Secure Desire

by R L Dunn

  “I don’t understand. What sins?” Cassie’s eyes widened.

  Sucov lifted his chin. “An eye for an eye. A womb for a womb. Don’t you remember, little whore? They spread you out like a sacrifice. They filled you, but you just wouldn’t go along with the plan. I wanted to bring you home to keep you. But Mr. Sabitov said no. It was such a shame. Even after bearing a child, you would have commanded a fortune. You woke up. We had to change the game.

  “We didn’t want you to go to waste. There is nothing like virginal flesh. I remember how you begged when I broke you. We took you until you had nothing left. Those children drugged you. It was to be a peaceful death, but you, little whore, you woke up again. Such a tough little thing. You remembered nothing.”

  “How did you know that?” Her eyes widened.

  “You are naïve. The man who knew you as a baby. The man who worked side by side with your father. You were tough then too. You survived.”

  Cassie slapped him across the face and screamed, “You bastard. You killed my family!”

  Sucov licked the blood from his lip. “Not me. The man, Devereaux. He was responsible. He told us you lost your drive to paint and remembered nothing. Mr. Sabitov let you be. It worked out okay. Another baby paid the debt—not as impressive a womb. Six years and nothing, but then Ames—the fool—awakened the sleeping tigress. And then we heard about the dead child. Connections could be made. And…”

  “The Caravaggio.”

  “You did see it.” He chuckled.

  “Twenty million dollars.” Cassie swallowed more bile.

  “Do you know what you are standing in the way of?” Sucov lifted his chin. “An American presidency. Favor with the Russian president. Control of the world markets. Money and power beyond your wildest dreams. No one is going to let a whore ruin that.”

  “Where’s the painting?” Cassie demanded.

  “My little whore, you need to ask the judge. Your efforts brought it to the States. Millions changed hands; deeds were done, and it went to its new home. It was part of lore until you threw it at me. And now, Sabitov sent me to clean up the mess. Once they know you are alive, they will never stop trying to kill you—and everyone you love. You can’t hide forever, little whore.”

  Cassie forced a smile and switched to English. “Thank you for your time.” Exiting the area, she promised the two men she would convey to Mr. Chase how much they helped her. She made it to the front of the garage before she threw up in the bushes. Every step stole her breath. Sucov’s words made her surer about what to do.

  Noah’s car was the last car parked on the circle. Cassie was thankful it was not a rental. He always hid a set of keys in the front wheel well. Searching, her fingers wrapped around them.

  She disappeared into the night.

  Mia Donnelly sat in her new Foggy Bottom apartment and went over intel. Joe Maddox, autopsy blood type: O positive. Robert Bynum Jr. autopsy: B positive. Robert Bynum Sr. health record: B positive. Elizabeth Bynum health record: O positive. Sebastian Ames autopsy: O positive. Blood type from the cigarette butt from Burt Marshall: O positive. Bradford Whitman health record: O positive. Adrienne Whitman health record: O positive. Garett Whitman: B positive. Cheyenne Whitman OB record: O negative.

  She looked at all the children a second time. Blood type all O positive. A quick call to Hunter confirmed what she was seeing—it had been a long time since college biology class. None of them were William’s sperm donor. Even more intriguing, Bradford Whitman was not Garett’s father, and Garett was not the father of his children either. Was it a coincidence his blood type was the same as the senator’s?

  When Mia called Ian, it went to voicemail. She tried again, dialing his private suite number. She phoned Kieran next. “I can’t reach Ian. It’s urgent.”

  After a brief summary, Kieran said, “Have Cowboy report to the estate. Stay ready. I hope his phone is just off.” Dread filled his belly. It wasn’t like Ian not to answer.

  Kieran tiptoed from the bed, trying not to wake Monique. He threw clothes on and ran to the other wing of the house.

  Tucker and Eric hit the steps at the sound of Kieran’s cries for help as he knelt beside his unresponsive brother. Cassie was gone.

  Kieran called in an Epsilon alert; his first fear was someone had kidnapped Cassie. Orders went out to scour the home and estate in a complete grid search. Always methodical, he checked on the prisoner. A volcano of anger erupted after the guards explained Cassie’s visit. “What did he tell her?”

