“Enough with the cryptic shit, Vander.”
His brother just raised a dark brow. “Haven’s would-be kidnapper is in the holding room, and is still not talking. I have a meeting with Binary Tech.”
That was one of Norcross’ big corporate clients—Norcross supplied all of Binary Tech’s security systems, cyber security, and, when required, bodyguards for their executives.
Once Vander was gone, Rhys tried to concentrate. He kept remembering the taste of Haven, the feel of her.
Fuck.
His phone rang and he pulled it out. “Norcross.”
“Hey, Big R, it’s Jerome.”
A boat-racing buddy. “Hey, Jerome. Where are you? Got a race on?” Jerome was always on the move. They’d met on the boat racing scene a year back.
“I’m in San Fran. I’ve got some parties I’m going to. You should come. Prime women, good booze, fun times.”
Rhys leaned back in his chair. Maybe a distraction was what he needed. Go get laid, and get a certain brunette out of his head.
“I’ve also got a climbing trip planned, if you’re interested,” Jerome continued. “A few of us are hitting Yosemite.”
“I’m on a case right now, but I can carve out time for a party or two.”
“Knew you’d be up for a good time, man.”
Instead of smiling, Rhys frowned. Shit, did everyone think he was only a good-time guy?
“I’ll text you the addresses and dates,” Jerome said. “See you soon. Be good to catch up.”
Rhys ended the call, but he had a bad taste in his mouth. He decided it was time to go and question their “guest.”
When he headed into the holding room, he saw the man sitting at the desk, handcuffed to one table leg. He was rumpled, his nose swollen. He lifted his head, and when he saw Rhys, his eyes glittered.
“Just tell us who you are and who you work for,” Rhys said. “Then you can go.”
Silence.
“You tried to snatch an innocent woman off the street. Cops don’t like that. You keep your trap shut, that’s your next stop.”
More silence.
“You know, my day has turned pretty shitty, and I’m looking for a distraction.” Rhys let his fingers curl into a fist.
Mr. No-Neck didn’t miss it. “I talk, I die.”
“Was the woman random, or were you after her specifically?”
There was a brief struggle on the man’s face. “Her. Haven McKinney.”
Fuck. It didn’t matter that she’d pissed him off, Rhys still wanted her safe. “Why?”
The man shook his head.
There was a knock on the door, and Rhys opened it. Ace was in the doorway.
Rhys slipped outside. Ace Oliveira’s long, dark hair was pulled back in a stubby ponytail. He was the same height as Rhys, a shade leaner, but kept in shape. He’d spent several years working at the NSA, and hadn’t met a system he couldn’t hack, bug, or take down, depending on his mood.
“His name is Joseph Cowell.” Ace’s voice held a faint touch of Brazil. He’d grown up in the US, but both his parents were Brazilian. “I ran some searches and he popped.” Ace handed over a piece of paper.
Rhys scanned it. “Thug for hire.”
“Yep. Got links to Petrov.”
Rhys stiffened. Damn, Russian mafia. Boris Petrov ran a steady business of money laundering in San Francisco. He usually steered well clear of Norcross, and kept out of their business. Rhys frowned. The mafia couldn’t be linked to Haven.
He turned and peered through the glass, then back at Ace. “Thanks.”
“Vander also asked me to give you this.” Ace held out a slim file.
As Ace disappeared, Rhys frowned at the file and flipped it open. His stomach clenched. They were pictures of Haven.
They were from a while ago. She looked thinner, stressed, her face pinched. From the background, he could tell she was in Miami.
In one, she had bruises on her face.
Motherfucker. He could make out finger marks. Fury was like acid in his veins. Some of them showed her arguing with the slick, good-looking blond man. Leo Becker, the ex.
She’d run from this man. She’d left Miami because this asshole had hurt her.
Rhys closed the file. She might have had a rough time, but that didn’t mean she got to take that out on him. He looked at Cowell through the glass. He’d give the guy a bit longer to stew. Turning, Rhys headed back upstairs to his office.
