by Cassie Miles
And that was what Nicole intended to do. She’d figure this out. She couldn’t stand to lose him.
After their lunch, they had time to kill before driving out to Blake’s house. Since they were already in LoDo, Nicole suggested, “There was a gallery in this area where Joey displayed. Let’s find it.”
Meandering through the refurbished brick buildings and cobblestone pathways, they located the gallery. In the front window was a landscape of mesas and mountains that Nicole recognized immediately. “Joey did that.”
When they stepped inside, the proprietor glanced at them, then did a double take. He gaped at Nicole. “Oh my God! You’re Joey’s muse.”
“I am?”
“I’ve handled four paintings where you are the central figure. Plus one on commission.” He crowded close to her. “You don’t happen to have more of Joey’s work, do you? Since his murder, his art has become very, very lucrative.”
She thought of his studio at the cabin, crammed full of artwork. Joey had been struggling for years, trying to get noticed. Now, by dying, he’d brought his career to life.
“Tell me about the commissioned painting,” Mace said.
“It was paid for about a month ago, and I blush to tell you how cheaply. A highly specific request.”
“Go on,” Nicole said.
“It was a painting of you.” He beamed at Nicole. “Not a very flattering setting. A graveyard. And you were supposed to be a monster with a black heart.”
She gasped. Joey’s painting wasn’t a reflection of his own feelings for her. He didn’t hate her. But apparently someone else did. “Who commissioned it?”
“I really can’t say.”
Mace produced his badge. “If necessary, I’ll be back with a subpoena.”
The proprietor rolled his eyes. “I suppose it’s all right to tell you. Now that Joey is dead.” He leaned toward them and whispered conspiratorially, “It was Joey’s uncle, Blake Wentworth.”
Nicole didn’t understand. Blake didn’t even know her. “Did Joey know that Blake commissioned the painting?”
“He did not,” said the proprietor. “His uncle made me promise not to tell him. I think Blake wanted to slip his nephew some cash and give him encouragement at the same time.”
She left the gallery more confused than when they entered. On the drive out to Blake’s house, she began to draw some scary conclusions. “What if Blake commissioned that painting as a front for someone else?”
Mace nodded but said nothing.
There was only one person who hated her that much, only one man who would want a painting of her with a cold, dead, black heart.
MACE CHECKED THE ADDRESS twice before he parked in front of Blake’s house—a pleasant two-story frame house in a relatively new suburb. Mace had expected a more lavish homestead for the CEO of Wentworth Oil Exploration.
“What do you think?” he asked Nicole. “You’re familiar with the habits of the rich and famous. Is this the right house for Blake Wentworth?”
“Not at all. I know he’s supporting his family in another household, but I’d expect more.”
“His money problems might be worse than we thought.”
As he went up the sidewalk with her, Mace sensed danger. He glanced at the barren October lawns in this quiet neighborhood, then looked up and down the street. There seemed to be no tangible reason for his concern. Yet, he felt edgy. If he’d been in Elkhorn, he’d call Barry for backup.
He took the cell phone from his jacket pocket and held it. If he contacted the Denver PD and this turned out to be nothing, Mace came out looking like a jerk.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Being a good cop.”
He’d be more the fool if he ignored potential danger. Talking to one of his buddies downtown, he requested backup. “There’s no immediate threat, but I wouldn’t mind if you’d send by a patrol car. No sirens.”
He disconnected and turned to Nicole. “Maybe you should stay in the car.”
“I won’t let fear run my life.”
Swell, now she was taking his advice. “I’m asking you to be prudent.”
But she charged up the sidewalk and pressed the doorbell.
The door was answered by a young man in neat blue jeans and a button-down shirt. “Come in,” he said. “He’s waiting for you.”
“Who are you?” Mace asked.
“Call me Jimbo.”
“Okay, Jimbo.” That was one of the names Joey had written in his sketchpad. When the number was traced, Jimbo had answered from a public phone at the airport. A professional criminal from out of town?
“Come in,” Jimbo said.
Mace didn’t like the setup. He reached under his jacket and unfastened the snap on his belt holster so he could pull his automatic in quick-draw fashion.
Jimbo escorted them into a study and closed the door. Another man stood by the door and a third was seated in a brown leather chair opposite a large oak desk.
“Derek!” Nicole’s voice was high pitched, resonant with terror.
“Surprise, surprise.”
Derek Brewer, Nicole’s husband, pushed away from the desk and stood. He was a big man, expensively dressed, with thinning brown hair. Mace noticed his flat, blue eyes, utterly devoid of expression. They were the eyes of a cold-blooded killer. “Where’s Blake?”
“Tied up at the moment.” Derek shared a laugh with his buddies before he instructed Jimbo to take Mace’s gun from the holster.
Mace didn’t object. He knew backup was on the way. All he had to do was keep Derek talking. “So you’re behind the kidnapping and the extortion. How’d you pull this off?”
“Why don’t you tell me, Sheriff. From what I understand, you’re the man with the theories.”
“Somewhere you saw one of Joey’s paintings of Nicole,” Mace said. “In Blake’s office?”
“Good guess. Blake isn’t exactly in my league.” He stared at Nicole. “You remember, don’t you? Guys like Blake Wentworth were beneath me.”
