Stolen Vengeance: Slye Temp book 6

by Dianna Love

  Actually, she was down to seven minutes according to her phone, but correcting Charlie would not improve the tension in his voice.

  “I’m close.” She wheeled off the interstate and forced her blood pressure to come down from the ceiling as she maneuvered through a traffic light onto surface streets. “I’m five minutes away, tops.”

  “What happened?”

  “I had car trouble.” It was as good a lie as any. She’d strangle Dingo if he cost her this contract.

  “This Smith guy came very highly recommended from my oldest UK contact. Uber-platinum. You told me you needed a big score. I found it. You can’t let car trouble or anything else interfere.”

  Heat crawled up her neck at being chided.

  She was never in this position. Everything she did was above reproach. Dingo had just undermined her reputation by using up the extra time she’d built in so that she’d only miss this meeting if she were abducted by aliens.

  Even then, she’d make an alien wish he’d chosen more carefully.

  That thought gave her an idea for shifting the topic off her time frame. “Just who is this guy, Charlie?”

  “All I know is he’s from Italy, he’s here for a very short time and he’s willing to pay big bucks to have whatever it is he’s looking for brought to him. My guess is he represents some eccentric billionaire. I tried to find out more on him today just to have an idea of what our dollar parameters might be, but no one knows anything beyond what I’ve told you. I set the meeting in a public venue, but if you get a hinky feeling, just walk.”

  And lose the best lead she’d had in forever?

  Not going to happen unless this guy acted like an axe murderer on holiday. “I’m good, Charlie. You know I can handle myself. If he’s for real, I’ll close this deal.”

  “Good, because if you can’t, this Smith will move on and my contact in the UK won’t be happy since he’s getting half of my finder’s fee.”

  “I hear you. I’m not going to drop the ball and I appreciate all you’ve done over the past month. This will be my chance to thank you.”

  “No worries, Val. I like working with you. Aram gets on my nerves. But my contact knows who Aram is so if we let this one off the hook, Aram will be standing by to scoop him.”

  “That is not going to happen.” She hated being compared to Aram Pavlovsky, a five-foot-eight PITA who considered himself a Bulgarian Don Juan–she paused for an eye roll–and was her closest competition on the West Coast. Not that he was her equal when it came to Renaissance artifacts, but he was a shark at closing deals.

  She’d been lucky to negotiate this arrangement with Charlie Rothschild–a new buyer in town–before Aram had gotten wind of the new arrival. Charlie brokered high-end, rare antiques, artifacts and antiquities to clients in Europe, and he was the best resource she’d had in a very long time.

  He had a rep for big deals, but she hadn’t seen anything significant until now.

  “Are you there yet?” Charlie asked.

  Another eye roll, then she said, “Hold on.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to look in the back seat to see if you’re sitting behind me. Chill, Charlie. I’m close.”

  “Very funny,” Charlie groused. “I’m serious about Aram. I heard he’s asking around for leads on seventeenth-century collectors. That can’t be coincidental. Don’t give him an opening again. Not on this deal.”

  Son of a bitch. “If Aram sticks his nose into my business right now, he’ll get it chopped off with a few extra body parts just for good measure.”

  “That’s what I want to hear. Make nice with Mr. Smith. Talk to you later.”

  Mr. Smith screamed of alias, but she’d run into people before who preferred to remain incognito.

  Especially in LA.

  She tossed the phone on the seat and hunted a parking space near the restaurant that was now in view. This was a quieter part of Santa Monica, where salt air from the ocean toned down the glitz.

  Two minutes.

  She’d lost a client four weeks ago when she missed an appointment, but her father had been rushed to the hospital with a severe drop in blood pressure.

  Dad came home later that night, but by then Valene’s client had turned to Aram.

  About time she had some good luck, but she wouldn’t sit back and wait on it. “Being in the game every minute is how you make luck happen, Hot Stuff,” her dad would say.

  I’m in the damn game.

  She’d close this deal for him, because she had no doubt about her dad considering the treatment. The day her mother had driven away, Valene had cried her eyes out, and told her dad she dreamed he was going to die and leave her.

  He promised her right then that he’d never leave Valene without a fight, that he’d walk through the fires of hell if that was the price he had to pay so they could spend one more day together.

  Fair enough.

  She’d crawl through the fires of hell with her hands and feet bound, if only to spend one more hour with him.

  She’d passed the restaurant entrance and was searching for a spot to park when a car pulled out of a space along the curb.

  Rock star parking karma.

  Definitely a positive sign.

  Valene maneuvered her T-bird into the slot with a three-point parallel parking maneuver and flipped down the mirror to do a quick check.

  Hair intact. Makeup not smeared.

  Eyes mysteriously smoky instead of a raccoon impression. All good, right down to her freshly pressed suit.

  She snatched her keys from the ignition, grabbed her purse and paid the meter before hurrying back the two blocks to the restaurant.

  Rule number one: Always look the part and exude confidence.

  Rule number two: Never be late.

  She’d blown rule number two sixty seconds ago.

  Thanks, Dingo. Not.

  There’d been a time that he would have mussed her hair and tried to run her late just to piss her off so he could make it up to her later.

