“The lady is an art connoisseur?”
“I dabble. I’m not very good.”
“She’s good,” Ryder said. He kept his back against the wall where he could see the whole of the room, including the doors and windows. “Do you have the documents?”
Maximilian waved a hand. “Drinks first. I haven’t had visitors in ages, and you two are a bit pale to be walking around town with a price on your heads. You’ll lie low, take advantage of my hospitality.”
In response, Ryder sat on a stool and leaned back against the wall.
“I’d love a drink.”
Our host clapped his hands together.
“Splendid. Mojitos for everyone.”
He had the entire floor of the warehouse all to himself. The area we were in served as studio and social space. There were colorful, gauzy curtains hung further back in the cavernous space, and when the breeze blew through the open windows, I could see what looked like his personal living space. And I bet his bedroom was as decadent as any sultan’s.
He handed out mojitos before he flopped down on one of the oversized cushions. I sat down beside him and gasped. “You painted the ceiling.” A riot of color, huge, abstract flowers, and plants covered the entire area above us.
“It makes me feel like I’m looking at a field of flowers. I like to think about my work, and looking up at such beauty helps me to think.”
Maximilian talked about his work, clearly not caring we knew he forged art. He said he had all kinds of clients, from the rich to the average who wanted their very own masterpieces. I got the impression he’d also done several masterpieces that currently hung in museums, the real ones stolen and sold on the black market long ago.
“I’m going to check your security.” Ryder left soundlessly as he walked across the colorful tiles.
“That one. As silent as a panther.”
I couldn’t help it: the forger made me smile. “You got that right. It’s a little bit spooky.”
We spent the afternoon doing nothing. I relaxed a little, knowing Maximilian had guards within the building and stationed in other areas approaching the warehouse. I wandered around, looking at paintings, and came to a stack I recognized.
“Mary Cassatt. My absolute favorite.” I flipped through them and stopped. “Little Girl in a Blue Armchair is my all-time favorite, and this is absolutely amazing. I don’t think I can tell the difference. When I was in college, one night I walked in on a friend in the art studio. He was copying two of my favorite Mary Cassatt works. Child in a Straw Hat and Little Girl in a Blue Armchair. I grinned when he told me they were for some pretentious jerk in Wichita. Said the IDs and fake paintings paid the bills. He didn’t have any family or help. It was all on him. We all do what we have to in order to get by.”
“Very true, Cara.” Maximilian stood next to me. He leaned close to my ear, smelling faintly of paint and turpentine and…cloves, that was it.
“You’re looking at the original. It was taken from the museum and replaced with one of my own. This one is going to a collector, not a very nice man. But money is money.” He shrugged.
“I would love to wake up every day and look at this piece. She has such an amazing touch. No matter how hard I tried, I could never get close to what she accomplished.”
“And yet we keep striving to create beauty, don’t we?”
“We do. Painting relaxes me.”
“Without beauty, what use is life?” Maximilian said as he poured us another drink.
An hour or so later, one of the men knocked on the door and entered, speaking in low tones to Maximilian. Ryder had followed him in and was listening, his face giving nothing away.
“There was a man asking about both of you. I should order in for dinner.”
I set my drink down. “We’ll leave. It won’t be safe for you with us here.”
Maximilian shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. No one knows where you are, even if they do know you’re in town. Though I believe we should get rid of that monstrosity of a truck.”
“I like that truck.”
Ryder tossed him the keys, and Maximilian sent the guy down the stairs. I heard the warehouse doors open, and watched from the windows as the truck drove away. If I made it through this ordeal, I was going to find a similar truck and paint it robin’s egg blue with daisy seat covers and flowers and plants in the back, waiting to be planted. Was it possible? Might I still have a normal life? I desperately wanted one, with all the mundane tasks it would entail.
I sat on the counter next to a utility sink and looked at the colors lined up on the counter. It was time to change my appearance. Blond, brunette, redhead, black, rainbow.