  Both men stood at attention. “Sir, we don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” Kieran bellowed.

  “Russian. They spoke Russian,” the first guard said.

  Kieran tore from the room to inspect the tapes. Noah Paulsen met him. “My car is gone.”

  “Shit. GPS?” Kieran unlocked the office door.

  “No tracking at all. What is she thinking?” Noah asked.

  “She thinks she’s protecting us.” Kieran scanned the office. “There’s a tablet missing.” He cued up the computer to pull up the interrogation room surveillance. “Damn it. How the hell did she do it? Cassie looped the feed.”

  With Brett’s groggy help, Kieran was able to find what he needed. Kieran and Noah sat in front of the screen. “Transcribe it.”

  Tucker and Eric worked at a fevered pace over Ian after finding two empty vials, another partially filled vial, and a syringe. Cassie drugged him with Propofol, Versed, and Haldol.

  Ian forced himself to sit up. His eyes felt glued shut and his brain slogged. In slurred speech, he said, “We have to find her. She said this is her fight. Search everywhere. She’s going to get herself killed.”

  Tucker shined a light in his eyes while Eric took his vitals. “She gave you quite a cocktail,” Eric said. When Ian struggled to get out of bed, Eric pushed him back. “Hold on there. You’re not going anywhere.”

  “The hell I’m not.” Ian stumbled from the bed, trying to shake off the dizziness. “Can’t you reverse this shit?”

  “Some of it, but we can’t do anything if you keep fighting us. I need to draw some blood, start an IV, and run an ECG. Ian, you’re going to be no help if your heart stops.”

  “All right, you have fifteen minutes. Get me some coffee. Where’s my brother?” Ian pulled on pants, looking like the town drunk. “And stop hovering!”

  His eyes caught the envelope. Ripping it open, he fell back on the bed, his vision still blurred. “Read this!”

  Eric pulled out the letter.

  * * *

  My handsome, loving Ian,

  I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me one day. Six years ago, I became part of an offensive scheme. The underlying reasons why are still not clear. I remember David Sucov worked for the gallery owner, Arkady Sabitov. As part of my role at Ellis Art Finds, I often arranged for works of art to come to the United States from abroad for both exhibition and sale. I brokered a deal for the Young Woman in Pink through Sabitov’s gallery in Moscow. Hidden behind that work of art was the folded canvas of the long-missing Adoration. I facilitated this felonious act.

  I am now sure this was not the first time I transported stolen art through customs. Ignorance is no defense. My actions demeaned my parents’ memory.

  I will never let you be caught up in my crimes. You and Kieran built an entire empire on honesty and trust. I will never be a liability or weakness for you, my love. I know how it feels to be betrayed. Garett, a man whom I believed loved me, used my trust as a weapon. I will never do that to you. That is why I am going to put an end to this. You and your family already risked too much for me.

  Ian, you saved me from my despair. You gave me a taste of happiness I never thought possible. I will always be grateful to you. I will love you forever.

  Your sweet Cassie

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Cassie drove twenty minutes before parking at the Reston Town Center to catch her breath and put the rest of her plan in action. Sucov had n
o reason to lie to her. The back door to the electronics store was easy to unlock, and the alarm system was even easier to disarm. She grabbed a GPS, a burner phone, micro-tape recorder, and batteries. She threw $250 from Ian’s wallet on the counter.

  Retracing her steps to return to the car, she remained in the shadows. Her head pressed against the steering wheel, she swallowed a pill from the medical bag to help her nausea, unaware of the cause. When her nausea abated, she drove onto a small side street. Noah’s car fit behind a Jeep Cherokee. A quick once-over of the old vehicle showed no modern technology. Her tiny arm slipped through the window that was one-third open. Ninety seconds later, she had the car running. Bless Caleb for teaching her how to hotwire a car. No one—not even Ian—was going to find her.

  Kieran was overseeing the search, and Noah was translating Sucov’s interrogation when Ian made it to the ground floor with Tucker and Eric’s help. Kieran and Mike’s teams assembled in the dining room along with Caleb, Sean, and Frank.

