by Lori Wilde
Chapter
THIRTEEN
CASSIE HUDDLED IN the passenger seat of the rented Peugeot with Jocko Blanco behind the wheel. They’d flown from Madrid to Nice, rented a car there and were driving to Monaco where Jocko had a buyer for the El Greco—which was now locked in the trunk—all lined up.
He was taking the curves like Lucifer, snarling and honking at slower moving vehicles. Whenever Cassie so much as gasped, Blanco would fling her a threatening glance and fondle the ugly looking gun in his lap.
Oh God, where was Maddie when you needed her?
Cassie clutched the dashboard until her knuckles were white and prayed for a miraculous deliverance.
Jocko Blanco had entered her bedroom through the open balcony window the night before and taken her hostage. The Interpol guy who’d been tailing her ever since she’d arrived in Madrid had attempted to come to her rescue when Blanco dragged her out the side entrance of the hotel, but Blanco had shot him in the shoulder and left him for dead in the alley.
Blanco had then stolen a delivery service van. Just before dawn, he’d forced her to call Isabella Vasquez and ask the curator to meet her at the delivery entrance.
He’d spoiled all her intricate plans.
Cassie had tried to resist, but he’d twisted her arm so it brought tears to her eyes. She wasn’t physically tough like Maddie. Between the threat of more pain and the cold handgun shoved hard against her side, she’d had little choice but to play along. She kept hoping she would think of a way out of this.
She wondered where Peyton was and what he would do when he showed up in Madrid and found her gone. Would he assume the worst and think she’d thrown in her lot with Jocko?
And what about Isabella? Was her friend still trussed in the museum? Cassie chewed the inside of her cheek. Had anyone found her yet? She prayed that Izzy was okay. She’d made sure to tie the ropes as loosely as she dared and she’d apologized for having to gag her.
How badly she had wanted to give her friend some clue that Blanco was holding her hostage. But she’d been terrified that if Blanco knew what she was up to, he would simply shoot Izzy, the way he’d shot the Interpol guy. She refused to risk Izzy’s life in order to save her own skin, so she’d kept quiet.
Cassie knew the heist had been recorded on security cameras. She knew the authorities would assume that the masked, gloved Blanco was Peyton. She had realized she would have to do something to prove her innocence while keeping Izzy safe. She had to let Maddie know she’d been taken prisoner to Monaco.
Seized with inspiration, she had begged Blanco to let her go to the bathroom before they left the museum. At first, she thought he was going to say no. She hopped around like a four year old on the playground until he finally relinquished and told her to make it snappy.
She dashed into the bathroom and scrawled Midnight Rendezvous in the only thing she had handy—her favorite tube of Lancôme. Never mind that the lipstick cost twenty-eight dollars a pop, once on, the stuff did not come off without a high quality make-up remover.
She was certain her sister would know what Midnight Rendezvous meant. Maddie had certainly been pissed off enough about her madcap affair with the flashy playboy.
What if Maddie doesn’t come after you?
When has she not come after you? No need to worry on that score. Her sister was as predictable as Big Ben.
Blanco whipped the car around a puttering truck loaded with crates of live chickens and snarled a fresh batch of expletives. Feathers flew across the windshield as the startled driver swerved onto the narrow shoulder.
Cassie caught her breath. Okay, okay, okay. Calm down. What would Maddie do in this particular situation?
Um, well, Maddie probably would never be in this situation.
Of course that was a given, never mind that part. Think rational. Think reasonable. Think common sense.
She could grab the steering wheel. Hmm, yeah, right. Blanco weighed a good two fifty. She was a hundred pounds lighter. He’d probably just elbow her in the mouth and bye-bye dental work.
Think, think.
Gosh, this thinking before you acted stuff was really hard work. No wonder Maddie was perpetually crabby.
If she was quick, she could just lean over and bite the blazing thunder out of his hand.
And then he would probably just knock her head into his lap.
Yikes! She didn’t want to go there.
So what? You’re just going to sit here like a helpless ninny? This is not going to help you prove you’re as smart as Maddie.
Yeah, well, maybe she was over that.
Cassie sneaked a glance at Blanco. Maybe she could stab him in the neck with her stiletto?
Now there was an idea whose time had come.
Slowly, she leaned forward and reached down to slip off her sharp-heeled sling back.
Blanco glowered and stroked his gun. “Don’t even think about it.”
“What?” She rounded her eyes and tried to look totally ingenuous.
“Sonofabitch, motherf—” he exploded.
Cassie jammed her fingers in her ears so she wouldn’t have to hear the rest of Blanco’s cursing. He was glaring intently into the rearview mirror and swerving like a drunk on New Year’s Eve.
Tremulously, Cassie peeked into the side mirror and her heart lurched into her throat. There was a boxy ice cream truck behind them, coming up fast.
Too fast.
Sweet tea and almond cookies! Blanco was already doing eighty, how fast was this other driver going?
Then her heart leaped with hope. Maybe it was Maddie or David or both. Maybe they’d already found her message, pieced together what had happened and were on their way to save her.
In an ice cream truck?
Sure, why not?
