by Alexa Verde
“Make yourself comfortable.” She stepped inside.
He took in her living room. It was small and modest but cozy, with a little palm near the window, sunny-yellow embroidered pillows on the beige couch and love seat, and long built-in shelves filled with books. An oil portrait of an older woman resembling Soledad hung above the fireplace, and photos of Soledad with four other girls, including Mari, decorated the mantel. Pictures seemingly taken in different countries lined up the walls, and souvenirs were displayed on one of the built-in shelves, including Russian nest dolls and Spanish bullfighting figurines.
Judging by the number of books and photos, she had a rich inner world. A world she didn’t seem eager to share with him. Unlike many other women he’d met, she hadn’t tried to flirt with him, impress him, “catch” him, even though he could sense some attraction. She was a challenge to him without even trying to be. But she was marriage material while he… wasn’t.
A twinge of regret stirring inside him, he returned his attention to matters at hand. He watched the window for several moments, but everything seemed to be quiet.
“I’m going to get the box.” Soledad’s melodic voice interrupted his thoughts.
He turned to her. “Let me do it.”
“Thanks, but I’m very capable of lifting a box with one book.” In spite of her refusal, her backbone appealed to him.
She returned with a small cardboard box and placed it on the coffee table. “Take a seat, please. Would you like something to drink before we begin?”
“No, thanks.” He sat down on the sofa, making sure he had the window and the front door in his vision.
She opened the box and handed him the book. A musty scent reached his nostrils. He opened the old volume carefully. Yellowish pages had rounded edges instead of angular ones, from age and repeated use.
“I’m no expert, but it might be worth something,” he said.
“The director of our library is sort of an expert on antique books, so I asked her. According to her, it’s valuable somewhat. But not enough for criminals to bother to kidnap Eliseev for.”
He studied the Cyrillic letters. “It’s… in Russian?”
“Surprise, surprise.” She sat near him on the sofa. Their knees bumped, and a blush blossomed on her cheeks.
His pulse increased. He had a strange reaction to their closeness. Not good.
“Let’s see,” she said. “I’ll start with this one. Kolobok.”
“Kilo what?”
She chuckled. “Kolobok. I’ll translate. I’m familiar with these fairy tales. Being half-Russian and knowing Russian folklore come in handy now. I just wish it was my real father who’d read me these fairy tales when I was small.”
“I’m half-Irish,” he volunteered, feeling an unexpected bond with her. “I read Irish folklore and listen to Irish music often. But I didn’t learn it from my parents, either. They didn’t seem to care much for their ancestors.” Or for him, for that matter. He didn’t add that part.
Somehow she seemed to guess. Her eyes filled with compassion. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
He needed to change the topic. “Maybe we should leave for Austin and talk to Sergey’s family and colleagues instead of studying fairy tales.” He was desperate to find Sergey. James had done his best to accept that his friend would succumb to his disease soon. But even an extra day with Sergey would be a blessing.
“You don’t want to look for clues, do you?”
“Soledad, we don’t know the rules of this treasure hunt. We don’t have Sergey here to help us through the search. How exactly are fairy tales going to help us?”
She worried her lower lip, which drew his attention to her mouth. An attractive mouth with slightly plump lips. A very kissable mouth. Man, he had it bad.
“I’d like to meet my relatives. But not yet. I want to try to figure out the clues first. Will you help me?” Her eyes pleaded with him.
An inexplicable tenderness stirred inside him. “Of course,” he promised, though knowing it was going to be difficult to keep her safe.
Most likely, it was only a matter of time before somebody started shooting at them again.
* * *
Soledad buried her face in the book, as much to escape James’s piercing gaze as to re-familiarize herself with the first fairy tale. Then a chill ran down her spine. “Even if we find the treasure and hand it over to the criminals, there’s no guarantee you, I, and Eliseev won’t be killed anyway.”
“Look at the bright side. While you’re searching, you’re allowed to live.”