“Hmmm, not blond.” Our host tossed the box in the trash. He stood back, eyeing me as he might a blank canvas. “Yes, that’s it.” He tossed the other boxes and held up a box. When I saw the name of the color, I knew it was a sign. Midnight Promises.
“Black it is.”
“Hmmm, don’t move.” He dug through a drawer and came up with scissors. I froze. My hair was like a security blanket, so those scissors made me nervous. “Cara, do not worry. Think of it as trying on a new personality. Yes?”
Giving myself over to him, I turned away from the mirror. When he made the first cut, I thought I might be sick seeing the silky strands scattered on the floor, so I closed my eyes.
“You can look now. Cara, open your eyes.”
Air caressed the back of my neck, and when I turned, the face in the mirror belonged to someone else. She had huge blue eyes and looked like someone nice, not at all like me. I touched my new look. He’d given me a pixie cut like I’d seen on a few actresses and models. My cheekbones stood out. I turned my head from side to side, looking at the woman in the mirror.
“Did you know—” Ryder stood in the center of the room. Like a big cat, he stalked over, circled me, touched my hair, his finger trailing across the back of my neck, making me shiver.
“Interesting.” He turned to Maximillian. “Keep her first name when you finish the docs.”
“As you wish. Now, while we wait for dinner, let’s finish our business, shall we?”
Maximilian had us stand in front of a backdrop, where he took photos to be used on our driver’s licenses and passports. We would have credit cards as well. And he had assured me he had a guy who could take care of transferring my money to my new accounts.
“And it will just disappear? They won’t know what happened?”
“No, Cara. It will look as if the money was transferred to another account legitimately, authorized by you, but it will not be traceable. The man I work with is very good. He has to be in my line of work.”
I was tired, the stress catching up with me as I stretched out on a cushion and stared up at the painted ceiling. Ryder and Maximilian’s voices washed over me.
In the morning, I woke to Ryder touching my shoulder. “Let’s go.”
I yawned and stretched. “Do I have time for a shower?”
Maximilian appeared from behind the curtain. “The shower is through here. And I understand you enjoy green smoothies. I’ll have one ready for you when you’re dressed.”
I kissed the man on the cheek. “You’re an angel.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “I’ve been called the devil many times, but never an angel, Cara.”
I made my way through the curtains, and as I expected, his bedroom was completely decadent. The bed had to be either custom-made or multiple beds pushed together, expanses of silk sheets covering every inch. Embroidered pillows strewn across the room, and, of course, there was incredible artwork all over the walls.
The bathroom was just as luxurious, and easily half the size of the cottage I’d left behind. With a longing look at the deep sunken tub, I stepped into the glass-enclosed shower. You could fit ten people in there. The hot water soothed tight muscles. The towels were thick and fluffy as I dried off. While I’d been in the shower, Ryder must’ve put my backpack in the bathroom. There
was a folded stack of clothing on the chair with a note.
Thought you’d like a change. There was a pair of white jeans and a silk blouse. They fit perfectly. I was guessing they were from Maximilian. I came out to see my delicious green smoothie waiting on the bar.
“Thank you for the clothes.”
“You’re welcome,” Ryder said, shocking me. “I know regular jeans are more practical, but I thought you’d like something new.”
I saw his gaze dart to my bracelet. He knew I missed my Lilly Pulitzer dresses, and being feminine and girly. I’d spent the entire escapade in t-shirts and jeans or shorts. Utilitarian and plain.
I sipped the smoothie. “Oh, this is so good. I’ve missed these,” I said to Maximilian. “I tried to get Ryder to drink one of these, but he refused.”
“If I wanted to drink grass, I’d have been born a cow.”
He slid an envelope across the bar to our host. The forger nodded and slid two envelopes across the table, one to me and one to Ryder. “Your new identities.”