Blanco goosed the car faster just as they rounded the side of an imposing hill.
The ice cream truck dogged them, gaining ground. Over the loudspeaker attached on the roof, the truck was playing what sounded like Pop Goes the Weasel.
Blanco cornered the next curve, the car almost tipping on two wheels.
All around the cobbler’s bench.
Cassie yelped.
“Shuddup.”
She gulped and hung on tight.
The monkey chased the weasel.
The ice cream truck was getting closer. Blanco had his foot jammed to the floor. Their car had reached its top speed.
And then the ice cream truck smashed into their bumper.
Hard.
This time Cassie did more than yelp, she shrieked. Omigod, who was ramming them and why?
She tried to see who was behind the wheel of the ice cream truck, but the windshield was tinted, obstructing her view and things were moving way too fast.
Blanco lost control of both the car and his gun. The handgun slid across the seat and landed on the floor at Cassie’s feet.
“Leave it,” Blanco shouted as if to an obedient dog and trod the brakes.
Cassie’s head jerked at the unexpected change in tempo, but she didn’t take her eyes off that gun. She unbuckled her seatbelt and dived for the .45 at the same time the ice cream truck rammed them again.
The passenger door flew open and Cassie tumbled out—along with the .45—onto the graveled shoulder of the road. She landed on her butt and bounced a couple of times. The impact hurt like hell. Forget about that. You’re free, you’re free.
Pebbles bit into her palms and her knees were skinned but she was okay.
Which was more than she could say for Blanco. Dumbfounded, she watched open-mouthed as the car went smashing down over the side of the cliff.
Pop goes the weasel.
The ice cream truck stopped just short of the edge. Terrified, Cassie shifted her gaze to the driver.
The door swung open.
And Peyton Shriver got out, concern knitting his brow. “Cassie, luv, are you all right?”
My antihero!
Cassie dusted herself off and ran into his open arms.
“What aren’t you telling me?” David grilled Isabella Vasquez. He’d managed to talk Maddie into staying with Antonio Banderas while he questioned Isabella alone. He’d had a sneaking suspicion the woman wasn’t telling everything she knew about the robbery.
Isabella nervously clasped and unclasped her hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Señor Marshall.”
“Oh, I think you do. Why did you so willingly let Cassie Cooper in the private entrance? How come the robbery went off so smoothly?”
“Are you accusing me of something?”
“Are you guilty of something?”
She kneaded her brow and began to pace. “It’s not what you think. Or at least it wasn’t.”
“So why don’t you tell me what happened?”
“If this gets out to the press, I’ll lose my job.”
“Or perhaps go to jail?”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Cassie lied to me. She betrayed me.”
“Talk to me Isabella. I’m on your side.”
She stared at him long and hard.
“All right,” she relented at last. “Two days ago Cassie came to see me. She told me about this plan she had to catch Peyton Shriver. She told me she was working with the FBI and she needed my help.”
“You agreed, just like that?”
“Cassie is very persuasive, but the reason I agreed to help her is because of the political infighting; my job at the Prado is in jeopardy. If I could be instrumental in helping catch one of the world’s most infamous art thieves my position here would be solidified.”
“So exactly what were you supposed to do for Cassie?”
“She wanted to copy the El Greco. She’s very talented at re-creations.”
“You mean forgeries.”
“It’s only forgery if you try to pass it off as the real thing.”
“Go on.”
“I was supposed to place the real El Greco in the vault and replace it with the copy so she and her art thief accomplice could steal it. Her accomplice of course wouldn’t know it was a copy. I was to let them in the side entrance, give them the digital signature code and let them rob the Prado. They would be taking a fake. I didn’t see how the plan could go wrong. But instead of showing up on Friday night as we’d planned, she and the masked gunman held me up at daybreak this morning. Cassie never brought me the reproduction, so it was the real El Greco that they stole.”
David stared at Isabella, stunned, his mind whirling with what she had just told him. He and Maddie had both been wrong. Cassie had not fallen for Shriver. Nor had she been kidnapped. She had gone willingly with him, yes. But not because she’d become enamored with Shriver and his lifestyle as David had initially suspected but because she’d gotten off on playing spy girl and was trying to trap Shriver on her own.
Holy shit, what an airhead plan.
The thing was, Cassie’s scheme just might have worked. Except for the unexpected interference of Jocko Blanco.
Dammit. Recruiting Cassie Cooper was turning out to be the stupidest thing he’d ever done in his entire life.
Maddie paced the terrazzo floor of Antonio Banderas’s office, tensing and relaxing her abdominal muscles. The isometric exercises were designed to help her deal constructively with tension.
The security officer watched her from behind his desk with somnolent eyes. He was smoking a stogie and the pungent scent of cigar tobacco filled the room.
She glanced at her watch. It was almost lunchtime. Which explained Antonio’s laziness, but didn’t tell her why David was taking his sweet time wrapping things up with Isabella. They needed to get on the road to Monaco ASAP. Each passing moment put them farther away from her sister.
