“Who are you calling?” Miranda asked.
“We need copies of these,” he answered.
Miranda grinned. “Yeah, copies of my soon-to-be fortune. Well, what’s left of it. I spent a lot already.”
“Oui, hello? We are ready,” Asher said and replaced the receiver.
“Wow, you had this all planned? I’m almost insulted how quickly you want to get rid of me,” She licked the corner of her mouth. “Almost.”
Asher reached for his bag and pulled out another set of papers. “Sign these too. Originals for my lawyers.”
“With pleasure, Baby.” Miranda sat close to him and brushed his chest with her hand as she reached for the folder. “Mmm, it’s a shame we couldn’t work it out, Asher. You were always a good lay.”
“And you were always a crude bitch. I just wish I realized it sooner. Put on a shirt, Miranda. They will be here any minute.”
“They? You mean the bellman?” Miranda laughed as she signed her name. “Oh, baby … he’s seen me with less on that I have right now … and at a pretty close distance, I might add.”
Asher shook his head and crossed the room to rummage through a drawer. Finding a slinky dress, he tossed it to her. “Could you just tell me one thing, Miranda?”
“What’s that, baby?” she replied as she wiggled into the dress.
“Why did you steal my paintings and run for Europe?”
She shrugged. “Because, Asher, they turned out to be more valuable than you were.” With a bitter laugh, she crossed the room to stand in front of him. “And I have discovered that the only thing I can trust in life is money.”
Asher narrowed his eyes. “I never gave you a reason not to trust me. You’re the one who slept with anything that moved, even after we were married,” he said.
Miranda shrugged again. “You weren’t enough for me.”
“I never gave you a reason not to trust me,” Asher repeated.
“Yes, you did,” she shouted, “I could see it in your eyes the last few weeks we were together. You thought that I was a slut. That I was common. That I was a bitch and a whore and you were sorry you married me so quickly. Right? It’s true, isn’t it?” She was screaming now, her lovely eyes bulging, her flawless face red.
Asher stared at her in silence. “Yes,” he finally said. “Yes … I was a fool to be blinded by your beauty, Miranda. An utter fool. Because you turned so ugly so fast.”
Tears shone in her eyes and she clenched her trembling hands. “I knew it. So I took the paintings and ran. I had to have something. You wanted to divorce me … and after only two months of marriage. What made you think I was so stupid? I was never going to sign those papers. Asher, you’re a bastard.”
“You may say that now, but you’ll certainly believe it soon.”
A sharp knock sounded at the door.
“What?” Miranda yelled.
“Open the door, Madame,” said a deep voice on the other side.
Miranda stalked to the door and yanked it open.
“What the fuck?”
Four uniformed officers stood in the hallway.
“Miranda Day, you are under arrest for international trafficking.”
She gasped in shock and turned a murderous glare on Asher. “I’ll kill you,” she whispered.
He gave her a sad smile. “Miranda, after this moment, you will never see me again. And by the way … according to the divorce papers, I’m penniless. I sold everything I had left and gave the money to charity. I barely had the cash to cover my plane ticket to Paris and back. Of course, that won’t be true after I recover what paintings you didn’t sell, but you’ll be in prison by then. Have a nice day.”
He shook the hand of one of the officers, grabbed his bag, walked out the door and into the hallway.
“Wait,” she screamed. “I’ll give your paintings back. Asher … Asher … please.” Her voice caught on a sob.
He turned around and stared at her. Her lovely face was splotched red and the expensive dress hung like a sack on her thin frame.
“I have three conditions.”
“Anything … just … please. I can’t go to jail,” she pleaded, wiping a thick track of wet mascara from her cheek.
“Tell me where my paintings are. Don’t contest the divorce. Never contact me again.”
“Oh. O … o … okay,” she hiccoughed, shrugging off the hand of the officer holding her. She smiled at the man and then examined his body with her eyes.
“You are not pressing charges now, Monsieur?” the officer asked, shifting under Miranda’s gaze.
