by Kadi Dillon
She huffed. “Well, I’m neither, so you can guess again.”
“Why, Rebecca? Why are you risking your life for a painting?”
He would never understand. Besides, she’d never explained herself to anyone in her life and she wasn’t about to start now. She met his stare without flinching. “Because I made a promise.”
“A promise worth your life?”
She felt the same old pain envelop her again; the emptiness and longing. “It doesn’t matter. I’m keeping my word.”
He was quiet again for a few minutes before saying, “I’m going to help you. Damned if I know why, but I am. I want to know more about your father and why he thought you’d be the best place to stash the painting. But before you tell me the rest, I need to go pay for the rest of the night.”
Confusion robbed her of speaking for a moment. “You paid by the hour before?”
“Yeah, I did.” His mouth twitched. “I’ll be back in five minutes and then we’ll figure everything out, all right?”
Five minutes would be plenty of time to hightail it out of there. She could run a block or two if she didn’t see a cab right off, then she’d go to her car and retrieve the painting. She’d hide it at her house, or maybe even take it with her to ballet. She’d find a hotel—a much nicer hotel—to stay in for now. Everything would work out.
She’d be extra careful until her father returned from wherever he was. As long as she stayed one step ahead of the goons, she’d be fine.
She pasted on a smile. “All right.”
Chapter Four
Makeup went a long way to conceal the ugly bruises on her face and neck. Rebecca added the last pin to the tidy bun on the top of her head and lightly sprayed her hair with holding spray.
She stuffed her bulky pink tutu into her duffle bag and pulled grey sweatpants on over her tights. The light pink leotard was an old favorite. It was worn and comfortable and always lifted her spirits when they needed lifting. This was one of those times. Between the leotard and her old, reliable ballet shoes, her night seemed to be improving. She put the shoes in her duffle as well and slipped on tennis shoes.
She felt normal grabbing the keys to her car, normal walking out her front door—giving a wide berth to a spider she saw crawling in the driveway—and sliding into the driver’s seat. She’d started off her day by getting snatched outside the gym, being shot at, and jumping into a speeding boat. Now she was heading to Friday night dance class, she mused, pulling out onto the street. No wonder her head ached.
The drive to the studio was short and uneventful. Rebecca took an alternative route just in case someone was waiting somewhere along the road for her. She’d had the painting for two months now, and each Friday during that time, she had gone to the same dance class, on the same night, at the same time, and driving the same route. If someone had been watching her, they’d know exactly how to get her.
In all probability, the goons were still looking for her in Lakewood. They wouldn’t think she would go about her normal schedule with the painting still in her possession—and if they did show up, she wouldn’t be caught by surprise again. It may have been smarter for her to have skipped town, but the upcoming recital was too important to her.
After sneaking out of the flea-ridden hotel, Rebecca had grabbed a cab and gone straight to her car. To her amazement, it was there, untouched, with the painting still wrapped in the sheet and hidden beneath the false bottom for her spare tire in her trunk. So she had left the painting there.
Whoever wanted the painting had searched her bedroom. They hadn’t made a mess, but her tidy and organized bedroom had definitely been investigated. The clothes in her closet were pushed aside; some had fallen off their hangers. Shoe boxes were scattered. Whoever had looked under her bed hadn’t let the bed skirt fall back down or smoothed her sheets like she knew Mary had done that morning before Rebecca had dismissed her for the week.
Seeing all her things intact lifted her spirits. She half-expected to come home to broken windows and ruined possessions. Maybe things were finally looking up.
She parked in front of the studio and saw her friend Brittany standing on the front steps talking on her cell phone. Rebecca’s mood instantly lightened. She and Brittany weren’t close, but they shared a passion for dancing and Thai food. Brittany’s fair hair was short and curly, the opposite of Rebecca’s long, dark fall of hair. She was taller than Rebecca and carried curves that Rebecca envied.
Brittany closed her phone and glanced her way, giving her a friendly smile.