He saw he had some new emails, and one was from the tattoo artist he’d contacted. The guy had done some of Rhys’ ink in the past. He’d sent the man an image of the tattoo that had been on the neck of the thief from the museum.
Rhys scanned the information and stiffened.
The guy had tracked the star tattoo down. It was a mafia tattoo, common in the Bratva.
The guy in the museum had a Russian mafia tattoo. The kidnapper downstairs had links to the local Russian mafia.
Rhys felt that little tingle when an investigation started coming together.
And this time, he didn’t like it one bit. The Russian mafia was involved, and somehow, Haven was right in the middle of it.
* * *
Haven lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think of anything.
She closed her eyes. For a few months, life had been good again. Peaceful.
Now…
Images flashed in her brain like someone taking photographs—the painting, the theft, the man hitting her, Rhys, Rhys kissing her, his face at the end when they’d argued.
Her stomach cramped.
He was done with her. She saw that. He’d shut down and turned off like she disgusted him.
Her stomach tightened even more. Don’t think about him.
She rolled, pressing her face into her pillow. God, she’d been a bitch to him. Who was she to judge how he lived his life?
Ugh. Enough. Rhys Norcross was not for her. She needed to stop wallowing.
She pushed herself up and then tied her tangled hair up in a messy bun. When she’d gotten home, she’d changed into yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt with a large neck that slipped off one shoulder.
Now, night was falling. She wondered if they’d gotten her kidnapper to talk.
Shaking her head, she headed into her living room, glancing out the windows. Where was the Water Lilies right now?
The lights of San Francisco winked back at her, but didn’t have the answer.
She just hoped they were treating it right. The smallest wrong move could damage the masterpiece. She released a breath. Art meant a lot to her. She still remembered her mom taking her to a museum for the first time when she was six. It had been their special day. Haven had learned that art was a way to express human skill, imagination, and emotion. You could capture a moment, a feeling, and make someone feel that again. There were some paintings that just a glance made her remember her mom—shared giggles, warm hugs, their love.
Haven couldn’t afford the kind of art she truly loved, but she had a few pretty prints, and one small sculpture on her coffee table—a gift from an artist. It was two people entwined in an embrace, the man holding the woman close to his larger body.
She averted her gaze from the statue. All that did right now was make her feel worse.
In her compact kitchen, she opened her fridge. She had no desire to cook, and her fridge was looking a little bare. Haven didn’t love cooking, but she had a few meals that were her go-tos, and usually came out pretty well.
There was a knock at her door and she froze. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and no one had buzzed up.
Frozen with indecision, she stood there, staring at the door.
“Open up, Haven,” Gia called. “I’ve got food and wine.”
Relief punched through Haven.
She opened the door and her best friend bustled in, paper bag in one hand, and a bottle of red wine in the other. Her large, Fendi handbag was slung over her shoulder, and she was still in her work clothes—her
sleek, white dress with sexy Louboutin heels.
Gia looked at Haven’s face and her mouth hardened.
“I’m okay,” Haven said. “The bruising is just getting worse.”
Gia dumped her things on the kitchen island. Then she hugged Haven. Haven wrapped her arms around her friend and held on tight.
“Hey.” Gia patted her back. “What’s going on?”
“I went to see Harry today.”
“You were supposed to rest.”
“I have to try and find the painting, Gia. Anyway, some no-neck guy tried to drag me off the street.”
“What?” Gia stiffened. “I’m calling Vander—”
Haven grabbed her arm. “Rhys arrived and stopped the guy. He’s in a holding room at Norcross.”
“Rhys arrived?”
“Yes, he saved my ass.”
“Well, he is partial to watching your ass.”
“Gia.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay.” Gia squeezed Haven’s fingers.
“I went with Rhys to help track down a lead…”
Gia watched her with deep-brown eyes so like Rhys’.