Asher didn’t answer him. “Miranda, I am not joking. Tell me where they are. Right now. Or I swear to God you’re going to prison.”
Eyes wide, she glanced backward through the open hotel room door. Her gaze rested on the bed. “Um, they’re under there,” she offered.
Asher strode past her back into the room and jerked up the duvet. The edge of a frame peeked out from under the bed. Reaching down, he pulled on it. Six more rolled up canvasses slid out as well.
“Where’s the rest?”
“In the shower.” Miranda cowered in the doorway, her arms limp by her sides.
“Nice,” he commented and retrieved the rest of his paintings. They were still intact in frames. He ripped a sheet from the bed and began to wrap them up, but hesitated. A small smile played at the corners of his lips. Sifting through the stack, he retrieved one, stood it on the bed and then rewrapped the rest.
“A parting gift,” he said and gestured toward the abstract nude propped on the pillows. “Because you love this one so much.” He grabbed his bag, lifted the bundle of paintings and headed for the door, stopping only to glance at Miranda one last time. She stared at him in loathing.
“Don’t cross me, Miranda. You know what will happen if you even try,” he said in an even voice. “Oh, and by the way … you could use a bra.”
She gasped and her hand flashed out to slap him. The officer standing next to her caught it in midair.
“It’s over, Madame,” he said.
“Thank God,” Asher muttered as he headed for the elevator.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Shit,” whispered Ross as he peered into the darkness, listening to the sound of breaking glass. A second later, he heard screams, and the truck engine roaring to life. And finally, a sickening thud. Jumping up from the ground, he groped in the darkness for Nicky’s arm to pull the other man to his feet, but he was already running into the clearing.
“Someone got run over. Oh my God,” Nicky flung over his shoulder.
At the same instant, the FBI agents emerged from the trees carrying rifles, black figures in the rainy darkness. They ran for the truck, their weapons ready.
Ross stood rooted in fear, watching in horror as the sky illuminated with a crack of thunder and a flash of lightning. The truck was headed for a cliff. Four shots sounded in the night, the exploding noise ricocheting through the clearing.
Why couldn’t he move?
Another burst of lightning flashed. The truck was out of control, bumping along the uneven grass, its tires shot to ribbons. A second later, it rolled over and landed with a crash next to a boulder, only inches from the cliff.
Ross heard the determined yelling of an agent giving orders. “Go. GO!”
Flashlights snapped on and the agents swarmed the truck. He saw the shape of Carly’s body inside. It wasn’t moving. Ross found his feet again. Sprinting, he ran, slipping on the wet grass and reached the cluster of men holding rifles on the wrecked vehicle. One of them, close to his size, grabbed his shoulders and held him back.
“Stay back, sir.”
“Carly’s in there. The baby. Carly. Don’t shoot … God, don’t shoot.”
“We know that, sir. Just let
us do our jobs.”
Ross struggled against his strong grasp. “Then why the guns?”
“We have not secured the area, sir.”
“What do you mean, not secured?” Ross demanded, “You’re just going to scare the shit out of her.”
“The suspect is not in custody. We are not secured. So let me do my job, sir,” the agent replied.
“Good God … she must have hit him with the truck,” Ross muttered, allowing the agent to push him backward.
The agent pushed again, more gently this time. “Go back to the trees until we say we are clear, Ross.”
“I need to see Carly,” he replied through his teeth, rooted to the ground.
“No.”
“But — wait. How do you know my name?”
The agent approached him, looming near. He lowered his voice. “Look man, what is it going to take to get you to follow my orders? You’re hampering the mission. Can’t you understand that?” His voice was deep and soothing as he placed his hand on Ross’s chest.
Ross became aware of the man’s breath near his ear. It felt good and he shivered in spite of his anxiety. What the hell was wrong with him? Feeling lust at a time like this? The guy was probably straight and would be totally pissed if he knew, too. He shoved the large hand away from his shoulder. “Fine.”
