a hard drive.” She entered her password. “Crap, the site says it’s down right now. I’ll call Annette and have her email me pics from the hard drive.” Puzzled, she listened to the phone on the other end ring and ring ... and ring. Annette, who lived in the apartment over Kate’s studio, always had her phone on, and unless the woman was talking to someone else and tying up the line, it should bump Kate to voicemail. It was 4:00 a.m. in Paris. Like Vegas, Paris was a twenty-four-hour city, but who would Annette be chatting with at the crack of dawn? Temporarily stymied, Kate hung up.
Liam hung up his own phone. “How’d it go?”
“I can’t reach Annette. And it didn’t go to voicemail, so I couldn’t leave a message.”
“It’s all right to get upset. Perfectly natural under the circumstances.” He rubbed her arms ... and she realized she was shivering uncontrollably. “Let it out. I’m the only one here to see.”
“Falling apart won’t solve anything.”
“Constantly strangling your emotions is a formula for disaster, sweetheart. Not good for your mental or physical health. Everybody has to vent pressure.”
“I’m fine.” Not counting brain-squeezing migraines.
“Now who’s spouting blarney? You’re nuclear fallout waiting to happen.” He gently smoothed her hair. “Cry, scream, stomp, break stuff. You’ll feel better.”
“Not my style.” She gave him a forlorn smile. “I leave hissy fits to the pros.”
“If you continue to keep up the brave front, your migraines will have migraines.”
A silver-haired man wearing a black designer suit hurried into the foyer and introduced himself as Mr. Baron, head of hotel security.
Liam surged to his feet. He displayed his badge before drawing the man into a private confab. Speaking rapidly, Liam pointed above the open doors as Murphy ambled out of the trashed display area and sat on his left.
Elegant face grave with concern, Mr. Baron nodded repeatedly. When their conversation was over, he hurried out.
Liam ordered the dog to guard the doors and returned to her side. “Baron’s gonna check the surveillance tapes.”
She glanced up at the ceiling. After several months in Vegas, one tended to forget that “eyes in the sky” watched and recorded everything inside the casinos.
Etienne bustled in, pushing a wheeled cart laden with a large coffeepot, mugs, and a platter of hearty sandwiches. No surprise, Liam had pegged him at first glance. Her admin was calmer after being assigned a purpose. “I fetched sustenance, as ordered.”
“Thanks.” Liam poured a mug of steaming coffee and added two sugars and a generous splash of cream. He placed a ham sandwich on a plate, then handed the plate and mug to Kate. “Eat something.”
She sipped greedily at the brew, relishing the hot caffeine rush. “How on earth do you know exactly how I take my coffee?”
His roguish grin gleamed. “Anybody who drinks frappuccinos likes it rich, smooth, and sweet.”
Exactly like his kisses. If you added hot ... with a powerful kick. Against her will, her attention lingered on his delectable mouth.
He caught her looking and smiled.
Kate grimaced. She was coming unhinged ... in the midst of a crisis. She concentrated on her sandwich. Before long, three men and two women hurried into the foyer. She recognized the hunkalicious male trio from that fateful night in the pub. Liam alone was breathtaking. En masse, the sexy SWAT brothers delivered enough man candy to throw a woman into diabetic shock.
Mother Nature’s pheromone arsenal.
“Sainte Marie!” Etienne breathed. He slapped both hands over his heart. She hoped he didn’t faint.
Liam drew Kate to her feet and tucked her against him. “Kate Chabeau, meet Aidan, Con, and Grady.” Liam’s brothers were luscious and lethal, and armed to their perfect, white smiles.
She murmured hellos, glad they were on her side. Liam then introduced her to Bailey, Con’s wife, the enviable owner of long, strawberry blonde hair and a creamy complexion that perfectly complemented compassionate sky-blue eyes, and Zoe, Aidan’s wife, an adorable pixie with short, dark curls and an astute hazel gaze.
“Nice to meet you, Kate.” Zoe perused her with frank interest. “Your photography is amazing.”
“Thank you.” Torn between pleasure and annoyance, she side-eyed Liam.
“Sorry,” he murmured in her ear. “I had to burn your cover in order to brief them. They won’t break your confidence.”
“Please, Kate.” Bailey indicated the love seat. “Sit down, finish your coffee. You’ve suffered a terrible shock.”
Liam urged her back down. “Where are the locals?”
“ETA ten minutes,” Con said, passing his wife a coffee before he poured one for himself. Bailey set hers aside and dropped into a chair. Con moved behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. His thumb caressed her neck. “The heat still bothering you, sweetheart?”
Overprotective DNA apparently ran in the family. Kate couldn’t resist a wobbly grin. When Heaven was dispensing testosterone, the O’Rourke men got a quad shot.
“I’m better now that we’re inside.” Bailey noticed Kate’s look and smiled. She patted her husband’s arm. “Overwhelming at first, aren’t they? You’ll get used to it.”
