Beauty & the Beast

by Nancy Holder

  I must not give in to my emotions, he reminded himself. They are a sign of weakness. Look at her, so hysterical. A disgusting display.

  “Svetlana, knock her out,” he told his beautiful one in Russian. “It’s tiresome, da? All the tears.”

  “Poor thing,” Ilya chirruped.

  Svetlana glared at Ilya, then flashed Anatoly a sour smile, pulled her gun from her jacket, and clubbed the girl over the head with it. Heather Chandler’s face fell forward.

  “Put her in the cell,” he said to them both.

  He watched as Ilya and Svetlana picked up the chair together and shuffled off to the left. Out of his line of sight, he heard the squeal of the cell door. There was a thud. A giggle. And then a clang.

  Ilya and Svetlana reappeared. Ilya was grinning like a naughty little boy. Svetlana’s lips were pursed in silent disapproval.

  “Done,” Ilya announced.

  “Ilya, what did you do?” Anatoly prodded.

  “Her chair tipped over when we set it down,” he said. “We left it that way.”

  Anatoly pictured the rat. And then her face. Where there was one rat, there were others. He tried to decide if a group of rats could chew enough of her face off to kill her before he would need her to speak to her sister. If he needed her at all.

  Better safe than sorry.

  “Put her chair upright,” he said. Ilya’s face fell. “Ilya, do as I say.”

  “I’ll do it,” Svetlana announced.

  She marched out of his visual range; while she was gone, Ilya pouted. “It was Svetlana’s fault that we knocked the chair over. And she was the one who made such a mess when we killed Suresh.”

  Anatoly was a bit alarmed. Not a lot. But some. “There was a mess?” This was a detail both of them had omitted.

  “A lot of blood,” Ilya said. “She shot him on their sofa. We didn’t have much time for cleanup.”

  “And this was her fault.”

  “Head wounds are bloody.”

  “And she was the one who shot him.”

  Ilya reddened. “She’ll say I did it.”

  Anatoly realized with a shock that his nephew was lying to him. Ilya had done it. Was he so stupid that he thought his uncle wouldn’t see through this falsehood? Why even bother? What did he hope to gain?

  Ilya was so immature. Thank God for Svetlana. A scrawny little child when he had taken her off the streets. A woman now. His woman. Or one of them, anyway. A man in his position must protect himself with redundancy. He must have backups everywhere. He could not rely on one particular hit man. Love one specific woman.

  Trust one particular relative.

  “Was there a blood trail to the van?” Anatoly asked. Ilya shook his head, but uncertainty blazed in the younger man’s eyes. Anatoly couldn’t help another attack of anger. It didn’t show on his face but he dug his fingers into his palms to maintain control. Emotion was always weakness.

  “Torch the car,” Anatoly said. “Then junk it.”

  His phone rang. He muted the iPad and looked at the ID. It was the man he had called in Los Angeles.

  The voice on the other end said, “We’ve got someone headed for the Kellers’ hotel now.”

  Anatoly huffed. “Don’t bother me with the details. Just let me know when it is done.”

  “Da, Anatoly.”

  Anatoly hung up. I am surrounded by idiots.

  And idiots can be dangerous.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The moon cast ripples of silver on the easy, cresting waves of the Pacific Ocean. Sea foam bubbled onto the warm sand. It was a night straight out of the pictures from the tour brochure Catherine had downloaded.

  “This was a wonderful idea,” Cat said as she and Vincent strolled barefoot along the beach. Catherine’s strappy sandals were dangling from Vincent’s fingers and her faux hibiscus flower was nestled behind his ear. The Pacific was chillier than either of them had expected, but the evening air was balmy and smelled of honeysuckle and star jasmine. They had flown into Los Angeles the night before the cruise and were enjoying a luxurious stay at a Spanish Colonial-style hotel in a part of Los Angeles called Playa del Rey, dining on fresh swordfish and mango salsa. Two margaritas later, they were kissing under the palms, already under the sway of their romantic getaway.

