Naturally, Vlad had to show off what a he-man he was by tugging the plastic grip tighter than necessary as he bound Holden hand and foot to the chair.
“Don’t worry, darling,” Peacock told Kimi when she made a sound of distress. “I’ll send a message to your family in the morning telling them where to find you and Holden. But I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here tonight. You’ll miss a wonderful party and, of course, the scandal of the century. I can hardly wait. Come now and sit down.”
“Wait, I really need to pee. I’ll never make it until tomorrow.”
He admired her for her initiative in a tough situation, but it was obvious Peacock wasn’t going to let her out of the room.
But, even as Peacock started to shake his head, Vlad made a sound of contempt. “Shut up and sit down.”
Peacock pursed his lips in annoyance. He liked to be in control then. Interesting. “We aren’t all barbarians,” he said, giving the Russian a cutting look. “Of course you can tinkle. Give me your cell phone and your pretty Chanel bag. I’ll take you to the bathroom myself.”
Vladimir began cursing in Russian until Peacock sighed and turned. “If we’re not back in five minutes, kill Holden,” he said, and then he led Kimi through the same door Vladimir had hidden behind.
In far fewer than five minutes, the pair returned.
This time, when Peacock told her to sit in the chair Vladimir had set across from the one Holden now occupied, she did.
Vlad did his he-man thing again and when he tightened the tie around Kimi’s wrist she cried out in pain. Holden tried to jerk out of his chair, but all he did was yank his own bonds tighter. “Leave her alone, you bastard,” he snapped. He didn’t remember ever feeling this sense of impotent fury. He’d been a fool, a patsy, an easy mark. And that pair of dress thieves better run far and fast, because if he got out of here alive, he was going to track them down and make them very sorry they’d made Kimi cry out in pain.
“No need to be such a brute,” Peacock fussed. “Here, you take the gun. I’ll do Kimi.” It was clear that Vladimir didn’t care for the change in plan, but he didn’t say anything, merely took the gun with an expression that suggested he’d like to use it on all of them.
Once Peacock had trussed her up, he said, “I’m very sorry to have to do this, love, but it’s in my nature to be extra cautious.”
“Oh no,” she said when she saw the duct tape.
“Honestly, it hurts me as much as it hurts you,” he said, taking sewing scissors out of one of the drawers and cutting off a length of tape than smoothing it over her mouth.
Holden got the same treatment, without the phony “it hurts me more than you” crap.
Within two minutes, the pair had packed up and slipped out of the heavy metal door, locking it firmly behind them.
KIMI LOOKED OVER at Holden. His eyes blazed with fury. She felt sick knowing this was all her fault. Whatever happened to them, it was all her fault. Weakness washed over her and her eyes wanted to fill, but she squelched the urge. She wouldn’t give Brewster Peacock the satisfaction of making her cry.
Besides, they weren’t beaten yet. She’d done more in that nasty, tiny bathroom than pee. Nobody’d bothered to pat her down and she happened to have her mini-manicure compact set in the pocket of her slacks. In the bathroom, she’d flipped it open and pushed it up her sleeve, above the elbow. Of course, her arms were tied behind her by a plastic tab that looked more like an office product, although it wasn’t very tight, thanks to her whiny-baby act. However, the tie wasn’t exactly falling off her either.
Holden was already working his chair around and she realized he was going to get them back to back and try to untie her with his fingers, which she guessed must be already losing feeling since he was tied much tighter than she was and had been so for longer. However, it wasn’t as if they had a lot of options.
She began doing the same. Or trying to. But with their legs tied, it was almost impossible to move the chair without toppling over. Almost impossible, but she found, with determination and experimentation, she could sort of hop the chair. It was painful, and she felt as though her tailbone was getting bruised. Her arms were already cramping and stiff, her fingers losing feeling, and the duct tape was itching. If she ever got out of this, she was going to track down Brewster Peacock and kill him with her bare hands.
Finally, they maneuvered themselves into positions where they could touch each other’s fingers from behind. Good. This was good. But it was only the beginning. He was trying to get hold of the tie tab binding her, but she shoved her wrists against him, trying to indicate that he should try to get the nail file. Oh, what she wouldn’t do to be able to talk.
She grunted. He grunted back. It would be funny if it weren’t so dangerous. The chances that those two clowns were going to let her family know where she was were, she figured, slim to none.
If they didn’t get themselves out of this mess, they’d be here until someone entered this place and, based on the junk accumulated, she didn’t think it was anyone’s regular workplace.
She wasn’t going to think about death. It was claustrophobic enough with her mouth taped shut so she could only breathe through her nose, and hyperventilating was a very bad idea. All she knew was that she wasn’t going to die at the hands of a bitchy columnist in blue velvet and a Russian mafia cliché.
Wasn’t going to happen.
So, she twisted her wrists until she’d have cried out with pain if her mouth hadn’t been taped shut and she was giving herself the worst case of plastic rope burn, and she felt the nail file shift. Yes.
She could do this. A little more. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to make the gap just a little wider. Surely plastic could stretch if you tried hard enough. Not thinking of the pain, only of freedom, she kept pulling and suddenly, the file emerged so she felt its sharp point against her fingertips.
