by Alexa Verde
When her supervisor at the library called, Soledad grabbed the opportunity to ask for a week-long leave, which she’d been overdue anyway. Then she returned to her art supplies to make sketches.
At first, the pencil shook in her fingers, and she pressed it so hard against the paper that the pencil broke. But she picked up another one, and soon her gestures became more relaxed and the lines more confident.
She lost track of time and of the world around her, and a familiar sense of elation entered her. She studied the portrait with a critical eye when she was done. She’d captured the piercing look in O’Hara’s green eyes, his mischievous smile, the confident roll of his broad shoulders. She’d also caught a hidden longing deep inside his eyes, and that expression came as a surprise.
What would a man like O’Hara long for?
Her heart beating faster, she ran her fingertips over the sheet of paper, as if she could touch his face. She jerked her hand back. What was wrong with her? She got her phone and snapped a picture. Other people, probably, would research the Internet for O’Hara’s photo, but this worked better for her. She found Mari’s number and typed in the text.
Mari, is this James O’Hara, who helped you last year?
Her friend would get the reception eventually. Soledad sighed, wishing she could talk to Mari. From their small group of the childhood friends, nicknamed the Danger Girls, fierce and fearless Mari had always known what to do in scary situations.
As Soledad waited for a reply, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the portrait. James’s eyes mesmerized her. How could she be this drawn to a person she’d just met? He had an incredible magnetism about him that she did her best to resist but wasn’t too successful.
Worry squeezed her heart in a tight vice. He’d said he was fine, but she had difficulty believing it. Hopefully, his wound wasn’t too serious. She fought the urge to drive to the hospital immediately to see him. If her breath went shallow just from looking at his portrait, she probably wouldn’t be able to utter a word in his presence. She’d never been comfortable around guys, and Ron had stolen whatever little confidence she’d had. But then, most of the guys she’d met hadn’t been worth it overcoming her shyness.
James O’Hara was worth it.
A phone ring made her check the screen. Mari! Yes! She pressed the answer button in haste.
“Soledad, what happened?” Her best friend’s voice dripped with concern.
“Nothing that can’t wait until when you’re back,” Soledad said evasively, reluctant to interrupt Mari’s honeymoon for longer than necessary. “How’s the newlywed life?”
“Spectacular.” Mari sighed happily. Then her voice got a sharp edge again. “It’s the same James O’Hara. Why are you asking?”
“He’s doing some investigation in Rios Azules, and I just met him. I wanted to make sure he can be trusted.” Technically, that was true. Soledad would never lie to her best friend. But she wouldn’t drag Mari back into danger, either, and threaten her hard-earned happiness. After all she’d gone through, Mari deserved better.
“Yes, he can be trusted. But… he’s somewhat of a player. Be careful.” Mari paused.
Soledad could guess the reason for the warning. She’d had a horrible experience with a player. Instinctively, she rubbed her arm.
Nobody would look at you twice. You’re so… plain it’s not funny. Ron’s words rang in her ears. Even years after breaking up with him, she couldn’t get rid of the memory.
“I’d never thought that, of all us Danger Girls, you’d be one of the first to marry.” Soledad hurried to change the topic. Tomboyish but charismatic, Mari had dated a lot, but never seriously. Until Luke had come along. A good kind of envy made Soledad’s eyes misty.
“Me, either. But I fall in love with Luke more every day.” A blissful note colored Mari’s voice. “Do you need me to come back now? Because Luke wouldn’t mind.”
“I’m sure if you asked him to jump off the nearest cliff into shark-infested waters, he wouldn’t mind, either. No. I’ll be fine. Enjoy your honeymoon, and my best regards to Luke.” She disconnected.
She said a prayer for James and her alleged father.
Then she worked on Eliseev’s portrait. She struggled with this one, not able to enter the usual flow. Finally, she stepped back, and her hands fell to her sides.
With deep wrinkles and gray hair, Sergey Eliseev seemed old, even for his supposed age. His unusual thinness hinted at a lot of stress or sickness or both. But the main reason for her struggle to finish the drawing was the expression of his pale eyes. It was the look of a man who’d given up, giving her a jab of a new kind of worry.
Usually, when she met people, she didn’t always notice details of their appearance, but those details came through in her work later. Sometimes, when she tried to figure out whether a person lied to her, she’d make a drawing of that person later.
Art had always been great to her. It had helped her to express herself in colorful landscapes and abstract paintings. She’d used to run to the river to draw after conversations with her stepfather. And she’d started summer courses for disadvantaged kids to help them express themselves and escape their difficult lives, too.
Correction, art had usually been great to her.
This time, she didn’t like what she saw. There’d been something profoundly wrong in Eliseev’s life even before the kidnapping. She snapped a photo of the portrait. Her Mom had been her only family, her friend, her supporter, and her rock. But if Eliseev had told the truth, her mother had lied to her about something very important.
Soledad’s throat constricted. She sent the photo and the text to her mother.
His name is Sergey Eliseev, and I met him today. He claims to be my father. Is he?