  “This is so perfect,” she murmured as they finished one kiss and began another. “I hope everything is all right back home. Heather didn’t answer my text—”

  “No,” Vincent said firmly. “No texting, no Wi-Fi. There’s a reason you left your phone on the nightstand, remember?”

  “Yes.” She smiled lovingly up at him. “And he’s standing right here.”

  “I love you,” he whispered. “I can’t even tell you how much.”

  “Then why don’t you show me?” she asked huskily. “Back in our room?”

  “You don’t need to ask me twice.”

  They turned around, passing through an arch of bougainvillea illuminated by flickering torches with their arms around each other. A distant guitar played a sensuous Spanish melody.

  They bypassed the elevator and climbed the stone stairway together. Each riser was decorated with a matching row of colorful tiles. Then they were at their door, which was made of wood and ornately carved.

  And hanging open.

  They looked at each other. No phones. No gun. She left it to Vincent to go first. If there was trouble, he could beast out.

  Their single overnight bag lay on its side, and all the contents were strewn on the mattress. Cat’s surprise sheer black nightgown lay on the floor. The drawers to their nightstand were open, the dresser as well. They didn’t touch any of it as they moved across the room. The sliding glass door to their balcony was open too. They looked down, scanning the palms and purple jacaranda trees surrounding a tile fountain where a few guests were drinking at wrought-iron tables beneath colorful umbrellas.

  Nothing.

  “Do we call the front desk?” Vincent asked.

  Cat knew what he was asking: Do you think this is something we need to keep off the books? Something beast-related? Liam, the ancient beast who had killed their ancestors Rebecca and Alastair, was dead, and as far as they knew, all Julianna’s human-enhancing experiments employed to combat him had been accounted for.

  Cat assessed their options. “If they’re thieves, they may be hitting other rooms right now. Innocents may be at risk.”

  “We could take them on ourselves.”

  “We’d have to explain a lot. Unless we know for sure that someone is being hurt, we should let the local authorities handle it,” Cat suggested.

  Vincent nodded. “Then we call.”

  “Agreed. We call.”

  They both rushed back inside and Vincent picked up the room phone. He asked for the manager while Cat studied the debris field and went through a mental list of what they’d packed. Nothing appeared to be missing. Even her phone was still there, thank goodness, plugged into the wall socket behind the nightstand to charge.

  In just a few moments, the manager arrived with the hotel’s head of security. By then the hotel had learned that several other rooms had been tossed, and some jewelry and cash had been stolen. Cat and Vincent were escorted to another room—a palatial suite, in fact—so that the LAPD could secure their original lodgings and dust for prints. Luckily they weren’t asked to surrender their belongings. Cat and Vincent agreed to the move so that they could do some private sleuthing on their own, but the other guests who had been burgled were insisting on being relocated to other hotels.

  “We’re so very sorry about this,” the manager said anxiously. “I don’t understand how it could have happened, but please be assured that we’ve doubled security and the police are on their way. If you discover that something is missing, please let us know immediately.” His face was pale. “It would be a good idea to contact your credit card companies as well. Even if the thieves didn’t take the physical cards, they may have cloned them.”

  “Thank you. I’m
a detective with the NYPD. If I can be of assistance, please let me know,” Cat said. She knew she had no clout in California but her cop brain compelled her to ask as many questions as he would answer. “You must have security cameras.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course we do.”

  I wish we could see the footage, Cat thought.

  “And you’re examining the key locks for hacking.” They had been in possession of both their key cards when their room had been tossed.

  “Yes. Everything is being handled.”

  “I suppose you have a list of all the victims and what was taken.”

  His smile was tight. “Please, Ms. Keller, I assure you, we have the entire situation under control.”

  Not really, she thought. But she kept her own counsel. He wasn’t going to give her anything to work with. Maybe he was afraid they were going to sue him.