  Christian paced, speaking to Andy Blake on the phone. Luke was on his cellphone, assembling FBI resources. Monique and Rachel were speaking to Sophie, trying to figure out what prompted Cassie to leave. They left an urgent message for Stephanie Reynolds. Ellen brewed a huge urn of coffee and handed her boss another steaming cup.

  Ian steadied himself; despite reversing the Versed, the longer-acting Haldol kept trying to pull him under. He drank the fresh brew as fast as the heat allowed.

  Cassie’s note was passed around. Martin read it over Frank’s shoulder. “Oh, God. This is my fault,” he said.

  The room went silent. “Ian, I told you she worried about being a weak spot for you. I tried to convince her otherwise.”

  Ian inhaled. “I did too, man. It’s not you; this is on me. Stephanie warned she could do something rash when her memory came back. I told her I was prepared. I should’ve known Cassie didn’t read the rule book. What do we have?”

  “Sit down.” Kieran pointed to a chair. “She’s been gone for three hours. Andy Blake put out a BOLO for Noah’s car—as a person in need of medical attention.”

  Ian rubbed his eyes. “Looks like she planned this before she saw Sucov. Stubborn woman. She thinks she’s protecting us. Martin, go up to our suite, go through everything, and see if she left any clues.”

  Hunter walked in. “Can I talk to you alone, Ian? The fresh air will help.” With another cup of coffee in hand, they moved to the patio. “She dosed you hard.” Hunter checked his friend’s pupils.

  “Is that what you need to talk to me about?” Ian growled.

  “There’s a problem, Ian.”

  “Yeah, she’s missing.”

  “She’s pregnant.”

  “How long has she known?” Ian’s eyes were no longer slits.

  “She doesn’t know. I wanted to talk to a specialist first. It's early on, and there are a lot of medical issues. I wanted to have as much information as possible before I spoke with her.”

  “The vomiting is morning sickness?”

  “It’s more than that. Cassie has morning sickness gone haywire. The temperature is dangerous for healthy folks. Heatstroke can hit hard and fast. She’s malnourished and underweight, and she dehydrates quickly. She took the bottle of the anti-nausea meds, but only a few tablets. That will get her through the morning. Throwing up and sweating will dehydrate her, and worse, her electrolytes will become unbalanced. That is a life-threatening issue. Under perfect circumstances, this pregnancy is a big strain. With her underlying condition, my colleague said it might not be viable. She may—”

  “How long?” Ian asked.

  “Short window. A week at best if she can get some fluids to stay down. If the symptoms return full force and she stays exposed to the heat, maybe forty-eight hours.”

  Kieran joined them on the patio. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but this cannot wait.” He looked between his brother and the doctor. “What did I miss?”

  “Let me hear what you have,” Ian said.

  “I assume she’s going after Whitman. I’m checking all holdings in the Whitman, Marshall, and Bynum names. I’ll arrange for someone to pick up Kevin Tyler and Burt Marshall. We will find her. We’re trying, Ian.”

  “Damn it, Kier—try harder,” he begged.

  “Mia is downstairs dressing down the two guys on Sucov.”

  “And what about her conversation with Sucov?”

  “Noah translated it. She’s good, but the story isn’t.”

  As Ian watched the video, the adrenaline rush quickly mitigated the sedation. His mouth went dry. The petite woman on screen was intimidating. Focused. Determined. Lethal. Yates’s chameleon.

  Kieran cued up the exterior camera feed. The last view was of Cassie with tear-stained eyes staring up at their bedroom window, her expression filled with heartache and love.

  “Check every ATM and traffic cam in the area. We need to find which way she headed.” Ian’s brain was clearing.

  “Hunt, how impaired is my brother?”

  Ian glared at Kieran for asking.

  “Anyone else, and I’d say impaired until 2100 hours tomorrow. These drugs impair judgment. Ian, let Kieran run this—and no guns,” Hunter said.

  Ian ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Guess we better bring you up to speed.”

  “How did that happen?” Kieran asked.

  Ian remembered falling asleep inside her and the few minutes of unprotected activity against the wall. “I put her in this danger.”

  “How doesn’t matter anymore. What happens now is our problem,” Hunter said. “We need to find her fast.”