While waiting for a reply, she made an honest effort to draw the van’s driver, but with his ball cap drawn low, she couldn’t remember his features. Frustrated, she threw several ruined sheets of paper in the trash.
Instinct took her to the window when she heard the growl of a motor. She peeked through the slit in the blind. This time, the green car slowed down, and she froze. But then a patrol car appeared from around the curve, and the green sedan sped up and passed by. She blew out a slow breath.
Her phone rang. Finally! Her Mom! Soledad grabbed the phone and frowned at the word unknown. This was the first time in her life that she hoped the call was from a telemarketer. She pressed the answer button. “Hello?”
“Find the treasure. You have only three days,” the mechanically distorted voice said. Then the line went dead.
Dumbfounded, she stared at the phone. Then she forced herself to call Aidan and passed him the information. “I have no clue what treasure they are talking about.”
Her hand fisted. Fear chilled her to the bone, but she had a surprising dose of anger added to it. Why had she been deprived of having a real father all these years? Why had she almost died in her own yard? Why was she blackmailed to search for something she had no idea about? Why was she threatened?
And was there anything she could do to help Eliseev?
Indignation rising inside her, she lifted her chin. She needed answers, and only one man had the information she wanted so desperately. Charismatic Dallas PI James O’Hara. If she had to go to the man who made her heart race, so be it.
“I’m going to the hospital. I have to talk to O’Hara,” she said to Aidan. “Will you follow me?”
“Of course.”
Minutes later, she drove to the hospital, thankful for Aidan’s patrol car behind her. Then he accompanied her inside the sliding doors.
“I’ll take it from here.” She waved farewell to her friend and rushed to the nursing station to get O’Hara’s room number.
Soon she was on the way to room seventeen.
The back of her neck itched, as if someone was watching her. She whirled around in the hospital hall. A gray-haired plump female nurse wobbled into room twelve. Soledad shook her head. She was getting jumpy. Maybe the kid
nappers had good disguises, but she doubted they could be that good. Straightening her back, she increased her pace. She’d lived in fear for too long before and didn’t want to start again now.
Slapping a brave smile on her face, she opened the room’s door. “Good evening, Mr. O’Hara.”
“Call me James, please.” He gestured for her to come in.
Her heartbeat erratic, she stepped inside. As she stopped near his bed, he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “Glad to see you again, Ms. Sokolova.”
A jolt of awareness went through her, and she jerked her hand back. He quirked an eyebrow but didn’t comment on her reaction.
She groaned inwardly. How did the man manage to look this handsome with bandages over his shoulder, his dark hair ruffled, and a five-o’clock shadow? Even the ridiculous hospital gown didn’t ruin his image of confidence and strength. His green eyes seemed brighter now, and she couldn’t look away.
Mari was right. He reminded her of a panther, too.
Strong.
Fast.
Dangerous.
“Call me Soledad,” she mumbled when she finally found her voice.
He smiled, and her heart did a funny flop.
No, she couldn’t fall again for a charmer who only cared about his own agenda. Some people hid ruthless tendencies behind an attractive veneer. Was she just naïve prey to men like Ron and James?
* * *
James studied Soledad with interest that surprised him. Her hair was arranged in a sensible bun on the nape of her neck, and his hands itched to reach out and shake her hair free. Her gray blouse and a matching long skirt seemed to be too conservative of an outfit for such a young woman. Not to mention not very convenient if she had to run at the drop of a hat. She hung back, as if afraid to be too close to him. She also avoided looking at him.
But from her brave shooting hours before, he sensed a courageous spirit underneath the tight cocoon.
Most women he’d met wore elaborate makeup, expensive haircuts, and clothes hugging their bodies, obviously to make men notice them. Quite the opposite, Soledad looked as if she wanted to blend into the background. Why?
The subtle floral scent moved inside the room with her, a welcome change from antiseptics. She seemed to be subtle, understated, put together with soft hues and hushed tones. A dangerous situation with the shooting had seemed to make her true colors come out, like a quiet river changing colors during a sunset. He wanted to make those bright colors come out again. He’d always found elegance appealing, but fierceness… even more so.
“I’m glad you came to visit me.” A sting of guilt reminded him that he shouldn’t be thinking about Sergey’s daughter this way. His objective was to fulfil his promise to his friend and keep her safe at all costs.
“Me, too.” She shifted from one foot to the other.
“Please take a seat.” He was grateful that the other bed in the room was empty, so they were alone.
“Thanks.” Cautiously, she sat on the edge of the chair, choosing the one that was a fair distance from the bed.
Interesting. He hadn’t done anything to scare her, so was she afraid of men in general? Why?
“Did you notice anybody following you?” he asked.
She winced. “No.”
He hated to see fear appear in her eyes. “Anything unusual?”
“Yes. I received a call from an unknown number. A mechanically distorted voice said, Find the treasure. You have only three days. Do you know what treasure they are talking about?” Her blue eyes searched his face.
His protective instincts rose to the surface. Soledad had become a target indeed. “Yes. The Fabergé egg, Sergey’s prized possession.” He shifted in the bed and couldn’t suppress a groan as sharp pain erupted in his shoulder.