  “Please just enjoy the suite with our compliments,” he continued. “Of course there will be no charge. For anything.”

  “Have you—” she pressed, but Vincent put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze.

  “Thank you,” Vincent said. He walked the man to the door. The manager left and Vincent closed it quickly. He waited a few beats, then opened it again.

  “Did you get the thief’s scent in our room?” Cat asked him, and he nodded.

  “Their scents. There were two of them. A man and a woman. They went through everything, as if they were looking for something to take.”

  Again she felt the sting of an insult. “We have nice stuff.”

  “This is a really high-end hotel,” he reminded her. Then he flashed her a grin. “I’ve got my job back. Be patient and we’ll amass a bunch of stuff worth stealing. Next time, they’ll take everything.” Before she could respond, he added, “I’m going to track their route.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  He held up a hand. “No offense, Catherine, but you don’t have a gun and I can move faster if I’m on my own.”

  She knew that was true. It frustrated her to agree to stay behind, but she acquiesced with a nod and a kiss. He blurred, increasing his speed to a point where the human eye could not detect his presence. No one would even realize he’d left their room. Her own parents had altered his DNA to the point where he was something new and different, a human-beast hybrid whose chemistry and physiology would fascinate a company like the one Ravi Suresh worked for. They’d have to be careful around him if he remained in Heather’s life.

  I hope Heather kicked him to the curb. I don’t trust him.

  She got out her sexy sheer nightgown, then shook her head. How many times had she gone to the scene of a B&E and the victims had told them how violated they’d felt? She couldn’t put this nightgown on now. Besides, Vincent had already seen it. Lucky thing she had lots more sexy lingerie for the cruise.

  As a cop, she was lunging at the leash to find the perps and arrest them. But as a brand new wife, she wanted to end this night on a much higher note. Maybe the hotel gift shop was still open. Finding a replacement nightgown would give her something to do, at least, and maybe the thieves had attempted to rob the shop as well. She might be able to get some information from the clerk.

  She called their credit card companies and put alerts on their cards. Then she made sure she had the room key and scrawled a message to Vincent on the hotel notepad. She placed it beside the nightstand and this time she took her phone. She thought about calling Tess but just as quickly nixed the impulse. Tess was not expecting her to stay in touch. Tess and JT had given Vincent and Cat express orders not to include them on their honeymoon. It was for the two of them, not the four—or the five, if you included Heather. They weren’t supposed to include anyone.

  “So, Tess,” Cat said to the phone without placing the call. “We’re having a pretty crazy first night.”

  * * *

  All Cat found in the gift shop was a pricey gold lamé bikini, which she decided to buy because never in a million years would Vincent expect her to own one, and it was Just. So. Hollywood.

  “Did you hear about the burglaries?” she asked the clerk as she verified the purchase because of the fraud alert. “My husband and I had our room broken into.”

  The woman’s eyes widened. “And you’re the honeymooners,” she said. “I’m so sorry.” She leaned forward. “Mitchell Samosa’s room was hit. You know, the actor.”

  Cat knew who he was—a really hot young star. He’d also just gotten married. In fact, he’d been married less time than Vincent and her.

  “Was he here on a delayed honeymoon too?” she asked the clerk.

  The woman leaned forward even closer. She looked left, then right. “No,” she said in an undervoice. “But he wasn’t here by himself.” Cat stared at her. “Makeup girl,” she whispered.

  Cat was scandalized. The woman nodded, pleased to have made an impression.

  “Do you think this might have been a retaliatory act?” Cat asked. The woman frowned, not following. “Do you think someone was trying to publicize his indiscretion? Tossing his room, getting it into the news that he was here with someone besides his wife?”

  “That might be,” the clerk said, thinking it through. “But George the security guard told me that nothing was taken. It would have been stickier if something had been. Insurance report, police. But nothing. We already put the two of them in cabs and sent them on their way. Two different ways. So much for that.”

