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probably had more dirt on the chief of police than he could imagine.
Owning Dallas’s most exclusive sex club put Lodge in a position of
power. None of which would help Jen if Stef himself couldn’t keep
her safe.
“Do the police know the time of death?” Zane asked. Zane sat in
the office with Stef and Nate, their previous fight forgotten after Stef had promised to keep his lips far from Callie. Though the big guy
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annoyed Stef on occasion, he was a close friend. Despite his current
profession of bar owner, Stef knew he’d been a damn good cop at one
point in time.
“Yes, they estimate that Renard was killed at approximately ten
o’clock this morning.”
“So, just as our plane was taking off for Colorado, Renard was
getting offed by someone.”
There was a new voice added to the crowd. “The wounds, were
there any hesitation marks?”
Stef looked up to see Caleb Burke in the doorway. The former
trauma surgeon was staring at the speaker as though it was a person
he was talking to.
“Um, I don’t know. Give me a second.” Taylor’s side of the
conversation was put on hold.
“You think it’s a pro?” Zane asked, looking at the doc.
Caleb’s head jerked slightly in the affirmative. Stef was getting
used to the doctor’s somewhat odd mannerisms. He was an excellent
doctor, if a bit too thorough for some of his patients’ tastes.
“What makes you think that?” Stef asked, dreading the answer.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he’d been praying this was all a
huge mistake. He’d hoped that Renard had damaged the painting and
was too much of a coward to own up to it. It wouldn’t be the first time a wealthy man set up one of his employees to take the fall. Stef could solve that problem. He would throw money at PIs until they dug up
enough crap on Renard to get him to back his ass down. This was
something different.
“It takes a lot of strength to slit a throat,” Caleb said, his voice hard and distant. “It’s not like cutting a piece of cake. There’s skin and muscle and sinew. To do it right and kill instantly, you have to
cut to the bone. It takes power and practice to really learn how to slit a throat.”
“So we’re not talking about some random robber or an angry
girlfriend?” Stef asked.
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Nate shook his head. “Nope. He’s right. Whoever did this wanted
it to be quiet and quick. He knew there wasn’t anyone in the
apartment, and he wasn’t worried about someone walking in. Shit, our
prints are all over the place. You’ll need to come with me. Logan can
print you. Mine are in the database. They’ll need to eliminate us.”
There was a little hiss as the speaker came back on. “Okay, I just
talked to the officer in charge. There’s good news, and there’s bad
news.”
“Give me the bad news.”
“The police searched Renard’s apartment and didn’t find the
painting. They also didn’t find it at Jennifer’s house when they
executed the search warrant yesterday.”
Well, that was too much to hope for. “And the good?”
“It looks like Renard was involved with some very industrious
people from Columbia.”
Caleb’s hands slapped together. “That would explain it. Those
Colombians like their guns, but they know how to slit a throat.”
Stef found himself looking to Nate and Zane for confirmation.
They both nodded in agreement.
“That’s excellent news,” Nate said.
Zane sat back. “That’s a load off my mind.”
The other three men seemed very satisfied by the news that Jen
was involved with someone who had a Colombian drug lord after
him. “And this is good why?”
There was a little laugh from the Dallas end of the phone.
“Because it means it’s over, Mr. Talbot. The police here are
theorizing that Renard stole the painting himself to pay for his coke
habit. They found a kilo in his apartment. Apparently his supplier
thought he was scamming and took care of the situation. The police
believe that he tried to convince them Ms. Waters had the painting,
and they killed him when they couldn’t find it. That painting is
probably on its way to Bogota as we speak.”
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Stef felt an enormous weight lift off his shoulders. “And the
charges against her?”
“Well, I might have a solution to that as well,” Taylor said
smoothly. “Renard was never the one who pressed charges. He
convinced the owner of the painting that Jennifer had taken it. Given
the evidence he managed to manufacture, it isn’t any wonder the
owner believed him. I happen to know this couple, and they are big
collectors of contemporary art. I think a simple explanation, a
donation to the college where they endow a chair, and a Talbot
original might go a long way to getting them to drop the charges. I
think the charges will be dropped anyway, but this would speed up the
process.”
“Done.” Stef didn’t hesitate for a second. The faster he got
Jennifer out of this mess, the faster they could move on with their
lives. “Set up the deal. Let me know when it’s done.”
After a moment of wrap-up, Stef shut the connection down. He
breathed a huge sigh of relief. It was done. She was safe. The charges would be dropped.
There wasn’t any reason she shouldn’t go back to Dallas.
The rolling sensation in his gut was back.
“Poor guy, he’s got it bad,” Zane said to his partner, a smirk on
his face.