Somehow the thought wasn’t very comforting. “So besides finding the treasure, we’d better figure out who’s behind all this, too?”
“Exactly.” His voice was strong and confident, just like the man himself.
She wanted to lean into his shoulder. The shoulder that had been wounded while protecting her and Eliseev. The thought had the effect of a cold shower on her. She looked up and caught a flicker of pain in James’s eyes.
“How do you feel? Do you need to take painkillers?” she asked.
His expression grew neutral. “I’m fine. No need for meds.”
Her stomach clenched from concern for him.
“There’s only one painting of yours in your home. Why?” he asked quickly, as if he wanted to change the topic.
Her mind did her a disservice, fetching a memory when she’d been seven. You’re worthless! You can’t even draw. The mocking laughter had been followed by the sound of paper being torn. Her drawings had always ended up in the trash, until she’d learned to draw at her friend Lydia’s house and leave them there. Lydia and Mari had encouraged her to draw and later to paint.
God had given her great friends.
But with the exception of her mother’s painting, Soledad had had difficulty showing her works to people other than her friends. Mari had managed to persuade her to display several in the restaurant she owned, but it had taken her weeks to do so.
“I paint for myself.” Soledad hesitated. “I guess I don’t think I’m good enough to show them to others. The painting at the gallery, the one Eliseev saw… it was there thanks to my friend Lydia’s grandmother’s connections.”
He hooked her chin with his finger and looked her straight in the eye. “I read the reviews. Plenty of people think you’re more than good enough. In fact, the reviews say you’re very talented.”
“They… do?” She purposely hadn’t read the reviews for fear they’d berate her. Just like her stepfather had.
“I don’t know much about art, but… I think you’re as talented as you’re beautiful. And you’re very beautiful, Soledad.”
She went light-headed at his words. He sounded so sincere. With him being close, looking into her eyes as if he… as if he was interested in her, her heartbeat went into overdrive.
He traced his finger along her jaw, and she felt as if she was freefalling. What would he do next? His gaze fixed on her lips, and her breath caught in her throat.
Was he going to kiss her? Was he really attracted to her?
Another memory came to the surface, this time when she’d been fifteen. Her stepfather had forbidden her to wear pretty clothes and had mocked her when she’d tried to style her hair for Lydia’s quincenera. Why do you even try? No boy is ever going to look at you.
Ron had said the same thing when she’d been nineteen and broken off things with him. Suit yourself. I don’t know what I saw in you. You’re nothing. No guy is even going to look at you.
Her throat constricted. She moved away from James and clutched the book in her hands. It was better to bury herself in the story than to have her heart broken for the second time. Besides, finding the clues should be her priority in the first place.
“Soledad?” The expression in James’s eyes turned from tender to confused.
“Let’s go back to Kolobok,” she said. “A poor old couple baked a small, round bread named Kolobok from whatever little flour they managed to scrape
up. But Kolobok ran away.”
“Bakery?” he asked.
“Maybe. Or a pastry store. There are two bakeries and three pastry stores in Rios Azules. Which one? Let’s see what happens next.” She carefully flipped worn pages. “First Kolobok meets a hare who wants to eat the bread. Kolobok sings a song and escapes the hare.”
“Song? Music store?” He pulled up a map of Rios Azules on his phone.
“Wait a second. Patience is a virtue, you know. Then he meets a wolf and the story repeats. Same thing with a bear. Until Kolobok meets a fox. The fox says she wants to hear the song better and to please sing it on the tip of her tongue.”
“And does Kilobit sing it? That’s silly. The fox is going to eat it.” He studied the map.
“Not Kilobit. Kolobok. Well, what do you want from a piece of bread? Unlike the fox, it doesn’t have a brain. And you’re right. The fox eats Kolobok. End of story.” She should be smarter than a piece of bread. She shouldn’t pay attention to the charming words of the fox sitting right next to her.