  And he would have. All. Night. Long.

  Dingo, get out of my mind!

  Hadn’t she wasted enough time on him?

  Yes. Too much.

  The last time he pulled something as crazy as today, he’d claimed he was concerned she had a stalker. She’d bought it, right down to going away somewhere secret with him for two days while someone “checked out the stalker.” It turned out to be a guy Valene had given the time and place she normally ran. She’d wanted a running partner, but not someone she had to meet every day. He’d shown up twice.

  She’d been so glad to have Dingo for two days all to herself, she’d let him off the hook with an ass-chewing, that he of course turned into an all night make-up party.

  The real reason she’d let him off the hook was because she realized his motivation.

  Dingo had been jealous.

  Would he ever admit it? No. But she’d enjoyed that moment of thinking she meant more than a fling.

  What about an hour ago in the van? Had Dingo pulled those shenanigans because he’d seen her with Charlie, the only man she’d had lunch with recently?

  If that were true, at least breaking into her car would make sense.

  Her stupid heart did a little jig over it until she recalled the last time, when she’d told him he couldn’t pull hoodwinks without staking a claim.

  He’d agreed and said he’d never do it again.

  That should have been her reality check. A warning flag to batten down the hatches of her heart, but it was too late by then. She’d allowed him all kinds of access, and Dingo wanted nothing permanent with a woman. He felt no responsibility when it came to her.

  If that meant his little antic today had been about Charlie, then Dingo could stew all he wanted.

  He’d lost his chance to have something special with her, when all it would have taken was meeting her half way.

  Idiot that she was, she still missed him.

  She shook off the distraction and p
aid attention to weaving through the flow of foot traffic going against her.

  The sign for the restaurant came into view.

  Searching ahead of the people in front of her, she noticed a man heading her way from the opposite direction. Men in LA dressed in everything from ragged jeans to tailored tuxedos, and drew attention just by the way they wore their clothes.

  Not this man.

  He topped out at just over six feet, trim build, and moved as if he could handle himself. The black suit and crisp beige shirt had the smooth lines of custom tailoring, and she’d bet from the wide shoulders that there was decent muscle hidden beneath. Nice packaging, but not her type. Obviously, her type was a rough-around-the-edges Aussie with commitment issues.

  The more she studied the man coming toward the restaurant from the other direction, the more she realized the way he moved and observed everything around him reminded her of Dingo and his friend Tanner while they were on their mission last month.

  Dingo? Again. Really?

  Stupid man had no clue what he meant to her.

  No, I’m the stupid fool for wishing he was still in my life.

  She checked the strange man again and noticed his gaze bounce across people near her, then stop on her.

  Hairs danced along her neck. She slowed her steps.

  Where was her signature icy confidence?

  She had to carve out some time for the gym this week. She needed a brutal workout that would leave her bruised and exhausted, but ready to face anything.

  Not reacting like a sissy to a stranger in broad daylight.

  As she approached the canopied entrance, so did he.

  “Ms. Eklund?” he asked in a voice that had no accent. Like someone from the Midwest. Steely gray eyes took her in from head to toe with quick efficiency.

  Good news? He was late, too.

  Bad news? She didn’t like the weird feelings zinging inside her. Was this a new paranoia or some crap left over from her meeting with Dingo?

  She offered her hand to what she hoped would be her new client. “Mr. Smith, I presume?”

  “Yes.” He shook her hand briefly then opened the door, his face arranged into one of congeniality. “Shall we?”

  Not a bad guy.

  Her gut might have reservations, but she had trouble hearing any argument over her hemorrhaging bank account that was shouting, “What are you afraid of, Valene?”

  Letting her dad down.

  Other than that? Nothing. Not a damn thing.

  Once they were seated with water served, Smith asked the waiter to give them time to talk, then he turned to Valene.

  He withdrew an electronic tablet from his briefcase and placed it on the table. “I need something priceless recovered, but discretion is as important as the value of the recovery.”

  She was known for maintaining client confidentiality that rivaled any doctor or attorney-client privilege, but it was far better for a client to choose her rather than to sell him. She said, “You found me so I’m assuming you know my reputation.”

  “I do, but I would venture to say that this will be unlike any contract you’ve ever taken and, if you’re successful, it will pay two-hundred-and-fifty thousand dollars.”

  Okay, he’d just uttered the magic words.

  Her blood pressure spiked along with her interest, but she forced her face to remain passive, to hide any emotion. She was proud of her ability to sound calm and reserved. “What are you looking for, Mr. Smith?”

  “First, I want your word not to share this conversation.”

  “You have it.”

  “Just so we’re clear, I’ll know if you do breathe a word of this. A scroll was stolen from the Vatican and brought into this country yesterday. If you take this job, you can never talk about the scroll or that it’s from the Vatican.”

  Whoa. Her mental racing skidded to a stop. Television images of Pope Lando arriving in Virginia yesterday flashed in her mind. He’d arrived with his usual entourage, plus an additional team who were here as representatives visiting parishes not on the pope’s itinerary.

  A scroll stolen from the Vatican. Really?

  She sat back, giving off body language for not so quick there, buddy. “Why me? There are two others with my expertise.”