  Cat nodded. In a perverse way, she felt a little better that her own stuff had been overlooked.

  “Don’t tell anyone I told you about it,” the clerk requested. “I’d lose my job. So would George.”

  “No worries.” Cat smiled. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  As she left the shop, the woman put the CLOSED sign up. Cat was about to take the stairs when she had the strangest sensation that she was being watched. Call it years on the job or simple intuition, but she was sure someone was lurking nearby.

  The shadow of a palm tree afforded her cover as she took herself out of view. She turned on the video portion of her phone and panned it as steadily as possible as she performed a visual scan of the stairway.

  “Catherine, it’s me,” Vincent said, and she stepped away from the palm tree.

  “Any luck?”

  “The thieves left together in one car. There were tire tracks. I’m sure the police will take prints. And yes, I took pictures of the tracks with my phone.” He grinned at her. “What were you up to? You can take the cop out of New York City…”

  “Just making a small purchase.” She rattled her bag. “Which I will now model for you if you’d like.”

  He tried to peek in the bag. She gave him a little bat.

  “I would like,” he said.

  When they got to their room, she put it on. He was about to take it off of her when an expensive bottle of champagne and a large bouquet of roses arrived—Vincent had planned ahead, but it had taken the hotel staff some time to locate their switched room—as well as an elaborate fruit and cheese basket and vouchers for massages, courtesy of the apologetic management. They filled up their two-person in-room whirlpool tub with bubble bath while Vincent popped the cork and Cat arranged a platter of delicacies and placed them within reach of the frothing bubbles.

  “They could have at least taken my phone,” Cat said as she slid into the churning water. “It’s practically brand new.”

  “We shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Vincent argued. “If they had taken something, we’d probably be making statements to the police instead of drinking champagne and eating strawberries naked.”

  “I wonder if any of the other guests who moved are shipmates of ours.” She had already shared the gossip about Mitchell Samosa with him. “What a way to start a vacation, you know? It’s like we’re crime magnets or something.” Cat popped a pineapple chunk into Vincent’s mouth. He chewed appreciatively. “I’m so glad we shipped our bags ahead. What a mess that would have been.”

  “Luck�
�s on our side. For people whose stuff gets manhandled.”

  They clinked champagne glasses and luxuriated.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Anatoly pinched the bridge of his nose hard to keep from launching into a barrage of Russian swear words and screaming at the top of his lungs.

  “What do you mean, you didn’t find it?” he said into the phone. “She packed the jacket.” He had a thought. “Was she wearing it?”

  “No. We had a tail on them. They had dinner and walked down by the beach. She didn’t have on the jacket.”

  “Then it had to be in her room,” he said through clenched teeth. Unless she lost it. Or someone else got to it before we did. Suresh had had another buyer but Anatoly had no idea who “Mr. Q” was. Could it be that this mysterious rival had already tracked down the chip? Did Suresh tell him about the jacket? The pieces didn’t quite fit.

  “We tossed her room, and several others to make it look like a random crime of opportunity. The hotel moved them. She went to the gift shop but he stayed in the room. But Anatoly, we looked through everything they had.”

  What if she had misplaced it? It was possible, if she was even half as stupid as her sister.

  “Check the lost and found of the hotel and the restaurant. Search the beach. Call me back in half an hour.”

  He disconnected and phoned Svetlana in New York. It was two a.m. there. Seven a.m. in London, where he was.

  “Da,” she said sleepily.

  “Wake up the girl. Make absolutely certain that her sister packed the jacket. I don’t care what you do to her. Make sure she’s telling you the truth.”

  “Da, Anatoly.” She sounded more awake now. Good girl. Good smart girl. “Do you want me to get Ilya?”

  “Nyet. This you can do on your own.” He was throwing her a bone, allowing her to show some initiative while at the same time giving her a break from his nephew. He hoped she appreciated it. “Call me back when you have something concrete.”