Her stomach rumbled. Oh, no. Skipping lunch hadn’t been a good idea.
“Let’s check out pastry stores in person. See if anything jumps out at us. After the hospital food, I’m ready to eat a dozen of Kiloboks.” He took the book from her hands and put it aside. His fingers brushed against hers.
A wave of awareness rushed through her entire body. It was amazing what just his simple touch could do to her.
“Not Kiloboks. Koloboks.” She jumped to her feet and grabbed her purse, putting some distance between them.
“Exactly.” He grinned.
Her bones went soft at his smile, at the look in his eyes as if he saw something in her that others didn’t.
Concentrate.
What was she missing in the fairy tale? A lightbulb went on in her head. “Hare. Of course. Bread escaped the hare but got caught by the fox. Don’t you see?”
“Nope. I’m waiting. Patiently.” He opened the door, stepped outside, and scanned the street. “Looks safe enough.”
She walked outside the house and pulled up the address on her phone. “It’s Evelyn’s Pastries. Its address is five Foxwood. Kolobok escaped four characters, got eaten by the fifth. And guess what? Evelyn’s Pastries is opposite Great Cuts.” She locked the front door, and they rushed to her car.
“Great Cuts?” He opened the door for her.
“Used to be a butcher’s. Now it’s the hairdresser’s. The new owner figured the name suited her just fine.” She started the engine and took off.
“And that’s relevant… how?”
She glided through the streets. Fortunately, traffic in Rios Azules was slow. “Hairdresser’s. Hair. It sounds like hare. And Evelyn’s Pastries is not far from The Café. Mari owns The Café.”
“Right. Her maiden name is Del Lobo. And lobo means wolf in Spanish. She told me that much. Okay, I have to admit, it makes sense. Somewhat.”
“Or you’re just hungry.” As she turned to the right, she stole a glance at his impossibly wide shoulders, toned arms, and flat stomach. Apparently, that kind of appetite hadn’t given him an ounce of fat.
“That, too. I kinda wish the old couple made a big, juicy steak.”
She chuckled in spite of the seriousness of the situation. “Oh, yeah, you’d prefer that to pastries. By the way, Evelyn is in her eighties. Her boyfriend is younger than she is, give or take a decade. So don’t tell that to Evelyn, but I guess they qualify as the old couple from the fairy tale.”
The laughter died on her lips when she remembered that if she didn’t find the treasure in three days, her father would die. And she’d be dead, too. She gripped the steering wheel tighter.
Dear Lord, please help me save my father. Please guide me on this path. Amen.
“You should do it more often,” James said quietly.
“I pray rather often.”
“I’m sure you do. It’s admirable. But I meant laugh. Life is there to enjoy, every moment of it. Because it can end any time. You should do it for others, too. You have a beautiful—”
“Oh, don’t tell me. I have a beautiful laugh?”
“Okay, I won’t.”
As she parked near the pastry shop, the aroma of baked goods drifted to them. A ping announced an incoming text message on her phone. She glanced at the screen, and her heart fell.
If you want information about your father, meet me at ten Azalea Street in five minutes. Don’t involve the police.
Fear, like so many times in childhood, chilled her to the bone. But she’d learned to deal with fear, and she had to help her father. She showed the message to James.
He frowned. “We can try to trace the phone number it came from. Though I’m sure it’s from a throwaway phone. Do you know what’s at ten Azalea Street?”
She gunned the engine again and drove off. “I know how to find the street. It’s on the outskirts. We can barely make it there in time.”
His expression turned grim. “Sounds like a trap to me.”
She passed an SUV in her hurry to get to Azalea Street. “I’m not turning around.”
“I didn’t ask you to. I’ll go in while you stay in the car. But I’m calling the police, too.”
“No. Remember what the message said? I can’t risk my father’s life.”
“Sure. You’d rather risk yours and mine.”
She bit into her lip as she passed another vehicle. James had a point. “Fine. Call Aidan. He’ll know what to do. Maybe he can keep this under wraps.” She rattled off the number.