“God, Gia, he kissed me. I kissed him. More than once.” Haven dropped her head into her hands.
“It was a long time coming,” Gia said.
“G, he’s your brother—”
“Like I’ve told you before, I’m well aware that all my brothers are hot. It’s my cross to bear.” She grabbed Haven’s hands and pulled them away from her face. “Rhys is gorgeous, yes. All of his life he’s never had to put much effort in with women. They drop at his feet like flies.”
Haven made an unhappy noise at that thought. “That’s kind of a gross analogy.”
“Except you. You’ve kept him on his toes. He’s like a starving wolf that spotted a pretty doe when he looks at you.”
“I’m not sure that’s a very good analogy either,” Haven said. “Anyway, it’s just the thrill of the chase. He’ll lose interest—”
Gia shook her head. “I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”
That made Haven’s throat go tight. “I was a bitch to him. I said nasty things.” She pulled in a shuddering breath. “He won’t be looking at me like that again.”
Gia opened the wine and grabbed two glasses from the cupboard. She poured generously. “So, your finely tuned survival instincts kicked in.”
Haven took a sip of wine. “I…I can’t risk myself again. I was falling for Leo, or at least I thought I was, and he betrayed my trust. More than once.”
He’d turned from charming boyfriend to edgy, anxious, short-tempered man who yelled, and refused to tell her anything. And when she’d caught him getting a blow job from a waitress in his office at the club, they’d fought, and he’d hit her.
“Rhys is not Leo,” Gia said.
“I know that, but Rhys can have anyone he wants, and I don’t… I can’t watch someone else catch his eye.”
“Haven—”
“No. I don’t want to talk about it anymore, Gia.”
“Then just listen. Easton was always the bossy Norcross brother, running some scheme to make money. Vander… Well, even in high school, I suspected my brother was plotting to invade some small nation. Rhys was always the easygoing, charming brother. He was smart, sporty, everyone’s friend.”
Haven took another sip of wine. Maybe she’d have a bottle or two.
“Then he enlisted, and followed Easton and Vander as soon as he could.” Gia smiled. “He hated being left out.” Her smile faded. “It changed him, Haven. He believed in what he was doing with the military, but they never, ever talk details, even to Mom and Dad. But it changed him. Whatever he had to do, it left scars. On all three of them.”
Haven swallowed and set her glass down, a horrible feeling sweeping through her. She hadn’t gotten to know him well enough to see under the good looks. Hell, she’d been too busy thinking about herself, protecting herself, that she hadn’t thought much about Rhys’ feelings. Guilt stabbed at her.
“It’s like he has this need to go fast and keep moving,” Gia said.
Haven bit her bottom lip. She understood that need. The need to outrun your demons.
“I want to see him slow down,” Gia said. “Breathe and appreciate the small things.”
“I… We fought, Gia. It was ugly.”
There was a knock at the door and Haven stiffened again. “Now who is it?”
“Let me check.” Gia stood, going into mother-hen mode. She was a Norcross as well, and clearly, they were born to protect.
She heard Gia talking and demanding to see ID.
A moment later, her friend was back holding a huge bouquet of blood-red roses.
Haven sucked in a breath and her heart thumped. “Oh, wow.”
“They smell delicious.” Gia set them down on the island and snatched up the card from among the greenery. Then she frowned. “No name.”
Haven took the card. I’ll keep you safe, Haven.
A cold shiver ran through her. For some reason, that message made her feel the opposite. “These aren’t from Rhys.”
“I doubt it. I don’t think Rhys has ever sent flowers. Easton, yes, but this is not Rhys’ style.”
A bad taste filled Haven’s mouth. “Leo used to apologize with flowers. Big, glossy, expensive flowers.”
“You think these are from him?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want them. Can you—?”
“I’ll take care of it.” Gia slid her phone out and snapped a picture of the flowers, then she picked the vase up. “I bet old Mrs. Girard down the hall will like them.”