I wiped my mouth, knowing it was time to go. My other clothes had been laundered while I slept, apparently by a housekeeper Maximilian employed that no one ever saw.
There was a sleek black car waiting. I arched a brow at Ryder.
“They won’t be expecting it,” he said as we climbed into the Mercedes. I sighed in bliss, and this time, Ryder winked at me.
I rolled down the window, letting Maximilian lean in to kiss my cheek. Then he passed a tube through the window.
“A gift for you, Hope. Let it be a surprise. Wait until tomorrow to open it.”
Of course, I was dying to open it immediately. “Thank you. And thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”
The doors opened and we drove away, leaving our temporary sanctuary behind.
CHAPTER 35
AUGUSTUS FROWNED, SPINNING AROUND IN his chair to look out the windows. He had Lori hold his calls while he dealt with this latest mess. This was why he was a hands-on CEO—being involved kept employees on their toes.
The investigator had found out plenty about Hope. She’d killed a total of nineteen people and counting. Kurt had not been charged with anything—she had decided, based on one incident, that his only son deserved to die. And for that, she had to die. It was only fair.
The Organization had sent more men. It seemed this man helping her was indeed the best there was. Who would have thought professional assassins would fail to take out a twenty-something girl with no special skills?
“This is becoming quite tedious.”
How difficult was it to kill one girl? He’d read the file on her. Why had she come to Kansas? He found she had a grandmother that recently passed away, but no other family. Why Avid? And what was she planning next? Was she targeting Gier Foods in particular, or the industry as a whole?
Hope wasn’t affiliated with any animal rights organizations. It seemed she’d woken up one day and taken it upon herself to kill those charged with animal cruelty. Though given her history, perhaps she was suffering from a mental breakdown. Medication could help her.
That thought made Augustus pause. Perhaps he should rethink having her killed…it was final. But if the men captured her, then he could have her locked away for the rest of her life. Treat her as a guinea pig for experimental drugs, or medicate her and provide “treatment” for his own amusement as she was trapped in a never-ending hell, surrounded by the mentally ill.
An idea took shape in his mind. Until he’d determined exactly what he would do with her, he wouldn’t pull back the men after her. And if they killed her before he’d made up his mind? Such was life.
South Padre Island was a barrier island located on the Texas Gulf Coast. We took the Queen Isabella Causeway from the town of Port Isabel. Knowing the causeway was the only access made me a little nervous, but I guessed if our pursuers blew the bridge, we could ditch the Mercedes and take a boat. And that was why we were here, to get a boat out of the country. Satisfied I’d talked myself out of worrying, I looked out the window, looking for the house we’d found online.
The accommodations were charming, the condo overlooked the gulf, and I wanted nothing more than to stare at the ocean and forget all the trouble I’d caused.
Ryder had paid online, and when we got to the door there were one of those coded boxes realtors use. We punched in the code and there was the key. I could never rent out my own place—I’d be too paranoid, thinking people would make copies of the key and come back.
While I sat on the balcony, Ryder made calls to check on our way out of here. What would it be like to live in another country, knowing I couldn’t return to the U.S. for the foreseeable future? Alone. Where would he go? I turned and looked to see him standing in the kitchen, a beer in his hand, speaking quietly. He’d gone above and beyond for me. I’d miss him when he went back to his life.
I snorted. What life? I’d destroyed his career. Everyone who got close to me suffered, like I was an emotional Typhoid Mary.
The package Maximilian had given me dangled in front of me.
“I called your name. Come on, Hope. You can’t zone out anymore. I won’t always be here to have your back.”
I took the tube, a lump in my throat. “I’m sorry you lost your job because of me.”
“I’ll just log on to Hitmen-R-Us and find another.” He tapped the tube. “Go on, open it.”
“Wait, did you make a joke?” I put my hand to my heart. “Hoard the Pepsi and pizza. It’s the end of the world.”