A woman could definitely get used to being cherished. Kate rubbed her aching
forehead. If only.
Liam’s phone trilled the chorus from Queen’s “We Will Rock You,” and he tugged it out. “O’Rourke.” He frowned. “Say what?”
He disconnected. “The surveillance tape shows Dolly Parton stroll past and appear to case the doorway. Then it turns to snow.”
Zoe checked with a sandwich halfway to her mouth. “Dolly Parton?”
“Yeah. ‘She’ appears to be a man, complete with Adam’s apple. Apparently, ‘Dolly’ also pitched a tantrum in the lobby, claiming a mugging. Only in Vegas.” Frowning, he shook his head. “But only a pro could mess with the camera feed.”
Zoe grimaced at Kate. “Are you okay? You’re awfully pale.”
“Just a headache. I’ll be fine.”
Zoe shrugged off a battered, monkey-printed canvas tote hanging over her shoulder. “I have ibuprofen.”
“Thanks, but I took some not long ago. Anyway, it’s past the stage where over-the-counter remedies will help. I have prescription meds at home.”
“Okay, clan, listen up.” Liam addressed his family. “Bailey, after the room is dusted for prints and swept for evidence, help Etienne put it back together. Get it ready to display the photos the instant we retrieve them or can get copies made, whichever comes first.”
Bailey nodded, and Liam continued. “Con, watch the CSI team—make sure they don’t miss a dust speck. Follow up with hotel security about the camera feed. You’re the best one to liaise the fine line between assisting and overstepping the locals.”
“Done,” Con replied.
“A-Man, get the suspect list from Grady and continue to run it—off the record. I also have an addition for you.” Liam’s implacable gaze briefly touched Kate’s. “And after Etienne finishes here, arrange to have him checked over for injuries related to the motorcycle incident. I want him Mirandized first—i’s dotted and t’s crossed. If he requests a warrant, call Judge Forester, she likes me. If Duplais lawyers up, see that he gets one. Call me with all the reports, ASAP.”
Kate watched Liam effortlessly take charge. She leaned into the cushions, resigned he would investigate Etienne. Her Irish charmer was a very thorough man. Thorough with everything.
Neither brother batted one long, dark eyelash at accepting orders from their younger sibling. A telling revelation of respect. She couldn’t garner family cooperation for Aubrey’s sake when she begged.
Liam turned to Zoe. “Woodward, I left you a couple messages with all the details. Work the international terrorist angle using your amazing journalist superpowers, and get started cranking out auction publicity.”
Zoe smirked. “Anything for you, Deputy Dog.”
“Grady,” Liam continued. “Follow the Dolly Parton lead. Be subtle. Blend. We don’t want to spook the UNSUB into destroying the photos. No fireworks, no aeronautic acrobatics, and for the love of all that’s unholy, no taking prisoners this time.”
Grady’s killer twin dimples flashed. “Take no prisoners, ten-four.”
“Subtle,” Liam ordered. “Blend!”
“Arf, arf!” Grady barked. “Sir! No extreme measures ...” His grin widened, deepening his dimples. “Unless absolutely necessary.”
As Grady sauntered away, Liam rolled his eyes at Kate in mock exasperation. “That boy is a walking advertisement for judicious birth control.”
She chuckled. The four O’Rourke brothers obviously shared a deep bond, but their relationship was refreshingly irreverent.
Everyone scattered, and Liam again dialed his phone. “Carson? O’Rourke. Have the EOD Unit sweep Ms. Chabeau’s apartment, Code Three. If you find a device, look for a double anti-tamper switch first. Don’t fuck with one of those—call me.” He recited the location to Carson, then hung up.
“How do you know my address?”
“Hanson recited it off your license at the bomb site.”
“Oh, right.” Detail man. Kate rubbed her temples. “I assume we won’t be staying at my place. After they sweep, can I go pack my stuff?”
“Yeah, and get your headache meds.” She started to speak and he held up a broad palm. “I swear, if I hear, ‘I’m fine’ pass your delectable lips one more time, I will turn you over my knee.”
She bristled. “Watch it, Lucky Charmer. A bomb tech needs all ten fingers.”
He laughed before quickly sobering. “We’ll stop by long enough for you to pack clothes and any portable valuables. Then I’ll have Alex stash us at a federal safe house.”
The thought of losing her only two treasures made her sick to her soul. Yet ... “On second thought, I have nothing worth risking our lives.”
“I’m not risking squat. Bomb squad will clean house. That’s what they do. And your neighbors are also at risk.”