He placed the call and pressed on the speakerphone button.
Aidan answered on the third ring. She explained the situation to him as she turned to Azalea Street and drove past vast fields. There were no buildings until she finally slowed down near an old, dilapidated home. The number ten was barely visible on one of the grayish walls.
“Doesn’t look like anybody has lived here in ages.” She shivered as she parked near the dark, gloomy ruins with hollow windows and a nonexistent roof. Vegetation and graffiti covered the remains of the walls.
When he was about to exit the car, she captured his hand. “You don’t have to go. You’re right. You shouldn’t risk your life.”
He turned to her. “That’s not what I meant when I said we needed to call the police. Risk is part of my job.”
Her heart squeezed painfully, and she let his hand go. She’d seen him shot once. She couldn’t do it again. He’d started to… matter to her? “I didn’t hire you for that. The message said for me to come in, not you. Besides, he’s my father. I’m the one who needs to go there.”
His eyes darkened to the shade of forest green. “No way. I promised Sergey I’d protect you, and I will. Stop arguing. We’re running out of time.”
She looked at the watch and drew in a sharp breath. They only had thirty seconds left. “Okay, but… please be careful.”
He gave a curt nod. She stayed in the car, watching helplessly as his figure disappeared inside the old building. She hurried to lock the doors.
Dear Lord, please keep James safe in Your care. Amen.
She stared at her watch. The arrow moved so slowly it seemed to stay in one place. Every second seemed to last an eternity. Only her own rapid heartbeat and the rustling of leaves on the trees interrupted heavy silence.
Then gunshots split the air.
James!
Without giving it a second thought, she pulled the gun out of her purse and jumped out of the car. She sprinted to the dark opening that used to be a door. Once there, she had to pause to let her eyes get accustomed to the darkness.
A shadow moved in one of the window openings to her right. She screamed. Something hit her head. Sharp pain exploded inside her skull. She slid to the ground, and everything went black.
Chapter Five
“Soledad! Please answer me.” James’s worried voice filtered through the fog in her mind.
She forced her heavy eyelids to open and blinked several times until Jam
es’s face came into focus. Her head hurt. When she tried to lift it, a wave of dizziness swallowed her whole. The scents of earth and grass drifted to her nostrils. Was she lying on the grass?
The worried expression in his dark eyes changed to one of relief. “You’re okay! You scared me.”
“What… happened?” Her own voice sounded foreign to her.
“I believe you were rushing to my rescue when somebody knocked you out.”
“I thought you were in trouble. I heard gunshots.” She touched the bulge on her head and flinched from pain. “Ouch!”
“I glimpsed the metal of a gun in the darkness, so I identified myself and fired two warning shots in the air. Then I heard you scream.” Genuine concern shone in his gorgeous eyes that took on an emerald-green hue again. She could look into them forever…
Yikes. Even in this pitiful condition, she still noted how gorgeous his eyes were. His proximity wreaked havoc on her system, which had already been messed up by the hit on her head.
She grimaced and attempted to sit up. Everything moved in front of her.
“You must be dizzy.” His voice took on a sharp edge. “You might even have a concussion. We’ll need a doctor to check you out. Let me carry you to the car.”
Her heart thudded at the idea of being in his arms. No, no, no. “No, thanks. You were wounded recently. You might drop me on the way.”
“I won’t.”
The growl of a motor neared and stopped. Then a car door was slammed shut.
She smiled warmly at Aidan approaching them. James helped her rise to her feet. Of course, her uneven breathing had nothing to do with her closeness to this hunk and everything to do with the bump on her head. Or so she told herself.
“I kept the sirens off in order to not alert the perp. But I see I’m late.” Aidan closed the distance between them.
“I’m fine.” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.
Aidan listened to their descriptions of the events, wrote down the phone number the text message had come from, and stayed to investigate the scene.