Caleb looked between the two men. “Stef has a thing for the
brunette? Is that why he wanted me to give her the full House
treatment?”
They were worse than gossipy old women. “I asked you to check
out Jennifer because she’s been through a traumatic experience. She
was in prison, for god’s sake.”
Nate snickered. “Yep, he’s got it bad.”
Stef chose to ignore him. “Is she all right? I know you couldn’t
have gotten the blood tests back yet, but does she seem to be okay?”
“Oh, she wouldn’t let me touch her. I think she’s fine.” Caleb
leaned against the wall, a frown on his face.
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“I don’t pay you to think. I pay you to know.”
“Yeah, you don’t pay me all that much, anyway. Look, the girl
didn’t want to get examined. She wanted some lunch. It’s a good sign
that she has a healthy appetite. I wouldn’t worry about it. If she starts showing signs of stress, give me a call.”
Stef shook it off. At least she was safe under his roof. Though not
for long. “Gentlemen, I hope you can keep this conversation between
the four of us. Nothing has been settled yet. Until the charges are
dropped, Jennifer is still technically under my custody.”
“He’s afraid she’ll bolt,” Zane said.
Stef really wished he’d punched the asshole harder. “Are you
going to keep quiet or not?”
“Sure,” he replied. “It would make Callie sa
d if she left. I’ll keep
my mouth shut.”
“I’m quiet as the grave,” Nate offered.
They all looked back at the doctor. “I don’t care enough to say
anything.”
“Excellent.” The day was looking up. She was here. She was safe.
Now he had to figure out what the hell that meant, but he had time to
do it now. Of course, Jen wasn’t his only problem. His second
problem walked through the door. Sebastian Talbot wore a worried
expression, his hands full of objects Stef immediately recognized.
“Stefan, I went out to inspect the guesthouse. It’s not drafty at all, but there is a problem. What on earth have you gotten yourself into? I don’t know what half these things are. Are you aware that you have a
large cross attached to the wall out there? What are all those hooks
for?”
Stef felt his head start to pound.
His father dropped the plethora of sex toys he held in his hands
onto the desk. “Is this some strange art thing?” He picked up a large
plastic plug. “It’s not your best work, son.”
“Sir, that’s an anal plug,” the doctor in the room offered in the
same no-nonsense tone he used to explain chicken pox to worried
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mothers. “It’s a sex toy, and a rather large one. You might want to
start with something a little smaller. And you should make sure you
use plenty of lubricant before you use that.”
His father went white. Nate and Zane laughed like loons.
Stef let his head hit the desk and prayed the room would open up
and swallow him whole.
* * * *
“So, are you fellas here for the Winter Festival?”
Alexei looked up at the innkeeper. He wore a small badge that
proclaimed him to be named Gene. He seemed to be the owner of the
Bliss Movie Motel. It was on the outskirts of a sleepy little mountain town. What he’d seen so far was lovely. Still, he wasn’t here to take
in the scenery. He was here to get the painting and then use it to get close to Pushkin. Then he would most likely be dead. No, he
shouldn’t waste his time on scenery no matter how lovely it was.
Ivan shoved an elbow in his side. “He called this winter. That is
very funny.”
Gene smiled at them, his face completely open. “Wow. Now that
is cool. Where are you fellas from? You gotta tell me.” He pointed to
a globe behind the desk. It was covered in pushpins. “See, I have this globe so I can keep track of all the places the people who stay with us come from. It’s a small world, really.”
Ivan snorted. Alexei knew he would see this Gene’s little globe as
childish. And yet Alexei found himself staring at that globe. All of
those brightly colored pins represented another person who had come
to this town from far-off places. Places he would never see.
And his brother hadn’t seen them either, would never see them
because Pushkin killed him. That was what mattered.
“We are be coming from Belarus,” he heard himself saying.
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“That is just neat,” Gene commented as he pulled out a purple pin
and stuck it in Belarus. “We don’t get many people from your part of
the world. What’s it like there?”
“It stink of fish,” Ivan said, giving Alexei a dirty stare. Ivan hated Belarus. It was why Alexei had chosen it.
“Oh,” Gene said. He looked from man to man, his eyes narrowing
as though he was finally understanding something was off.
Alexei couldn’t have that happen. He gave the man a broad smile.
“Forgive my brother. He is, how you say, a pooper on parties. We are
very happy to be in this country. So beautiful.” He leaned in and
gestured back toward Ivan the Sour. “His last girlfriend leave him for fisherman. He has the women’s troubles. You must forgive him.”
Ivan growled behind him, but played along.