“God, I hadn’t thought about my neighbors.” She briefly closed her eyes and rotated her throbbing head. “I would like to get my grandma’s painting.” She didn’t mention “Man in the Shadows.” Liam didn’t know she associated the photo with him. No use calling attention to it. “But they’re only things. I’m not sure we should—”
“Psycho is trying to steal Aubrey’s future. I’ll be damned if I’ll let him steal your past, too,” he said through clenched teeth. “That painting means the world to you, like my car does to me. They might be ‘just things,’ but family ties keep you rooted. Give you hope.”
Family ties!
Appalled she hadn’t considered it before, she jerked upright. “Everyone around me is at risk! If the stalker wants to destroy everything I care about, he might go after Aubrey! Or my family!”
“Already covered. While you were trying to call Annette in Paris, I called Alex and he had the locals dispatch an officer to the hospital. They also assigned officers to guard your parents, sister, and brother-in-law.”
“Thank you.” Difficult to accept he’d continually go to so much trouble ... and put himself in harm’s way for her. Having someone take care of her, someone she could count on, was new. And unsettling.
Don’t get dependent on it.
She tried again to contact Annette. Still ringing. Maybe she’d gone into labor? But why wouldn’t her voicemail be working?
Liam called Murphy over and fed him a sandwich. When the dog’s flashing fangs demolished it in three bites, shivers crawled up Kate’s spine.
As she, Liam, and the dog headed out to get into Liam’s car, a crimson sunset blazed low on the horizon. Liam navigated heavy traffic, vigilantly watching his mirrors. Even with a crazed stalker after her, she felt safer with him than ... well ... ever.
Police cars and a bomb disposal van jammed the parking lot of her condo. A chunky, wheeled robot sat beside the front entrance, looking like an extra from a George Lucas movie. Carson met them at her doorstep on the second floor. “We located two devices. One decoy and one live. No double anti-tampers on ’em. All neighbors are evacuated, and both devices disarmed.”
“Interesting.” Liam shook his hand. “Thanks, we appreciate it.”
Carson and the bomb squad departed. Kate moved to enter her apartment, but Liam blocked the doorway with his arm. “Not so fast.” He tucked her into the sheltered stairwell, but left the door open so he could hear if she called out. “Stay here.” He made a hand motion at Murphy. “Murphy, search.” The K-9 ambled in.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting a second opinion.” He followed the dog inside, also leaving the apartment door open.
There he went again, putting himself in harm’s way to protect her. She practiced deep breathing. He’d be all right. The bomb squad had declared the place clean. She attempted another call to Paris. Got another long series of rings.
After endless, anxious minutes, the dynamic duo returned. Liam swept a gallant bow. “Now you may come in.”
Kate hurried into the bathroom. She gulped two migraine tablets, then corralled her now wildly escaping hair back into a tight chignon. She leaned her hammering forehead against the cool mirror.
One moment’s peace.
&nb
sp; “You okay?” Liam appeared in the doorway. At her nod, he looked skeptical. “Get packed.”
“Since the bomb squad did their job, we’re safe, right?”
“Not until Psycho’s crazy ass is in lockup.”
Wonderful. She strode into her bedroom and he followed.
He studied the Spartan room. She saw it through his eyes: builder’s beige walls, serviceable nightstand, bureau, and double bed—draped with her one indulgence—a dove gray satin comforter.
Compared to his homey plans for the Craftsman, the place looked as bland and impersonal as Motel 6. “Daniel and Janine bring Aubrey to me in Paris when they’re on one of their junkets. I rented this apartment after she became so ill and I had to stay in Vegas. I didn’t bother to decorate.”
His wide palm stroked the comforter. Yeah, her charismatic sensualist would appreciate the silky feel. Her breath caught on the mental picture of his tanned, muscled body reclining in her bed. Gorgeous. Naked. Gloriously aroused.
His handsome features turned thoughtful. “What’s your Paris apartment like?”
“It’s ...” Stunned realization hit. She hadn’t bothered to decorate there, either. No place felt like home. She’d missed Riverside.
She’d missed Liam.
Shoving aside the distressing thought, Kate lifted “Man in the Shadows” from the wall. She set it on the comforter, then from beneath the bed, she pulled out a sturdy, reinforced leather satchel for securely transporting artwork.
“The book didn’t do it justice.” Admiration lit Liam’s face. He stroked a finger down the classic ebony frame that complemented the black-and-white photo. Her heart stuttered and her body quivered as though his finger had stroked right down her center. “Before we got interrupted at the hospital, you were about to explain how you chose photography.”
She looked down at the portrait. “We talked a lot the night we met.”
“I remember everything about that night.” Passion thrummed in his smoky voice as he turned his admiring gaze on her.
If he kept that up, she’d have to stick her head under a cold shower. “My flight left for Paris the next morning. But you’d said something that stayed with me. ‘Art is an unflinching expression of true self, no matter the medium. It’s anything that arouses an emotional response in the creator and the observer. Anything that pulls both inside the experience and makes them participants.’” She slid the photo into the satchel. “I mulled that over for days.”