  “Three, actually.”

  “What? If you’re talking about Aram Pavlovsky, he is not in my league, or that of the other two on the East Coast.”

  “My people have not spoken to him. Yet.”

  She wished Charlie had joined her after all. Maybe she should have offered to split this deal, but it hadn’t even occurred to her to ask since she’d never needed anyone before when she was negotiating.

  And she hadn’t expected to feel this in-over-her-head during the first minute either.

  Smith had said, “I’ll know if you breathe a word of this,” with enough dark meaning the Godfather would have given points.

  Frightened didn’t quite cover the sick feeling in her stomach that if she continued this conversation she might be stepping off a ledge with no idea how far she’d fall.

  “Having second thoughts, Ms. Eklund?”

  If she was going to turn him down, now was the time to do it.

  Stay and take a job that was making her instincts throw up red flags, or walk away and watch the financial hole she was standing in cave in on top of her?

  Chapter 5

  Dingo paced the walkway near the terminal where the door for his flight to Atlanta would close in twelve minutes. He diverted his attention from the flight attendant checking her watch after he’d convinced her to tell him exactly how long he had.

  Why hasn’t Pete called back yet?

  Dingo had reached out to the one person on the West Coast that he would trust to watch Valene until Dingo could meet with Sabrina, then fly back to LA.

  But Pete had not responded, which meant he was deep undercover.

  Or dead.

  Damn. Dingo would have a hard enough time making Sabrina see reason in person. Over the phone would be a shouting match.

  If he said he was in LA, she’d go volcanic on him.

  Then she’d have to cut him loose or lose the respect of everyone on her teams, and he couldn’t put her in that position. He’d like to tell her he was taking that much-needed break she’d been trying to push on him, but Josh was finally going to have the wedding he’d put off time and again for the team.

  Dingo wouldn’t leave either one of them hanging.

  He just needed a few days right now to take care of Valene.

  He stood between two women he didn’t want to let down.

  The flight attendant announced the doors would close in three minutes.

  Dingo’s phone chirped. He stopped pacing, released a strained breath and snatched up his phone. “Where are you?”

  At the stilted pause, he pulled the phone away to check the monitor and groaned, then lifted the phone back to his ear in time to hear Tanner say, “Where am I? Sitting in Atlanta.”

  Dingo muttered, “Shit.”

  “Nice to talk to you, too. Sabrina has new intel. We think we know who at least one of the targets might be and she’s ready to figure out a plan.”

  Pinching his nose, Dingo asked, “What’d she find out?”

  “Hasn’t shared the details yet. Said she wanted everyone together so we can move on this fast, but she did say that you were going to coordinate all the teams from headquarters.”

  “What?” Dingo snapped then lowered his voice. “She’s got White Hawk or Blade, plenty of people to run the operation. The best place to put me is in the field unless we’re after an electronics felon.”

  “Hey, I’m not arguing. Just playing messenger.”

  “Then tell her that’s a stupid idea.”

  “You want to tell her?” Tanner asked.

  “I’ll tell her. This is bullshit. She’s still pissed about what happened on the Orion Hunter mission last month–”

  “You bet I am,” Sabrina said in place of Tann
er who must have handed off the phone in midstream of Dingo’s rant. “First you and Tanner kept information from me–”

  “To save your ass that was flapping in the wind with the State Department,” Dingo interjected, but she didn’t slow down.

  “Then I find out you took Valene Eklund as your backup to Colorado. So, yeah, I’m pissed, but that isn’t why I want you to coordinate this operation.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Fine. If you want the truth, I admit that I don’t want you to go tearing off to LA to protect someone who doesn’t give a damn about you.”

  “That’s my business,” he snarled.

  The flight attendant took that moment to announce that the doors were closing on his flight to Atlanta.

  Silence rippled between Dingo and Sabrina.

  He leaned his back against one of the thick structural supports and put his hand over his eyes. Screwed didn’t begin to describe how sideways this conversation was headed. “Let me explain.”

  “Clearly what I think doesn’t matter in the least to you. Nor are you concerned about three assassinations we’re trying to prevent.”

  Dingo’s voice was low and rough from exhaustion. “I’m at LAX because I was heading back to talk to you. I’m asking you to work with me on this. I have to know that whoever has started up Satan’s Garden Club again isn’t coming for Valene. I know you don’t like her–”

  “What made you think I don’t like her?”

  He paused, stuck for what to say, but Sabrina cleared up his confusion right away.

  “Don’t sugarcoat my words. I hate that bitch.”

  “Fine. You hate her, but I’m responsible for her being at risk, if she is.”

  “No. When are you going to get it through your head that she brought Garcia down on herself seven years ago? She’s the one who went snooping where she shouldn’t have and you’re the one who took on a suicidal undercover role to protect her.” Sabrina’s voice shook when she added, “I almost lost you forever. Even when you came back, I thought I’d lost you. I will not forgive and forget. She’s a liability to you.”

  It was hard to argue when Sabrina laid out the facts in cold precision, but that wasn’t exactly the way it all happened. Valene had thought she was helping him. Should she die because of going the extra mile?