“All secure here,” came a shout from near the truck.
The agent glanced backward and stepped closer to Ross. “Look. I’m sorry if I pissed you off, but I had to do my job.” He gave a small smile. “My name is Bruce. When all of this shit blows over, I’d like to make it up to you.” He squeezed Ross’s shoulder and walked back to the wreck. Stunned, Ross followed him.
“Is the baby okay?” Carly’s voice was muffled, but strong.
“Ma’am, just hold still so we can cut this seatbelt — ”
“I’m not a ma’am … I’m a miss,” she corrected. “Dammit, don’t make me sound so old.”
Ross chuckled, his eyes bright with unshed tears. All flashlights trained on the truck as an agent lifted Carly out and laid her gently on the ground. A scowling, tiny Daniel in the car seat followed and was placed next to her.
“It’s all over now, Miss,” the agent said.
“Thank God,” she breathed, reaching a hand toward the car seat. “He’s OK?”
“Yes ma’am. We’re getting paramedics to make sure. Just be still until they arrive.”
All was quiet for a few seconds and Ross crouched on the ground next to her. “You all right, partner?” he whispered.
She peered at him in the dim light. “Do I have any cuts on my face?”
“No, why?”
She shrugged and cradled her right arm. “Just didn’t want to end up disfigured over an asshole like Wheeler.”
Ross’s answering chuckle was cut off by a shout in the distance. Instantly, the agents mobilized.
“Fuck you, surfer. And your fat whore, too,” Wheeler’s screaming voice sent a surge of alarm through Ross’s body. He knelt beside Carly and took her in his arms.
“Oh my God,” Carly whispered.
The baby began to cry again.
Ross pulled the car seat next to his hip and stroked the baby’s head. “Shh.” He leaned down and placed a kiss on Carly’s forehead. “That goes for you, too. If Wheeler hears your voice, he’ll go even crazier. Is your arm hurt, sweetie?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. But … Ross … I hit him with a moving vehicle. He should be unconscious,” she said.
“The FBI can handle it, Carly.”
A shot rang out in the distance, followed by a scream and a thud. Instinctively, Carly screamed, too.
“Agent down!” came a shout.
Ross clapped his hand over Carly’s mouth and listened with sick apprehension to the escalating argument in the darkness.
Wheeler’s drunken shout reverberated through the clearing. “Stay the fuck away from me. All of you are crazy. I’m a cop. You can’t shoot another cop. Stand down.”
“You shot another cop, you worthless bastard,” came Nicky’s answering shout, “Now let go of me before I tear your balls off.”
“The only thing that’s gonna be torn off is your face, surfer. You’re the one with a gun pointed at your head.”
“Lower your weapon, Barstow. Let the hostage go,” an agent shouted.
“That’s Bruce,” murmured Ross. He pressed his lips together.
Carly frowned. “How do you … ”
He waved her away. “Just stay still.”
• • •
“I’m not lowering my weapon until you bring me my girl. Then you can have this blond bitch boy back.” God damn, his whole body hurt. He needed to go home and go to bed. Shoving Nicky away from him but keeping the weapon trained on his head, Wheeler let out a laugh.
“Hey, bitch. You sure you ain’t gay? You look like a pillow biter to me.” Pain shot through his abdomen and his arm began to shake.
“What the hell does that matter?” asked Nicky.
Surfer boy didn’t look concerned. Why was he so calm? Wheeler felt cold seep into his body.
“I don’t like fags,” he replied. Why did his own voice sound so far away? A choking cough clogged his throat and warmth flooded his mouth. Blood began seeping from his lips and he lowered his gun. “What the fuck?” He sank to the ground. “Jesus, she must have hit me harder that I thought she did.”
Through the black spots in his vision, he watched as agents swarmed around him. In seconds, he was thrown onto his stomach, his arms wrenched behind his back. His sight went black.
“I need an ambulance.”
“You need a prison cell,” someone answered.