Gene was back to smiling. He laughed loudly. “I understand that,
but, son, it’s woman trouble. He’s got woman trouble. The other way
makes it sound likes he’s menstruating.”
Alexei nodded, though he had no idea what menstruating meant.
He would have to look it up. If it meant Ivan was difficult and cranky, then it was another word to describe him. “So what is this Winter
Festival?”
Gene slid a pair of keys across the table. “Oh, it’s one of the best
times of the year. It’s a week of skiing and snowboarding, and there’s a supper at the end of the week and a drawing with all kinds of stuff
you can win. The Rep Theater is doing a revue with singing. It’s just a lot of fun. It’s why you’re darn lucky I had a room left. Things fill up quick around this time of year. Here’s a schedule of events. Don’t
miss the ice sculpting. We have a guy who carves these gorgeous
sculptures with a chain saw. And he’s real careful, too. After he lost his pinky last year, he’s much more careful.”
“This sounds fun,” Alexei said. It sounded like an excellent cover.
With all the citizens of the town mixing with a bunch of tourists, they wouldn’t stand out. Perhaps he could get what he needed without
killing the girl. The last thing he wanted was more blood on his hands.
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Gene pushed a packet toward him. “Here’s a map of the town.
And a little welcome package. It’s got some fudge from the Trading
Post and a menu from Stella’s and a coupon for Trio. Oh, and don’t
forget, every night I’m running some great movies. The Drive-In is
normally closed this time of year, but I run some movies for the
festival. Folks like to huddle under blankets and watch the show. It’s real fun. Just open your window and you can see the screen. Tune the
radio to the setting in the instructions for the sound. And first bag of popcorn’s on me.”
Ivan huffed and picked up the keys. Alexei said good-bye to Gene
and followed him outside. The snow was falling lightly, giving the
entire world a gauzy feel. Mountains surrounded the valley on three
sides. Somehow the sky seemed bigger here than it did at home. He
stared at the mountains in the distance.
“This is not winter,” Ivan complained in Russian. “This is a light
spring breeze where I come from.”
Since Ivan came from a dunghill close to the Arctic Circle, he was
probably right.
“Why are we checking into this place?” Ivan asked. “We should
walk back in there, put a gun to the innkeeper’s head, and make him
tell us where this girl is.”
“And then?”
Ivan shot him a look that made Alexei know his intelligence was
in question. “And then we kill the innkeeper and kill the girl and get the painting.”
“And the American police will just let us stroll out?” Alexei tried
to reason with him. Ivan was a barbarian. He was pure muscle with
not a thought beyond killing and taking whatever prize he was
supposed to get. “This is not Russia. You can’t go around killing
people and expect the cops to look the other way.”
Ivan followed him when he started walking toward the room. “I
don’t see why not. Do police in America not appreciate money? We
pay them and they look the other way.”
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; Alexei found the room and shoved the key in. “I don’t think it will
work here. The media is different. No one will care if we kill Renard.
He was a pathetic drug addict. If we kill this Gene, someone will care.
If we kill the girl, someone will care. These Americans are addicted to justice. Have you not watched their television?”
Ivan sniffed. “No. I am not as interested in what goes on at the
Jersey Shore as you are. I say no one will care if I kill all of those people. I will probably get a medal for killing the short orange one.”
Ivan dropped his bag beside the bed. He tossed his body down. “I
will take this side. Wake me when it is time to kill someone.”
He was asleep, snoring like a bear, almost instantly. It was a skill
of his. He could sleep anywhere.
Alexei, on the other hand, barely slept at all. The minute he
dropped off he saw his brother’s bloody face. He saw how still his
brother’s body was. It was hard now to remember that his brother had
always laughed and smiled. His brother had been the one to tell him
stories about what their lives would be like when they finally got to
America. They would find good jobs and good women. Alexei had
been nine and wasn’t terribly interested in the women, but he wanted
to play for an American hockey team. That had been his dream.
It had shattered in an instant when one of Pushkin’s thugs decided
to make an example of his beloved older brother. He’d found a new
dream that day. He would grow strong and kill the man responsible
for his brother’s death. He’d managed to quietly kill the thug who had pulled the trigger, but Pushkin was the one he wanted.
And he would have him.
Alexei walked back outside. He dragged cold air into his lungs.
Damn, but his brother would have been fascinated by this place. He
would have talked all afternoon with the Gene person, asking him
questions about the town and the people Gene had met. Mikhail had
never met a stranger.
Alexei found his feet moving toward the front office. It wouldn’t
hurt to talk to the man. He could find out more about the town. He
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was supposed to be a tourist. He would be a friendly tourist. Friendly tourists talked to people. His stomach growled. Maybe he would go to