After seeing Cassie’s message scrawled on the bathroom mirror, David had asked her to hang out with Antonio for a few minutes while he took Isabella aside for more detailed questioning. She hadn’t wanted to let him question Isabella on his own, but David told her that he thought she might be more forthcoming if Maddie wasn’t in the room.
But that was over an hour ago.
“I think I’m just going to go check on David.” Maddie motioned with her thumb toward the corridor. “See if there’s some kind of problem.”
Antonio waved a hand at the sofa. “Please Señorita Cooper, sit down, relax. Have a snooze.”
“A snooze?”
“Did I say it wrong?” He seemed concerned that he might have made a language faux pas.
“No. I just don’t understand how you can expect me to snooze when my sister is in such trouble. I need to be out there looking for her, doing something.”
“You Americans.” Antonio took a puff of his cigar. “Always with the hurry.”
It had been five years since she had lived in Spain and she’d forgotten how irritatingly leisurely the natives could be. What they perceived as relaxed, spontaneous and flexible Maddie saw as indolent, disorganized and unreliable. Cassie, of course, had fit right in, while Maddie, with her need for order, structure and discipline had stood out like a prison warden in kindergarten.
“You are very stressed,” Antonio said.
“No kidding.”
“Would you like some coffee?”
“Like caffeine is going to help me relax?”
“You’re right, bad idea. Please sit.” He gestured at the sofa again.
“No thanks. I really do have to find Agent Marshall.” She made a move for the door.
And a policeman stepped forward from the corridor to block her way.
“Excuse me.” She moved to the left.
He waltzed with her.
Alarm knotted her chest. She turned and looked back at Antonio. “Am I being detained?”
Antonio gestured at the sofa a third time. “Please, no trouble.”
“Are you arresting me?”
He shook his head. “Not arresting. No.”
“But I’m not allowed to leave.”
“Not until Agent Marshall gets back.”
“And where has he gone?” Maddie’s voice went up an octave and she realized she was within inches of losing her composure.
“I’m not sure.” His smile was apologetic but unwavering.
“When will he be back?”
Antonio shrugged.
“What’s going on here?” she asked in a careful, modulated tone, when she wanted to yell at the top of her lungs.
“Señor Marshall said you were getting in his way. He asked me to keep you here until he returns.”
What? What! David had ditched her?
Bastard. She couldn’t believe she’d trusted him. Why had she trusted him? She’d known better.
Maddie started pacing again. Wasn’t that just like a man? When the going gets tough, the men take off.
Bastards. The lot of them.
“Señorita Cooper?” Antonio got up from his desk and tentatively approached her.
“What?” she snapped.
Quickly, he backpedaled, raising his palms in a defensive gesture. “Calm down.”
“I’m calm. I’m completely calm.” She glared and gnawed her thumbnail. “Why would you think I’m not calm? I’m always calm. It’s what I do. I’m the calm one. Ask anybody.”
“Calm as a time bomb,” Antonio muttered under his breath.
“What? What did you say?”
Antonio looked terror stricken. “If you will just calm . . . er . . . sit down, I can phone Agent Marshall and discover when he intends to return. Is that acceptable?”
“How about this? How about I call him instead?” Maddie reached for the phone and then realized she didn’t know David’s cell phone number. “What’s his number?”
“I’m afraid I cannot give you that information.”
“Why not?”
“Please.” With the cautious movements of a man trying to soothe a wild tiger with a toothache, Antonio eased around his desk.
“You wait with Paulo.” He nodded toward his man blocking the doorway. “And soon I w
ill return with news from Agent Marshall.”
Yeah, right, okay, bucko.
Maddie faked a smile and forced herself to sit. “See? I’m sitting like a good girl. Now go call Marshall.”
Antonio slipped past her as if he thought she might spontaneously combust at any moment. She savored her anger while her mind churned. She didn’t know where David had gone or what he was up to but she knew what she had to do. Get the hell out of here and find a ride to Monaco.
David probably didn’t believe her about Cassie. In fact, that whole time he was being nice to her, telling her he thought maybe her sister had a case of Stockholm Syndrome was nothing but a big fat lie.
And, she recognized the kiss he’d given for what it undoubtedly was, a ruse to get her to let her guard down with him so he could ditch her.
Grrr.
David Marshall, you are so going to pay for this stunt when I catch up with you.
She had to get out of here. Now.
Maddie glanced at the guard in the doorway. “Paulo,” she said in Spanish. “I’m feeling overheated.” She fanned herself. “Could you get me a drink of water, please?”
“When Officer Banderas returns.”
“I think I might faint. Please.”
Taking a cue from her sister, she fluttered her eyelashes, undid a button on her blouse and slowly ran her tongue over her lips.
Paulo shook his head.
Terrific, first time she ever tried to flirt her way out of a bad situation and the guy turns out to be gay. Just her luck.
She sat a moment, scanning the room and thinking.
Her gaze fell on Antonio’s desk. His still lit cigar smoldered in the ashtray. Beside the desk sat a trashcan full of discarded paper.
Hmm.
“You don’t mind if I pace, do you?” she asked Paulo. “I pace when I get nervous.”
He shrugged.
“Thank you.” Maddie rose to her feet.
Nonchalantly, she paced. La-di-dah.