And so did Holden. Immediately, he began working the compact down and then he took the file between his cold fingers and together they worked it out until it was in his hands. She felt him move the compact until he came to the tiny scissors.
How he did it she’d never know. But somehow he managed to get the little scissors and start working on the plastic.
Please let this work.
She could hear tiny clicks behind her and felt the heat coming off Holden’s body as he concentrated, but had no idea if anything was happening. She couldn’t see behind her and Holden couldn’t see. But sometimes, you simply had to have faith.
There was something capable about Holden. He was the kind of guy who could make fire from two sticks without breaking a sweat, he could survive in the woods. He’d been so cool during the recent altercation with the two stooges that she had to wonder about his background.
Somehow, she thought, if anyone could cut through plastic bonds with a mini-manicure set it would be him.
But it wasn’t a fast process. After a long while when she’d started cataloging every Chanel suit and the subtle changes each year, and then done a photographic catalog in her mind of every pair of shoes she’d ever owned and loved, not owned and coveted, or owned and regretted—fortunately few in number—she moved on to teasing her mind with fashion trivia. Anything to keep her mind off the agonizing numbness in her hands and the stiffness in her muscles.
By now, the light was fading. It was early evening, she supposed, and, naturally, Peacock and Vladimir, or should that be Vladimir and Peacock, which made them sound like magicians, circus performers or ventriloquist and dummy, had not left a light burning. If they didn’t get free soon, it would be dark, and getting through that locked door in pitch darkness was going to be even tougher than escaping in the light.
Okay, don’t think of the door, she scolded herself as a bubble of panic formed and tried to rise. Was the tie feeling looser? She thought perhaps it was. She strained against the bonds and, while they didn’t snap open, she definitely felt some movement.
Patience had never been her dominan
t virtue.
Okay. Tired of fashion, she thought back to the moment when she’d first bumped into Holden and then tried to catalog every moment they’d spent together. It was surprisingly easy to do, mainly because they’d known each other less than a week. Yet she already knew so much about him. That he loved the outdoors passionately, was a talented and inventive lover, an inspired photographer and a man with integrity.
She knew he liked his coffee black, preferred beer to wine, plain food to fancy and that there was a ticklish spot above his hip that drove him crazy if she wanted to torment him. He could talk seriously and brilliantly about environmental destruction and she knew he put time and money into his causes, but he wasn’t a doom-and-gloom type. He was mostly optimistic about the future of the planet and believed that people would save the earth before it was too late. Then, as suddenly as he’d gone all serious on her, he’d laugh at a corny joke, or tease her into bed again.
He was a complex man, and one who she thought she could spend a lot of weeks getting to know.
If only they had a future. But, even supposing they could get out of here alive, there couldn’t be two people with less in common.
Still, she thought she’d be perfectly happy just knowing he was out there alive and living his life. And for him to do that, they had to get free.
She could feel his fingers getting sweaty with the effort, and once, terrifyingly, she felt the compact slide, scooping her fingers at the last second to catch the thing.
She closed her eyes and breathed slowly. She felt him trying to flex his fingers then, carefully, he took the compact back.
A few minutes later, she felt the plastic loosen a little more. She yanked her hands, heard a final snip of scissor on plastic, then felt the final piece of plastic holding her tear.
Her hands were free.
18
IT WAS SUCH A SHOCK that it took her a moment to realize she was halfway to freedom. She rubbed her hands to get some feeling back and then yanked off the tape from her mouth, trying not to cry out with the pain.
Oh, what a relief to have her mouth back.
Taking the compact from Holden, she turned to her feet. Her hands were clumsy from being tied up, but with a lot of cursing and two broken nails, she managed to cut through the plastic and get her feet free. She bolted from her chair and ripped the tape off Holden’s mouth. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” He moved his mouth. “But I won’t have to shave for the next six months. You?”
“Fine. I love you.”
He grinned at her. “Not the time or place I’d have chosen, but right back at you.”
She kissed him quickly, just because she could, and then went to the rack of drawers where she’d seen Peacock with the scissors. Sure enough, they were still there. A good sharp pair of sewing scissors. It took her all of two minutes to get Holden free. He took a minute to rub circulation back into his hands and feet and then went swiftly to the door.
Of course, it was locked from the outside with no mechanism to unlock the door from the inside. The notion of illegal sweatshops flipped into her mind only to be banished. No time to think of that now.
“Can you get me that nail file?”
“Sure.”
She got it off the floor where it had fallen and passed it to him.
“Thanks. If you’ve got a hairpin or some kind of hook, that would be great.”
She went back into the supply drawers and returned with a selection of heavy darning-type needles, a small crochet hook and a stitch ripper.
The light in the room was dimming fast, but he didn’t seem worried. He worked the nail file and a darning needle and, after swearing liberally and wiping his hands on his pants twice, he suddenly beamed at her.
He rose and putting his finger to his lips, opened the door carefully. But there wasn’t a soul outside. She saw him glance around in surprise and she had a feeling he was insulted that Brewster hadn’t considered the need for a guard on the door.
