Tony didn’t bother trying to get another connection. He knew Chas’s cover had been blown. His gut churned at the thought of another of his partners coming to harm. Being an ocean away didn’t help matters. An awful lot could happen to both Heather and Chas during his flight. There was nothing he could do, but that didn’t stop the worry and self-recrimination.
…
Heather held the man’s head tenderly in her lap and applied pressure to the gash behind his ear. She didn’t know why he’d been knocked out and left alone in this room where she’d been put, none too gently, the cretins. She assumed he’d done something to displease Jeffers. Or he’d been put there to worm his way into her good graces and get information from her. Gee, wonder if he volunteered to get bashed in the head.
At first alarmed at the amount of blood on the floor under the man’s head, she soon recalled that head wounds bled a lot. Had she read that? Or seen it on one of the cop shows on TV in never-ending reruns? Didn’t matter. At least the bleeding had stopped.
The man’s breathing seemed normal, and his pulse was strong. Chances were good he wouldn’t die in her arms.
She wished there were something more she could do, like get him to a hospital. The sound of locks clicking into place after the bad guys closed the door scotched that idea.
The man in her lap groaned and opened his eyes, looked wildly around, and groped inside his jacket. She’d already searched him for weapons, so at least she felt somewhat safe.
“Merde.” He closed his eyes again.
She’d retained enough of her high school French to translate that word. “Are you in pain?”
“I’m an idiot. And that realization is agony. You are Miss James, n’est-ce pas?”
She scrambled away from him. “How do you know my name?”
He smiled and sat up, looking hard at the door and window, no doubt realizing he may as well give up before even trying.
“We have a mutual friend,” he said, climbing to his feet and rattling the doorknob anyway.
She stiffened and scooted back a few more feet on the dusty concrete floor. “If you mean Mr. Jeffers, he is no friend of mine.”
“That is good to know, because I plan to strangle him when I get out of here. No, the friend I was referring to is Tony Simons. You and he have met, I believe?”
Tony? How could Tony know someone in Jeffers’s gang? She got to her feet, only to plop down on the lone chair in the room, all the strength seeming to have left her bones. “I don’t understand. What’s going on? Who are you? And who the heck is Tony?”
He crossed to the window, set high in the wall, and swore fluently in several languages when he saw that it had been painted shut. It was too small to crawl through anyway, but perhaps yelling for help would have accomplished something.
“It appears we have plenty of time to chat, so I’ll tell you what I can. I am Charles Rousseau, but you may call me Chas. Since you are down here with me, can I assume you are not here willingly?”
“Hell no. He held a gun on me. Are you on his payroll?”
“Non.”
“I’m trying to figure out what my father’s connection was to all this.” She crossed her arms around her waist, feeling lost. “I have so many questions, and I’m having the devil of a time finding answers. I just found out last week that he was an international art thief. So I guess we weren’t the close, loving family I always thought we were.” Anger warred with sadness. Anger had the advantage. Cripes on crutches, this was all her father’s fault. If he’d shared even half—
“I’m sorry.” Chas touched her shoulder. “And now you are in the lion’s den, so to speak. Jeffers is after something, n’est-ce pas? And you don’t have it?”
“No, but he doesn’t believe me. Crap, we’re in real trouble, aren’t we?” She grasped her head and squeezed her eyes shut. She was not going to cry. She was not going to cry, no matter how desperate the situation. Raising her head, she wiped at her wet eyes and cleared her throat.
“So, what are we going to do? I refuse to sit here and wait for the executioner.”
He grinned and crouched next to her, covering her hand briefly with his. “No need to measure ourselves for our shrouds just yet, mon amie. I spoke to Tony just before I was knocked out.” He fingered the back of his head and winced. “Knowing him as I do, he will not rest until we are rescued.”
“So he is a cop,” she said, with some force. All the clues now added up, confirming her suspicions. Tony was chasing the bad guys, and the trail led through her.
He’d used her. She’d meant nothing to him. Just a way to get information. All the worry over her safety hadn’t been for her but to preserve evidence. What a freaking jerk.
“Not exactly.” Chas went to the door again and examined the lock. “He is employed by an organization that has worldwide jurisdiction.”
“Interpol?” Her eyes grew wide at the thought of spies, which led to thoughts of 007. Tony was certainly handsome enough to play James Bond. That famous spy made a habit of using women. The fictional women didn’t seem to mind. This real woman minded very much.
Chas laughed. “I can see why Tony—well, never mind that. Not Interpol, but International Security Investigations. We’re concerned with the theft and trafficking of priceless works of art and antiquities. M. Jeffers has been a thorn in our sides for many decades. It is with a great deal of pride that I have been instrumental in bringing him to justice.”
She sat back in her chair and let out a short laugh. “You do realize we’re locked in here, right? He seems to be winning at this point.”
“For now, mademoiselle. Only for now.”
“So what are we going to do?”
“We are not doing anything. You will sit tight and stay out of danger. When the men come for us, I will—take care of it.” He cracked his knuckles and removed his sport coat. His powerful muscles were quite impressive, and she didn’t doubt he could hold his own in any fight. But the bad guys had guns, big guns. So the size of his muscles wouldn’t matter.