“Sorry. I should’ve asked first, how do you feel?” Genuine concern colored her melodic voice.
“Better. The bullet didn’t nick an artery or a bone. Just a scratch.” He shrugged it off as if it wasn’t a big deal. He filed away the fact that she hadn’t asked what the Fabergé egg was or how much it was worth. His gut instinct was that she had an idea but still was interested in his health more than in her very valuable inheritance. She was an unusual woman.
“I pray that scratch heals soon.” The corners of her mouth lifted.
He made an effort to look away from her lips. “The doctor says, if all goes well, they’ll release me tomorrow. Of course, if I promise to take my antibiotics and come back twice a day to change bandages.”
“I’m glad you’re doing better. I hope the rest of your stay in Rios Azules will be more… pleasant.” She leaned forward. “I hope you won’t mind me asking more questions. How did you know Eliseev was coming to see me?”
“He told me. He’s my friend, and I was the one who found your whereabouts for him in the first place.”
“Why hadn’t he contacted me before?” A shadow passed over her face.
“I’d rather you hear it all from him. Besides being a friend, he’s my client.”
“He’s kidnapped, remember? Please? Can you tell me anything? Anything at all?” She looked at him with big, sad, beautiful eyes.
He’d made a grave error once, all because of big, sad, beautiful eyes. He chose his words carefully. “Sergey never knew about your existence. Several weeks ago, he came across a painting of your mother at an Austin art gallery. Even though she was much older than when they’d met, he recognized her. He bought the painting and tried to find as much information as he could about the artist, Soledad Sokolova. Based on your photo in the brochure, you appeared to look a lot like him when he was young. And your date of birth was eight and a half months after your mother had broken up with him.”
“She said they had a fight. Their relationship was doomed from the start. He was a professor, and she was a cleaning lady, so he thought he was too good for her anyway.”
He bristled on the part of his friend. “Not true on the latter. He loved her. But they did have a fight, and she broke up with him. Then she returned to her hometown and got married to her old flame.”
Soledad kept quiet for some time. “According to Mom, she regretted marrying Sokolov. He didn’t turn out like the man she’d once known. But it was too late. She tried to make it work and stayed married until seven years ago…”
“Why?”
“Sokolov… well, he didn’t treat me well. After the divorce, she admitted to me that Sokolov wasn’t my real father but she didn’t realize it when she married him. She said my real father died ten years ago.”
“She was probably afraid you wouldn’t forgive her for keeping truth from you.” He softened his voice.
“Please tell me everything you know about him. I can’t wait until he’s found. If… he’s found.” Her face crumpled. “Maybe together we can even figure out how to rescue him.”
His heart went out to her, but he resisted the urge to reach out to her. He’d have to tuck her away someplace safe. Because if she tried to search for the hidden treasure, she might not even have three days to live.
Chapter Three
“Your father’s ancestors fled Russia in 1917…” James started.
“During the revolution? Were they nobles?” She seemed to catch on quickly.
“Yes. Close friends with the tsar’s family.” He always admired intelligent, well-educated women. “All the great-grandparents of Sergey were able to take with them was an old book of fairy tales and a Fabergé egg. They fled to France but eventually ended up in the U.S. No matter how difficult it got, they never sold the book or the Fabergé egg. Until there were five burglary attempts several decades ago. Sergey’s father was brutally attacked. It helped that he had military training and kept firearms at home.
“But he worried about Sergey, who was a little boy then. So the family decided to sell the Fabergé egg to a private collector. They had plenty of inquiries all the time. But as they were sad to depart with their treasure, they had an exact replica done. The s
tory even ended up in the newspapers, though the name of the private collector was not disclosed.”
“What about the book?” Soledad asked.
“They never sold it. It was a family tradition to read to children from that book.” He paused. His parents had never read to him. In fact, they’d never paid much attention to him at all.
“Go on, please,” she said softly.
“Sergey’s great-grandfather came up with a new tradition. It was to use details from fairy tales to direct children to small hidden ‘treasures,’ like a toy or a box of chocolates. That way, the children were encouraged to read and to explore the world around them. To learn in a fun way instead of toys and treats being given to them. At the same time, they learned about their family history and grew up with the sense of cultural identity.”
“I missed that,” she whispered.
He missed that, too. His ancestors were Irish, but his parents had never talked much about his heritage. Whatever he’d learned about Irish culture, he’d learned on his own. “Children were also praised for every successful find and helped by adults if they couldn't find the hidden treasure. And every fairy tale has a lesson, a moral, so to speak, so the hunt was a way to explain right and wrong, too. That was how Sergey's father grew up. That was how Sergey grew up. That was how he wanted his children and grandchildren to grow up.”
“Does he have any children? Besides me?”
James shook his head, compassion for Sergey squeezing his rib cage. “He never got over his love for your mother and never got married. He decided to become a professor of Russian to pass on his love of reading and exploring other cultures to his students. When he learned about you, it was a huge gift for him.”
“You said he saw the portrait weeks ago. Why didn’t he contact me as soon as he found out about me?” She paused. “He looked thin and, well, sickly to me. Is he ill?”