Wheeler barely heard the voice. The only sensation he had was that of warm blood gushing out of his mouth and onto the ground in front of him. It pooled around his forehead. Then the darkness claimed him.
• • •
Two agents turned over Wheeler’s body and trained a flashlight on his face. His bloodshot blue eyes stared at the sky. His bloody mouth was slack.
“Is he dead?” Nicky asked, rubbing his jaw where Wheeler had punched him minutes earlier.
“Yeah, man, I think so,” answered Bruce as he squatted next to Wheeler’s limp body. “What possessed you to come after him, anyway? That was really dangerous.”
Nicky blew out a breath. “Hell, I don’t know. I’m sorry but I didn’t think … I just acted. I guess I assumed it was Carly who had been hit by the truck. I don’t know. When I reached Wheeler, he was already on his feet, pulling a gun out of one of his boots.” He squatted on the ground. “It happened really fast. I lunged for him and he knocked the shit out of me. Next thing I knew, I had a gun to my head.” His cell phone rang and he reached for his pocket.
“Hi, Marilyn.”
“Nicky, oh my God, we heard shots and then a crash and it sounded like lightning but I couldn’t be sure and then Sophie said it was a car crashing and I knew that you had been run over and your leg severed and one of your eyes shot out and then you’d look like a pirate and in a way that’s sexy, but please tell me that’s not true,” Marilyn shouted into the phone. The unmistakable sound of an ambulance whined in the background and she raised her voice above it. “But if you need an eye patch that’s fine, I’ll still love you.”
Nicky held the phone away from his ear. “Nope. No pirates here. Love you too,” he said, and then hung up on her still-chattering voice.
“Pirates?” Bruce asked.
“Never get involved with an actress.” Nicky shook his head.
“Don’t worry,” Bruce said with a chuckle, holstering his weapon. He lowered his voice. “I don’t shop in that aisle, man.”
“Oh. Oh! Hey … I know someone who does,” Nicky said.
“Ross? Already taken care of.”
Nicky grinned and glanced over Bruce’s shoulder. The siren was closer now and the sudden beam of headlights bounced off the mountains peaks as an ambulance made its way into the clearing. Two agents, supporting a third, raised their hands in greeting.
“Oh Jesus, I forgot about him. Is he OK?” Nicky asked.
Bruce snorted. “Yes. Wheeler barely grazed his leg. For his own protection, he stayed down, though.”
“Oh. It all happened so fast,” Nicky commented.
“It usually does man … it usually does.”
“I would rather it hadn’t happened altogether,” Ross said as he approached the cluster of men.
“Hey,” Bruce glanced at Ross and then away, a smile playing on his lips.
“Hey,” Ross answered with a grin. “How long until we get out of here? Carly is kinda stressed. She’s mumbling about eating her own weight in cheeseburgers and fifty cats eating her alive because she’s stuck in a wheelchair.” He rolled his eyes. “Can I take her home, please?”
“The EMTs have to check her over and if she and the baby are OK, then, yeah,” Bruce replied, “We’ll interview her later. We’ll need to.”
Holding his gaze for a moment, Ross cleared his throat and then turned to Nicky. “You all right?”
Nicky gave him a knowing grin and glanced at Bruce. “Yep. But Wheeler’s not.” Nicky pointed.
“Holy shit. He’s dead.” Ross backed away from the body. “Who shot him?”
“Nobody did,” said Bruce, “He probably bled to death internally. She hit him really hard with that truck, you know.”
Nicky watched as Ross walked over to Bruce and grabbed his arm. “No. No she didn’t. As far as she knows, he was shot, okay?”
The ambulance pulled up next to them and provided enough light for Ross to search Bruce’s impassive face.
“OK?” Ross repeated.
Bruce’s expression hardened. “I don’t lie,” he said.
“You will this time. Knowing she killed someone … even him … would haunt her for the rest of her life. Why does she deserve that?” Ross’s eyes pleaded with Bruce.
Heart to Heart Page 117