She said nothing.
Derek continued, “My law firm was coming after Wentworth Oil Exploration for nonpayment of debt. When I saw the picture, Blake told me all about his idiot nephew and the girl who was staying with him in Elkhorn.” Derek turned toward Nicole and sneered. “That would be you.”
Her voice quavered. “Why did you involve anyone else? It would have been enough to come after me.”
“But not nearly so much fun. Since Blake and Joey both needed money, I suggested the kidnapping. They were happy to go along with the program. Can you tell me why, Sheriff?”
“Whether they got the money from Joey’s closed trust fund or ripped off the insurance company, they figured it was really their money, anyway.” Mace added, “Neither of them is crooked.”
“Which was why neither of them added up the numbers. They really believed I’d share the ransom.” Derek shook his head in disbelief. “Why would I? I hired the pros. I paid for the arrangements, including that beat-up Jeep Wagoneer that we exploded. Why would I give my hard-earned money to the Wentworths?”
“That’s why you killed Joey,” Mace asked. “To keep his share.”
“A business decision,” Derek said. “And I figured Blake would be placated by the life insurance payout on his nephew. Unfortunately, Uncle Blake seems to have gotten an attack of conscience.”
“You were the person he called from Elkhorn,” Mace said. “On the untraceable cell phone.”
“That self-righteous jerk was stupid to call me.”
“He yelled at you,” Mace said. He glanced toward the window, hoping he’d see a patrol car.
“Both of the Wentworths were weak links,” Derek said. He placed his two fists together and yanked them apart as if snapping an invisible chain.
Nicole gasped as she watched the implied violence, but she found her voice. “You’ll never get away with this.”
“I’m above the law, Nicole. I want you to understand that.” He came aroun
d the desk quickly and stood before her. “Men like me can do anything they want. Nobody can stop me.”
“Don’t touch her,” Mace said. If Derek hurt her, he wouldn’t be able to hold himself in check.
“You can’t stop me.” Derek turned toward Mace and thrust out his chest. “She’s my wife. My property. I can do anything to her that I want.”
“Not anymore,” she said with surprising strength in her voice. “You can’t hurt me. Not anymore.”
“Shut up,” he snarled. “Okay, kids. Here’s what happens next. We bring Blake in here, and we make it look like he shot Mace and then committed suicide. The Feds and the cops assume that Blake ordered the kidnapping. And this is over.”
He nodded to Jimbo, who left the room, presumably to get Blake. Mace glanced toward the other man who stood near the door, watching disinterestedly. Though he was certainly armed, the gun wasn’t in his hand.
“What happens to me?” Nicole demanded.
“You return to the arms of your loving husband. That would be me. And you do whatever I say for the rest of your natural life. Or until I get bored with you.”
“I’d rather die,” she said.
“That could be arranged,” he said in a flat monotone. “A very slow, painful death. It could take weeks, months. You know how I handle disobedience, Nicole. Don’t push me.”
“I won’t obey you.”
Though Mace applauded her refusal to be bullied, now was not the time. Backup was on the way. “Settle down,” he cautioned.
“You were right, Mace. I won’t run my life with fear. Never again will I run away.” She stood tall, straight and beautiful. “Sure, I’m scared. Real scared. But fear doesn’t tell me what to do, because I believe in stronger feelings. I believe in myself.”
The fire of courage shone in her eyes. He’d never been so proud. She spoke to him in a steady, calm, quiet tone. “The answer to your question is yes. Mace, I want to make a commitment for all the right reasons. Because I love you.”
Her words echoed in the small room. The raw strength of her conviction encouraged him. They wouldn’t die. Not now. He and Nicole had everything to live for. “And I love you.”
Derek stepped between them. “Isn’t that cute? The backwoods sheriff and the waitress.” He laughed. “Give it up, Nicole. He can’t rescue you this time.”
“He doesn’t need to,” she said.
Derek scoffed. “Really?”
“Because I can rescue myself.”
Derek drew back his hand to strike her.
With a feral cry, Nicole sprang at him with arms flailing.
Mace had to make his move. He charged the guy by the door and grabbed the gun from his hand. One hard, adrenaline-fueled uppercut and the guy went down.
Mace pivoted, gun in hand. It was a .22 caliber, accurate at close range.
Derek held Nicole by the throat. “I could snap her neck in—”
Mace fired twice. There was no time for a standoff and an exchange of empty threats. One bullet hit Derek’s shoulder. The other buried in his kneecap.
His leg buckled. When he fell, his grasp on Nicole loosened, and she struggled free.
Nicole flew into Mace’s arms as the front door burst open and the backup cops raced inside. Mace hardly noticed the commotion as Derek and his henchmen were taken into custody. His entire field of vision was filled with the sight of her lovely face.
She stepped away from him and picked up her purse. Reaching inside, she pulled out the turquoise and silver necklace, which she held toward him. “I’m ready to wear this now.”
“Turn around, Nicole.”
He lifted her braid and fastened the necklace around her throat. In his heart they were betrothed, and he would never lose sight of her again.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-3761-2
RESTLESS SPIRIT
Copyright © 2004 by Kay Bergstrom
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