“Hey, girl. I missed you at lunch today. I thought you always hit up Sloan’s on Friday.” For the most part, that was true. Rebecca ate every Friday at Sloan’s Thai restaurant after her mid-morning workout. Only this particular day, she’d been grabbed by brutes and lugged all over Ohio.
Rebecca pasted on a bright smile, ignoring the throbbing in her head. “I was busy today.”
“Oh, I saved you a seat. I thought about calling you but Ricky came in and we got talking.” Brittany’s face lit up as she thought of her long-term crush. “You remember me telling you about Ricky, don’t you?”
“Is he the singer?”
“Drummer.”
“Ah, yes. The drummer.” Rebecca opened the door to the studio. “Did you get his number yet?”
“I did.” Brittany winked. “He is so handsome, Becca. You’ve got to see. His eyes are like...” When she couldn’t think of a proper comparison, she sighed.
Rebecca thought of Gideon. She knew several ways to describe his eyes. Smoke. Fog. They were a deep, opaque grey when he was being sympathetic. They turned nearly black when he was angry.
Emptiness left her gloomy throughout class. Her pirouettes were mechanical and without the fire she usually felt when she danced. When she gripped the barre, she dug her fingers into the wood, trying to fight the guilt of having run out on him.
He was a complete stranger to her, yet he had tried to help her. She realized he had done more than anyone in her life would have done for her. The guilt she felt was justified, but she needed to get over it and keep her mind sharp if she was going to survive this fiasco.
When class was over, Rebecca remained behind with a few of the other girls. She’d missed her morning workout and planned on making it up with extra dance time. She executed triple runs until her calves were screaming.
“Want to go get a drink?”
Rebecca glanced over at Brittany as she stretched her abused muscles. “I don’t think so. I’ve had a busy day.”
“Maybe tomorrow?”
“Maybe.”
Brittany picked up her gym bag. “I’m going to step out for a smoke. I’ll walk you to your car when you’re done.”
Rebecca nodded and watched her friend leave.
She guzzled an entire bottle of water and slipped the pins from her hair. Her scalp wept as she rubbed out the tension. She brushed her ebony hair out, leaving it down, and was about to grab her sweatpants from her bag when the door to the studio opened.
It was dark outside the studio, but Rebecca didn’t need light to recognize the man standing in the doorway. Brittany giggled up at him as she led him into the building, her smile wide.
She stopped upon seeing Rebecca. “Becca, there you are. Your—ah—friend here has been looking for you.” Her eyes wide and bright, Brittany covered the side of her mouth with her hand and mouthed oh, my God to Rebecca.
Rebecca ignored her and turned blindly to grab her bag. “Thanks, Brit.”
Well, hell.
The pounding in her chest hurt. Rebecca avoided Gideon’s eyes as she let him lead her outside. He grabbed her arm, not gently, and pulled her along. He released her once they stepped onto the sidewalk.
“Which one’s your car?”
She didn’t speak. She turned to the right and walked down to her Pontiac.
“Where’s the painting?”
Rebecca didn’t trust that calm, quiet tone of his. It shook her more than the chill in the
air. Waiting for his outburst was worse than receiving it…she hoped. “The trunk.”
“Get in.” He opened the passenger door for her, then shut it smartly.
Rebecca watched him as he walked around the front of the car. He reminded Rebecca of a dangerous animal. A panther, she decided when his eyes met hers in front of the hood. They weren’t smoke now. They were black, dark and fierce.
He opened the door and slid his long legs under the steering wheel. He had to make major adjustments to the seat, but once that was done, he took the keys Rebecca held in her nerveless hand and started the engine.
While he navigated her little car along the road, a nerve-racking silence surrounded them. With every minute, Rebecca’s heart rate increased. He wasn’t threatening her, he wasn’t shouting. He was just driving. She wanted to fiddle with the radio, but that would mean her hand would have to be closer to him. She had the image of a caged panther lashing out at anyone who got too close. She twisted her fingers in her lap instead.