She wasn’t macho enough to care. She wanted out of this awful place and she wanted it now.
Holden went down the stairs ahead of her. He moved swiftly, quietly, holding the sewing scissors in his hand, since they were the closest thing to a weapon that he had been able to find.
Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs, and she felt exposed and vulnerable as they crept past each landing with its trio of blank doors. But none of the doors opened, no armed goons rushed out to stop them. In fact, as they crept down the metal stairs she got the sense that they were alone in the building.
Still, Holden was cautious. He opened the metal door of the lowest floor, and peeked carefully outside, surveying the street for a few minutes. Staying still and quiet behind him was one of the toughest things she’d ever done, her urge to run was that strong.
At last he signaled her forward. It was much darker than when they’d arrived and she liked the neighborhood even less. It seemed sinister to her now, forbidding, as though every derelict building housed a hundred unfriendly eyes peering down at her.
“You okay?” he asked softly, his arm around her shoulders.
She wasn’t going to fall apart now, she told herself. They still had work to do. Later, she’d find a nice bar somewhere and order herself a very large brandy. But for now, she said, “Yeah,” and pretended she didn’t notice the burning in her wrists or the jumpy feeling in her stomach. They walked a couple of blocks. A tiny police van roared past them with its lights flashing and its toy-sounding horn blaring, but Holden made no attempt to get the driver’s attention, if that were even possible. No taxis went by, nothing but regular traffic. “We could take the metro,” she said, noticing a station, then realizing they didn’t even have a single Euro between them. Vladimir and Peacock had taken all their money as well as their cell phones. She could try to explain the situation and sweet-talk a metro ticket seller into letting her and Holden ride free, but right now she didn’t think she had the energy. Besides, he didn’t seem enamored of the idea.
They kept walking until they reached a touristy area. The Sacré-Coeur rose above them and she felt marginally safer. Taxis were as abundant here as ants at a picnic and Holden quickly found them one and helped her inside.
Once at her hotel, he waited with the unimpressed cabdriver while she ran in, got a replacement key to her room and retrieved the wad of cash she’d put in her room safe.
She paid the driver, and Holden got out of the cab, barely getting his feet on the pavement before it roared away. His tux was hanging in her closet, for which she was profoundly grateful.
Once they were inside her room, she said, “You need to call the cops. Simone’s show will start any second.”
“Dress for the show. Fast.”
“But—”
“No cops. Trust me, Kimi. I know what I’m doing. I watched the run-through. Don’t worry. We’ll make it.”
She broke every one of her own speed records and was dressed and ready to go in under ten minutes. Refusing to let her call the car, so Brewster and Vladimir would have no reason for suspicion, he got them a taxi at the front of the hotel.
“We should call the police,” she said again, once they were roaring toward the opera house, but he shook his head. “Holden—” she put her hand on his arm “—we’re probably too late.”
He touched her face. “We’re not too late. We’ll get them. But I’d rather catch them red-handed in front of a lot of witnesses. Don’t worry.”
She tried not to, but it was tough. As the cab drew closer, she almost expected to see Nicola Pietra racing down the street, distraught, searching for her wedding gown, and hysterical fashionistas running around like a Greek chorus of fashion doom.
But the streets were free of drama, though the traffic grew busier as they approached the opera house.
“How are we going to do this? What if Brewster or Vladimir sees us?”
“Then they’ll call off the theft. We can’t let them see us. Not until we’re ready.”
“You already have a plan.”
“I’m trying to think of one. But you keep talking and distracting me.”
“Oh. Sorry. I talk when I’m nervous.”
“I noticed.”
“I’ll stop talking then and let you think.”
“Thank you.”
She let a couple of minutes pass. The taxi roared past street after street of elegant apartments. Soon they’d be there. A part of her would be quite happy if Brewster and Vlad the Fashion Week Destroyer saw them and called off the theft. Because trying to catch them in the act was going to be a delicate matter of timing and stealth. And the fact that the two had been happy to leave them tied up most likely to die, suggested they’d be ruthless if they were thwarted. Tonight could easily turn dangerous. And her family was involved. Someone could get hurt. She turned her head and looked at Holden beside her, obviously deep in planning mode.
Most likely the person who would be hurt would be him, and she couldn’t bear the thought of that. She remembered the guns.
He asked the cabdriver to stop by a junky tourist store that was still open. He ran inside before she could scold him for delaying them further.
“We should call the police,” she said again when he returned with a brown paper bag. “They can take care of this.”
He shook his head. “Our buddies get a sniff of the gendarmes and they’ll pull the plug.”
“But we know what they tried to do.”
He shook his head. “Our word against theirs. Not enough to stop them. Not enough to convict.”
“So you have to put yourself in danger?” Her voice rose, but she was beyond caring.
He sent her a half smile. “I’m good at what I do.” Then he was all business. “How well do you know the opera house?”
“I’ve seen Phantom of the Opera. I know the interior is spectacular, and the place is supposed to be haunted.”
“Below there’s a warren of change rooms and storerooms. Lots of hiding places, but they’ll prefer getting the dress off-site.” He looked at her. “If you were going to steal that dress, and you had a dresser onside, how would you do it?”
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