His face didn’t change, but his eyes were laughing. At least, I hoped it was laughter I saw there. Ryder stood framed in the doorway. I angled the chair so he could see my present.
When I pulled out the canvas, my heart fluttered at the blue. It was my favorite work by Mary Cassatt, Little Girl in a Blue Armchair.
A note fluttered in the air, caught by the breeze. Ryder snatched it before it was gone. “Maximillian, you cheeky bastard.”
He gave me the note. Cara, take care of her. There is something in the eyes that reminds me of you. The client would not love her as you will. He will never know he has a copy, and you are holding the original. M
“Without beauty, what use is life?” I murmured Maximilian’s words before looking up at Ryder. “He gave me an original Mary Cassatt.”
Ryder let a small smile play over his face, shocking me almost as much as the priceless painting I held in my hands.
“Oh no, the salt air.” I rolled her up. “What am I going to do? It’s not like I can fold it up and put it in my bag.”
“Have a drink and relax.” Ryder took the painting from me. “We’ll be on the boat soon enough, and then you won’t have to worry. Think of it as a housewarming present.”
A snort escaped. “Usually you give someone a blender or a set of pots and pans, not a priceless Cassatt.”
Ryder left to take care of a few things, making me promise to stay put. Exhaustion had taken its toll, so I curled up on the sofa, leaving the sliding glass door cracked to hear the ocean, and fell asleep.
When I woke, Ryder was dressed in black pants, a white button-down shirt, and black shoes. He looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine.
“I picked up a few things. Get dressed. I’m taking you to dinner.”
In the bedroom was a bag I recognized. I pulled out a Lilly Pulitzer dress and gold sandals. There was something else in the bag at the bottom. I didn’t know how he found it, but it was a tiny bottle of White Shoulders perfume. Like Gram wore. Nostalgia flooded my senses when I sprayed it on my wrists. A tear slipped down my face and I closed my eyes, falling into happy memories.
When I came out of the bedroom, he handed me another bag.
“More? Thank you for everything, especially the perfume.”
I opened the bag to find a tube for my painting.
Ryder took it from me, unscrewed the lid, and held it up. “It’s waterproof, too.”
It took everything I had not to hug the man, but he wouldn
’t have allowed it anyway.
“It’s perfect.” I slid the painting inside and screwed on the lid. It went in the trunk of the car, along with my backpack. I’d transferred the contents of my messenger bag into a Lilly Pulitzer tote for the evening. Then I giggled.
“Something amuses you?”
“My guns. They match the bag.”
Ryder arched a brow. “I know.”
We ate dinner at Laguna Bob, overlooking the water. It was rustic, with plastic furniture, the food served in metal trays. We were overdressed, but neither of us cared. We dined on shrimp and drank icy-cold beer. A perfect night. If only things could have stayed that way.
Zane had been a detective with the Raleigh police for seven years. It was his day off, but with the number of people out sick, he’d had to come in, and that was how he found himself standing in the living room of a huge house in an upscale North Carolina neighborhood.
“There have been a number of break-ins in the neighborhood over the past several weeks.”
The woman looked around nervously, as if expecting the burglars to pop out from behind the curtains. “But we live in a gated community.”
Her husband was out of town. Zane got the feeling the woman spent her days playing tennis and having lunch with her friends.
“There’s quite a bit of new construction. Could be someone on one of the crews.”
After he finished his report, he was in the car making notes when a little voice spoke up.
“Are you here to catch the bad guys?”
“I am. What’s your name?”
“I’m Elsa and I’m eight. This is my dog, Zeus.”
The golden retriever chased after a dragonfly as the girl laughed.
“Zeus is a good name.”
She sighed. “Boys always say that. I wanted to call him Francis Doodlebug, but my brother got to name him.”
Zane laughed. The kid looked like a little princess with her blond curls and big blue eyes.
“My daddy was a bad man, but an angel took him away. Now I live here with a new mommy and daddy.”
When She Was Bad Page 16