Gideon slowed her car to a stop. Jerked out of her stupor, she saw the long dock over the water through her window. Icy panic gripped her once again when she saw a boat at the dock with its lights on and motor running. Was he turning her over after all? She had a very bad feeling she’d made a big mistake running from him.
She swallowed and prayed her voice was stronger than she felt. “Listen, Gideon. I’ll match their offer if you let me go. In fact, I’ll double it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Whatever they offered you to turn me in,” she said, almost hysterical. “I’ll give you twice that. R-right now. I’ll write you a check.” She fumbled in her bag, searching for her checkbook. She jumped like a rabbit when she felt the warmth of his hands on her icy flesh. “What?”
“That’s my other boat,” he said, and got out of the car.
Rebecca closed her eyes and waited for her heart to return to its normal rhythm. When her breathing was under control, she opened her eyes and exited the car. She turned toward the lake to study the boat.
The similarities to Gideon’s Avery were amazing. This one—same in color and style—was smaller, and didn’t lack in beauty. Rebecca couldn’t imagine it lacking in power either. The dark waves slapped the side of the crisp white boat. The word June was painted in black cursive lettering on the side.
While Gideon retrieved the painting from the trunk, Rebecca watched a man emerge from the cabin. He stood on the deck of the boat, arms folded across his massive chest, powerful legs spread apart while he watched them. The little hairs on the back of her neck prickled.
“Gideon,” she squeaked.
He must have looked up and followed her gaze. From behind her she heard him say, “My brother, Colin.”
Rebecca returned her attention to the man.
Even in the moonlight and with the substantial distance between them, Rebecca could see that Colin Avery was as dark and handsome as his brother. His hair, the same jet black, was short and thick.
Rebecca jumped when the trunk slammed shut behind her. Gideon held the wrapped painting in one hand with a grim look on his face. “Let’s go.”
Rebecca shook her head and inched backward toward her car. The fact that he wasn’t turning her over was a relief, but she still didn’t want to go with him. “I’m not going on that boat.” But neither could she surrender the painting—that was the whole point of her promise.
Gideon sighed. Rebecca almost thought he was going to negotiate. Then, in a move as quick and sudden as a snake striking its prey, he lunged toward her. Before she could manage so much as a squeal, he grabbed her and slung her over his shoulder.
Shock held her still for several moments as Gideon made his way toward the boat. His steps were unhurried, his gait casual, as if he didn’t have a hundred-pound woman bouncing around on his shoulder. The absurdity and indecency of the whole situation finally sunk in. Rebecca balled her hand into a tight fist.
“You bastard.” She hit him as hard as she could manage from her ridiculous position. She glanced a hit on the small of his back and he didn’t even have the courtesy to grunt. Instead, his enormous hand landed with a whack against her backside and he muttered, “Be still.”
She was forced to catch her breath after thoroughly cursing him for the second time that day. She heard a deep chuckle, full of amusement, and ground her teeth.
“Kidnapping ballerinas?” Colin stood off to the side and let his brother cart his baggage into the cabin. Before he reached the door, Rebecca shot him what she hoped was a withering look.
“You’re both crazy!” she managed to yell before the door slammed behind her.
Without warning, Gideon dropped her to her feet. Her mouth opened in a gasp, but she never got the chance to make the threats that burned on her tongue. Before she could draw a breath or even find her balance, his mouth was on hers.
She might have protested his bold move. She liked to have thought she at least tried. But she only remembered her sigh of acceptance and her mouth opening for him. His taste reminded her of water—cool and refreshing. It was full of dark promises, and though his assault was gentle, she could sense the hint of passion beneath it.
He lifted her to her toes and deepened the kiss. She was glad she had her ballet shoes on, she thought dimly as she balanced on the tips of her toes to reach him better. He made a sound—somewhere between a grunt and a moan—then pulled back.
Rebecca’s eyes stayed closed as he nudged her lips once, then twice with his own. All she could hear was her own ragged breathing. She was close enough to him to feel the pounding of his heart. It matched hers beat for beat. She wondered what it meant.