It seemed Chas was somewhat psychic. The next moment they heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Chas pulled her from the chair, grabbed it by the legs, and stood directly behind the door, poised to bash someone over the head. The bad guys must have been expecting something of the sort. They demanded he stand next to Heather in the middle of the room before they opened the door.
The sight of the two brutes brandishing humongous pistols ratcheted her heart rate into the stratosphere. Her lungs shrank and she couldn’t get a full breath. And she really needed to use the bathroom.
She clutched at Chas’s thick arm for strength. And to hold herself up.
The biggest, ugliest goon pointed at Heather. “You, come.” It was obvious he was not a Frenchman. She would have guessed somewhere behind the tattered Iron Curtain.
She shook her head. “Not until you tell me—”
The man raised his gun and pointed it, not at her, but at Chas. “I count to three.”
She jumped away from Chas, surprised she could move so fast, and allowed herself to be dragged from the room. Chas rushed the door but he was too late. They waited while the less ugly goon secured the locks, then she was pushed up the stairs. She struggled against the rude handling, but she might as well have been struggling with a couple of grizzly bears. They walked toward the front of the house, and she was thrust through a door into a charming library.
“Ah, Mlle. James, so glad you could join me.”
She spun and glared at Jeffers, lounging in a high-backed chair by the fireplace. “Did I have a choice?”
He merely smiled and gestured for her to take the other chair. She crossed her arms and didn’t budge.
“Come now, you are being silly. Sit down. I will have some refreshments brought in.”
“I don’t care for any refreshments. They’re probably poisoned or drugged anyway. Tell me what you’re…” Her eye focused on the portrait above the fireplace. The colors and composition
were breathtaking. Clearly done by a master. A young girl sat beside a fountain, with a small dog at her feet. She remembered that dog. It had been her first pet.
“What—who—” More confused than ever, she staggered to the chair and sat with a thud, never taking her eyes off the painting.
“Ah, it is lovely, n’est-ce pas? Your dear, dear parents had that commissioned on your sixth birthday. I believe it hung in a place of honor in your home for many weeks. But then”—Jeffers shrugged—“fortunes changed. Your papa had to pay his debts, yes? I was most happy to help an old friend. Later he tried to buy it back, but I had fallen in love with that sweet face, and could not stand to part with my little girl.”
He chuckled, a Cheshire cat grin lighting his face. “I believe he tried to take it one dark, moonless night. But my security guard sent him away with his tail between his legs. And a bullet in his arm.” He laughed again, until he coughed. “The poor man was upset, as you can imagine.”
“You bastard!” She jumped from her chair and reached out to throttle him, or slap him. She wanted to inflict pain to equal the pain in her heart. Fond memories were being ripped from her soul, one after another, leaving gaps filled with anger and sadness.
An arm of steel caught her around the middle and tossed her back into the chair like she was a feather pillow. She’d had no idea there was anyone else in the room, but she should have expected it. Jeffers was the sort of man who liked to have others do his dirty work.
“Tsk, tsk.” Jeffers shook his head. “That is no way for a lady to behave. I am not at fault here. Your father and I had a gentlemen’s agreement.”
“You must have known what the painting meant to my parents. But you kept it anyway.”
“Ah, now we get down to it. Just as you must know how much I long for the return of my own property. Property your dear father borrowed from me. Property that I now need to fulfill a bargain.” His voice had gotten louder, but he broke off suddenly and wiped his forehead with a tissue.
“I told you, I don’t have your friggin’ drawing. I’ve never had it. I don’t know what it looks like.”
“That is a shame. Because you are not going anywhere until I get it back. It is not for me, you understand, but for my dear son. I cannot—no matter. You may as well return to your friend in the cellar if you are not going to cooperate.”
She crouched back in the chair and held tightly to the armrests. The best way to help Chas, and herself, was to remain somewhat free. “No, I’m not going down there again. It’s barbaric, medieval. Let me leave and I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
Jeffers laughed, joined by the giant who stood directly behind her chair. The sound sent chills up her spine and raised the hair on her arms. The shrill ringing of a phone interrupted the laugh-fest, and the giant went to the desk to answer. He brought the handset to Mr. Jeffers.
“C’est Henri Elliot. Il veut parler.”
“Uncle Henry, I need—” she yelled, but a large, fishy-smelling hand covered her mouth, pressing her into the back of the chair. She struggled, but one look at the Goliath’s face made her give up.
Jeffers cleared his throat and pasted a phony smile on his lips, as if Henry could see. “Bonjour, mon ami. How nice of you to call. Do you have interesting news to share?”
He listened, and his smile grew wider. “But of course she is well. I have been taking good care of her. We are sitting together in my salon having a nice little chat.”
The smile froze on his face as he listened further. “No, you cannot speak with her, but I will pass on your good news. Au revoir, my friend.”
He clicked off the phone and set it on the small table at his elbow. “Well, it seems we are to have more company. Your true love and confidant is on his way here. It seems he is in a position to make a trade. Hmm…I have two things of value, and he is bringing only one. Hardly seems fair. I will decide later who gets to go free. Now, shall we have an aperitif while we wait?”