  Cassie, wearing a baseball cap she found in the Jeep, pulled into a fast-food drive-through and ordered a Sprite and small fries. Getting back on the road, she headed for DC. Her stomach rolled, but deep breaths, a few sips of soda, and the salty fries helped. The air-conditioning did not work in the stolen Jeep. Even with the windows open, there was no breeze, and sweat soaked her skin. She pointed the car toward Ellis Art Finds.

  “Dr. Ellis, it’s you. You’re alive,” a familiar security guard said.

  “Please promise me you won’t mention to anyone you saw me.”

  “Absolutely, Dr. Ellis.”

  “Thank you.” Cassie pressed numbers on the keypad to her office and opened her file drawers. There it was. Proof of the crimes, all in her name. Customs certificates documenting the importation of stolen art. Mark Devereaux betrayed her father, and he betrayed her. She shoved a few files in her bag and fled the building.

  Next, she headed to the Washington Highlands section of DC. Betty’s family owned an old warehouse near Fourth Street and Atlantic. Garett had tried to get her to invest in one of Robby’s business schemes, but Cassie declined.

  She remembered Robby telling her, “You don’t have to be such a stick in the mud. You think you’re smarter than anyone else. What do you have to lose? You can afford it.”

  The dark warehouse was in an unsafe neighborhood. Cassie scouted the perimeter, and once she found a door, it didn’t take long to break in. The hot, musty first floor of the building did not help her nausea. She breathed through her mouth while she searched with the flashlight she found in the Jeep, small sips of Sprite keeping her going.

  Finding nothing of interest on the first floor, she took the flight of hard steel steps upstairs. The sound echoed—they were the same steps she was carried up six years earlier. The door at the top was steel and secured with a double lock.

  The Jeep owner was mechanical and kept a full toolbox in the back seat. Cassie returned to the car and pocketed a variety of tools she could use. These locks took more finesse to pick. She needed to sit and rest a few times. Desperate, she closed her eyes, head pounding, but she fought until the tumblers fell.

  The second floor was a different sight from the first, with bright lights illuminating everything. Rooms were spaced out on both sides of a long, carpeted corridor. Cassie attempted to stem her violent reaction to the embedded smell of clove cigarette
s, taking another pill with some more of the soda.

  The first room was an office where a ceiling fan rotated in lazy circles. A large metal desk was positioned in the center with two huge four-drawer file cabinets on either side.

  When she pulled open the first drawer, she found more than a hundred numbered files. Opening up a random one, she grimaced. It contained a woman’s driver’s license, a lock of hair, a detailed description of a sexual encounter, and a bill of sale. Human trafficking. You would fetch a good price.

  In the back of the bottom drawer, she found a red book with lists of numbers and dates. The three other drawers held similar items. The second file cabinet had pictures of paintings, a price, date, time, address, and the distributor’s name. The records all bore customs certificates and proof of ownership through Ellis Art Finds.

  Buried under the files, a ledger book held another horrible truth: records of priceless stolen artwork laundered to be used as payment for traffic in drugs, women, and votes. The ledger also held a list of the locations of tampered voting machines throughout Virginia.

  Cassie’s breath caught in her chest. “My God,” she gasped as she held on to the ledger. A search of the desk revealed a map with blue dots corresponding to a legend, listing voting booths across the nation. Senator Bynum was planning on stealing the election. She needed to figure out how. The bottom drawer held office supplies and a set of keys, which she pocketed.

  Proceeding down the corridor, she found the second room was furnished sparsely and neatly, with a made bed and a chair. A closet and dresser were full of men’s clothing, with a bottle of Clive Christian #1 and an ashtray overloaded with clove cigarette butts on top. The combined smells were too much for her. She rushed to open a window, but the hot predawn air was stagnant. Her body revolted, and she vomited. Though she left the room as fast as she could, Cassie collapsed in the hallway.

  After a few minutes, she entered the third room. A bed with an ugly floral spread centered the room, with restraints extending from each corner and the ceiling. The memories became as clear as a photograph. A cry sounded from her lips, and her legs felt like rubber. It all flooded back. She crawled on the floor to rest under the window, where her body dry-heaved. She placed the cold soda cup against her forehead. Closing her eyes, she focused on trying to breathe. Calm down, Cassie.