She opened her eyes and saw him staring at her with an intensity that had her pulse racing. The heat of his gaze burned into her and she couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. Her senses were reeling out of control. She could hardly breathe. She concentrated on drawing air in, then pushing it out again.
“Get dressed,” he told her tersely, and she jerked.
Confused, she nodded and realized after he’d turned to go that she didn’t have her clothes. “I don’t have my gym bag. It’s in my car.”
He stopped for a second, his breathing hard and strained. Then he left without saying a word and shut the door smartly behind him. She heard him mutter something to his brother, but she couldn’t make out what he said. Seconds later, the boat glided away from the shore. Wonderful, she thought, sitting at a small table in the cabin. Not only was she being forced to go with two brutes to God knew where, but she looked ridiculous. The least he could have done was go back to her car and get her bag.
Since there was no point in dwelling on her lack of proper clothing, Rebecca looked at her surroundings. The cabin was smaller than Gideon’s and just as neat. A tiny bed was made in the corner with a tiny porthole above it. There was a small kitchen area, where she was sitting, and what may have been a closet to her right.
Her lips still tingled from the kiss they shared. Her face turned scarlet when she remembered her own reaction to him. She barely knew him and here she was making out with him in a little room on a boat. She’d had relationships. She’d even had a couple of lovers. But she’d never almost gone to second base with a man she barely knew. It was so unlike her that it seemed surreal. Maybe she imagined it.
She licked her lips and firmly denied that. She could still taste him.
Attraction. It hadn’t happened in while. She’d been alone for a long time now with no initiative to date or be with a man. Her body ached with pains other than the physical ones she’d acquired today. It was a pleasant ache accompanied with unpleasant thoughts about a man who both terrified and fascinated her. Not only did it make her uncomfortable, she felt . . . brazen.
When she saw that he’d left the painting, she stood from the chair and crossed the cabin in four steps. Bending down, she unwrapped The Dance and pulled it from the white sheet. She traced the red and orange streaks with her fingertips and then tapped th
e canvas.
Her father was a successful con artist. He had once taught her a scam he had pulled for a quick grand involving a phony lottery ticket and an elderly woman at a bingo game. While her heart went out to the lady he scammed, she couldn’t help but be intrigued.
The funny thing was that her father’s motivation for pulling the cons was never money. He was wealthy in his own right, simply from being born a Channing. Her mother had become a Channing through marriage and was also financially set because of the name. Rebecca had spent many nights wondering why her father chose to lead his life as a criminal. The only feasible reason she could think of was the power, the rush.
As the boat lurched, Rebecca wondered where Gideon and his brother were taking her. Her father would have no way of contacting her about the painting unless she was home. And she wasn’t stupid, she’d blown her one chance at escaping Gideon and she knew she wouldn’t have another, especially with Colin around, too.
She still had the painting. Her promise was good for the time being. But how long would that last? Gideon could right now be taking her and The Dance to meet up with the goons and make the trade for his boat. He hadn’t even blinked when she’d offered him money before. Could that mean anything?
She put a hand on the painting as if to steady herself. This could be it. She may never see her mother again, may never dance another recital. The saddest part of that was she didn’t know which was more heartbreaking between the two. She wondered who would mourn her if she were to be killed. Her mother would be upset, naturally. But would she truly mourn her daughter? Her father—damn him—would feel guilty. At least she thought he would. Niko, her dance instructor, would miss his prima ballerina.
Rebecca sat on the floor beside The Dance and stared at it intently. What was it about the painting that made it so valuable? It was unsigned, unframed, and just ugly. Dancing was art, but it was the only kind of art she knew. Anything short of Picasso and Van Gogh was foreign territory.
Rebecca turned the painting at an angle and studied the marks. Definitely stroked by someone’s fingers; there were no brush marks. She trailed her finger down a yellow line and stopped where it blended into a light shade of orange.