“I am talking about the painting I purchased. I would like it back.”
“I don’t know where the Picasso is.” It was the truth. She had no idea, and it was apparent that Alexei didn’t want Holly to talk. The minute Pushkin had started toward Jen, his hand had tightened on her shoulders as though in warning.
Pushkin’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t give a shit about the Picasso, and you know it. I want the painting I purchased from Renard. Your painting.”
“My painting? But my painting is the one that Renard hid the Picasso behind.”
“Silly girl. That’s what I told my employees. Trust me, what is hidden behind your work is much more valuable than any painting to me. Now, you can tell me where it is, or you can join the deputy.” That was when she heard it, a low moan coming from Nate’s office. It sounded like an animal in pain. She tried to dismiss the notion that the person who made that low, utterly hopeless sound could possibly be happy-go-lucky Logan.
There was a humorless chuckle from Pushkin. “Americans. I see you are shocked. This is because you are the world’s children, every one of you. You believe that life is innately fair when the rest of the world knows that it is not. You tell yourself that pain and horror, these are things that happen to other people. Certainly not to someone as privileged as yourself.” He leaned in. She could feel the heat of his breath snaking over her skin, smell the stink of cigars on him. “But I am your teacher. The world is not fair, little girl. It is not some amusement park.”
There was the sound of something thudding and then that long, low moan that ate at Jen’s soul. She felt her jaw clench and angry tears prick at her eyes. “You’re a monster.” The door to Nate’s office opened, and a man stepped out. He looked something like the man backing up Pushkin. He was dark and nasty looking. He had taken off his coat and jacket at some point in time. Jen could see he had laid them over a chair. He was stripped down to a white T-shirt that was now splattered with blood. Jen’s mind tried to grasp the implications of that bright red blood. He said something in Russian and shook his head.
Pushkin grunted his reply before slipping back into English. His lips curled up in a satisfied smile. “You call me a monster? I am. Do you know anything about history, little girl? I find so few Americans do. Back in Rome when the gladiators would fight, the patron of the games would stand at the end of the fight, and he would decide the fate of the loser. If he gave a thumbs-up, the man would live. But that did not happen often. He would more likely give the thumbs-down, and the loser would fall. So much life lost on the simple placement of a thumb. But the Romans understood. There are only a few people in the world who truly matter. The powerful people of this world are the important ones. The rest are all slaves who have forgotten their places. Your deputy is learning this lesson right now. He learns that his control was an illusion. His life is not his own, and it never was.
He was merely waiting for someone important to show him his place.”
Impotent rage choked her. “You let him go.”
“Now, why would I do that? He has offended me. He arrested my man, kept him from doing a very important job for me. More importantly, I don’t care. He is nothing, a bug that I squash beneath my feet.”
Logan, sweet, funny Logan, was at this man’s mercy, and he had none. She couldn’t help it. Her hand came out, and she slapped him for all she was worth. Flesh met flesh in a satisfying smack. The man who had been standing by the door was suddenly at her side, his thick, meaty hand tight around the arm she’d hit Pushkin with.
“Don’t break the girl.” Pushkin barked the order. He gave no indication that he was at all affected by her small act of violence.
“Yet. The little girl has claws. I believe you will discover mine are longer and sharper than yours. You will tell me where the painting is, and I will give you a quick death.”
All the more reason to be happy she had no idea where the damn thing was. Pain might be in her future, but Rachel would be back.
Rachel would bring Zane and Nate and, god, she wanted Stef. She wanted to see him and hold him and have him tell her she was going to be okay. The thought of never seeing Stef again, never holding him, was too much to bear. She had to endure whatever this man handed out because she had to be alive when Stef came for her.
“I don’t know.” The world was fuzzy through her tears.
Pushkin frowned and turned to the man in the bloodstained Tshirt. “Luka, go and finish the deputy. We need the space for another interrogation. This one will be more fun for you, no?” Alexei whispered something to Holly, who turned her mouth up to his and let him kiss her, their mouths pressing together in something that seemed staged to Jen. He stopped Luka with a hand to the other man’s shoulder. “I would do this myself. I am the one he stuck in a fucking cage like a dog.”
Luka looked to Pushkin, who nodded his assent. “Let Alexei have his blood. You will have the girl’s soon enough since her tongue seems unwilling.”
Luka smiled at her, a dark, wicked thing. “I think I will use different strategy with such a pretty girl. We’ll see if I can fuck the information out of her.”
Pushkin laughed as the men disappeared behind the door.
It was only a moment before Jen heard the shot that ended Logan’s suffering.
She heard Holly gasp and placed a fist in her own mouth to stop the wail that threatened.
She looked at the clock. Ten thirty.
Stef would be here. Stef would come for her. It was a mantra in her head. She closed her eyes and prayed.
Stef slammed into the back of the café at exactly 10:25. He pushed through the back doors from the alley and into the kitchen just as Zane was carrying a distinctly green Callie out toward the parking lot and his truck.
“Hey, you okay, Cal?” Stef asked, stepping around Hal, who was busy making sandwiches. Hal frowned at all of them. He didn’t like the fact that they were in his kitchen, but he kept his mouth closed because Stef rarely used the front door.
She smiled wanly from her big brute’s arms. “I’m fine, Stef. Just a little pregnant.”
“I’m going to take her home now that the morning’s fun seems to be over,” Zane said, looking a little green himself. “Tell Nate where we are if you see him.”
“Sure thing. Where’s Jennifer? Max said she was with Callie and Rachel?” He tried to keep the panic out of his voice.
Zane shrugged. “Don’t know. They must have left while Callie was heaving half her body weight in the bathroom.”
“Gross.” She smacked Zane in the chest, but Stef didn’t miss the way she cuddled against him as though she could draw his strength into her body.
“If I see her, I’ll let her know you’re looking for her. You try her cell?”
“She’s not answering,” Stef replied. He turned and saw Stella at the counter. She was talking to his father. Zane and Callie continued out toward the parking lot. Stef stalked to the counter, pushing through the swinging doors, a restless feeling in his gut.
He didn’t fail to notice that Stella’s hand was in his father’s, their fingers entwined. He was happy for his father and Stella, but he couldn’t let that take precedence over his need to find Jennifer and that painting.
“Stella, where did Jen go?” Stef asked, well aware that his voice was gruff.
Stella’s face looked years younger as she turned to Stef. Her hand never left Sebastian’s. “She was here just a bit ago. She and Rachel went to find Holly.”
A deep voice spoke up from the end of the counter. “Holly came back?”
Stef glanced at the doctor, who was sitting at the end of the counter, sipping a mug of coffee, and it hit him. Who the hell else in this town would let Holly talk him into buying a painting for far, far more than it was worth right now? Stef knew Jen’s paintings would be worth more one day, but for now, it was only of interest to investment collectors. Holly couldn’t know that it was worth anything. Who would she sell it to? Who else but the man who had walked into town and promptly fallen in love with her? Oh, Stef knew Caleb hadn’t made a single move on her yet, but he brooded enough to let the world know he was crazy about her. As a man who had spent an enormous amount of time brooding over a female, he knew the signs and could diagnose the good doc’s disease.