Her mouth was released, and she waggled her jaw and wiped the feel of the disgusting hand from her lips.
“I don’t know who or what you’re talking about,” she spat, crossing her arms over her chest, determined to be as difficult as possible.
“My dear, the young man you have been spending so much time with. It is a shame he is on the right side of the law. It will be difficult to continue your relationship once he learns of your family background.” He chuckled and made a signal to the giant. “It would not do for one such as he to become entangled with the daughter of a master criminal.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” The memory of finding the file with her name on it burned in her brain and in her heart.
“You forget, my dear, that I have been keeping my eye on you. Spending the night in his bed certainly makes you attached. Unless the American culture is more dissolute than I thought.”
Her face grew hot at the thought of him, or his slimy companions, spying on her. Cripes, had he watched her—and Tony, when they—oh, God. She wanted to take a shower and scrub the dirty feeling from her skin.
The giant reappeared with a tray filled with glasses, a bottle of something fizzy and chilled, and several plates of tasty-looking treats. Her stomach growled at the sight of food, a reminder that she hadn’t eaten since that muffin on the plane. She steadfastly refused everything offered and kept her gaze averted. Jeffers seemed to read her mind, and took great delight in sampling all the tidbits, even going so far as to smack his lips. She felt ill and would have preferred being sent back to the dungeon.
Had Chas managed to get free? Did he know Tony was on the way? To rescue them? Or to rescue only Chas? Maybe Tony was done with her now that she’d led him to his quarry.
Looking at the portrait over the fireplace again, she amended her thoughts about her parents. They must have loved her to spend a small fortune on the portrait. Perhaps they thought they were doing the right thing by keeping their true identities a secret. Her mother must have been in on it. She couldn’t have been married to the man for over ten years and not known what he did for a living. If nothing else, he’d traveled a great deal and would have needed a story to explain his absences. Had she participated on a more active level?
Jeffers would know, and would take great delight in telling her. Her mouth filled with bile at the thought of asking the man for anything as personal as her own family history.
Perhaps she should live with the fond memories she did have and forget the rest.
The room gradually darkened, and she saw that Jeffers had fallen asleep. His face in repose was sallow and gaunt, suggesting a grave illness. The nasty giant was wide-awake, though, quashing any notion she might have had about making a run for it. Not that she could have gotten far. The long drive from the main road through the vast vineyard made sneaking away impossible. She’d be spotted before she’d gone a hundred feet.
She watched the shadows move across the floor, and her own eyelids grew heavy. A sudden commotion in the front hall snapped her to attention. Jeffers also awoke and made a signal to the giant. That man crossed to the door and listened. All was silent. He raised an eyebrow in question and waited.
“Mon dieu, go see what has happened.” Jeffers shifted in his seat and grimaced. He took another drink of wine and mopped at his perspiring brow. “I thought perhaps our guest had arrived, but it is no doubt some other ridiculous disturbance. I am surrounded by bunglers and half-wits.”
“Are Nicholas and Maxim here, too?” she asked, strangely thinking of them as friends.
Jeffers’s face hardened. “Do not speak their names again. They no longer exist.”
Queasy butterflies threatened to climb her throat. Did he mean what she thought he meant? Cripes. Her mouth dried, and she longed for a drink of the cool wine. She reached for a glass. Perhaps just one sip—
The door burst open. Tony and Chas stood on the threshold. Heather gasped, dropping the glass to the floor, where it shattered, sending sparkling shards across the tile.
; “Such a cozy scene.” Tony took a step to the side, keeping the wall at his back, his feet spread and braced. “I hate to break up the party, but I’d like to get this business out of the way.”
“Tony, I’m so…”
He didn’t seem to hear her. He kept all his focus on Jeffers, not even glancing in her direction.
The older man stood, leaning heavily on his cane, and motioned toward the door. “Can I assume you have taken care of my employees?”
Tony grinned. “So that’s what you’re calling them now, is it? Yes, your associates have taken up residence in the cellar.”
“I am impressed you were able to handle them all.”
“Most of your men took off through the vines. Only two remained to fight. You really should do a better job of checking references.”
“Bah, they are all idiots. Please, come in, have a seat. I am sure we can handle the negotiations like civilized men.”
Tony didn’t move. “I want Miss James to leave the room. This doesn’t concern her.”
“The hell it doesn’t,” she sputtered. “Who the heck do you think you are?”
Tony removed his wallet and opened it, revealing a silver badge and identity card. “Tony Simons, agent of ISI.”
Her mouth hung open. So the other night meant nothing. She’d been a pawn, she’d served her purpose, and now she could toddle off like a good little girl. As she’d suspected, he’d used her to get close to Jeffers. The time they’d spent together meant nothing. Making love had meant nothing.
The rational part of her brain had accepted that. The emotional part, the part connected to her heart, had held out hope. Hope that she’d misread the situation, and Tony did care. Not just because of her father.
It seemed she should have listened to her thinking brain and told her feeling brain to shut the hell up.
She was done with being manipulated. The big bad agent wanted her to sit down and shut up?
Fuck that noise. “Just you wait one minute—”
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