The widow lived alone and often invited Haven in for a cup of tea. She was sweet and friendly. “She’ll love them.”
Gia hustled out the front door and Haven wrapped an arm around her middle. Her belly churned. She couldn’t think about Leo right now. God, her life was a mess. Dragging in a deep breath, she tried to empty her mind. She didn’t want to think about Leo, or the Monet, or the mess she’d made with Rhys.
When her stomach did another sickening roll, she dropped onto her couch.
As soon as Gia had regifted the flowers, she was back. She took one look at Haven, sat beside her, and tossed an arm around Haven’s shoulders.
“Now, let’s eat Chinese, have more wine, and not talk about anyone with high levels of testosterone.” She gave Haven a squeeze.
Haven managed a smile. “Or stolen paintings.”
“Deal.” They clinked their glasses together. “Let’s talk about the party I’m throwing this weekend.”
“Gia, my face—”
“Will be healed enough that with my deft hand with makeup, no one will see anything other than your gorgeousness.”
Thank God for her friend.
Tonight, Haven wasn’t going to think about exes, or thieves, or men who kissed like sexy dreams.
She was just going to drink and hang with her friend.
Chapter Seven
God, it was so nice to be at work. It made her feel normal.
Haven carefully moved some jewelry around on the black velvet. She was working on a new display of jewelry from the Golden Age of Hollywood.
She nudged a necklace into the right position. Perfect. Next, she grabbed the description card and set it in place.
Then she turned, carefully lifting a set of dangly, pearl earrings once worn by actress Rita Hayworth and set them in the case.
She glanced around the exhibit room. It was a smaller, more intimate space than the main hall. Her stomach was still churning at the thought that someone might break in and steal these.
She dragged in a deep breath, then blew it out. Security had been beefed up at the Hutton since the theft. They had more guards, more cameras, and new protocols for deliveries. She tucked a strand of her hair that escaped her twist back behind her ear. The museum’s treasures were safe, she was safe.
The giggling of children made her look up. She moved to the doorway a
nd saw a harried teacher, along with some parent helpers, herding an excited group of schoolkids down the hall.
“Leila, can you finish up here?” Haven said.
The assistant waved. “Sure thing, Haven.”
Haven headed down the corridor and saw the kids in the main hall—where the empty wall that should hold the Water Lilies mocked her.
Then she heard footsteps and the low murmur of male voices. She turned and her chest froze. Vander and Rhys had just entered the museum.
Vander saw her and lifted his chin. “Hey, Haven.”
“Hi.”
Heart pounding, she looked at Rhys. Damn, why did he have to be so damn good to look at? She felt a tingle right through her body. He was wearing another suit today. It was blue, and fitted him in a way that made her toes curl. His gaze went to her injured cheek and eye, and his jaw tightened.
Then his gaze went blank, like he was looking straight through her.
Ouch. It was like she’d ceased to exist for him. That hurt.
He nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“Any news on the painting?” She forced herself to talk around the pressure in her chest. Pull yourself together, Haven.
“Nothing yet,” Vander replied. “We’re here to see Easton.”
She forced herself not to look back at Rhys and cleared her throat. “He’s up in his office.”
With a nod, the men moved past her.
Once they were gone, she pressed her face to one of the stone pillars. Damn. At least the marble was cool on her skin.
Then she straightened. She had work to do. She was not thinking of Rhys Norcross.
She headed down the corridor and heard the kids peppering their teacher with questions.
Haven’s cell rang, and she saw that it was Harry. “Hi, Harry.”
“Darling girl, how are those bruises?”
“Even more spectacular. Now there’s some purple thrown in.”
He made a sympathetic noise and then lowered his voice. “Well, I got wind of something.”
“Oh?” Her heart thudded against her ribs.
“The faintest rumbles about a private auction of a very expensive painting. Invite is going out to…let’s just say, less-scrupulous dealers than myself.”
The Investigator: Norcross Series Page 6