The Investigator: Norcross Series

by Hackett, Anna

  “I want the painting back,” Easton said. “But I want you alive and safe more.”

  She eyed the wall of muscle surrounding her. Each one of them was doing so much to look after her. Rhys’ hand touched the small of her back.

  “Thank you all again—”

  “Not necessary,” Vander cut her off. “One more thing. I managed to get someone inside. Rhys will update you on the way.”

  She nodded. Outside Rhys’ building, he bundled her toward a black limo. He helped her into the back. She ran her hand nervously over the leather seat. She could do this. She could do this.

  The limo slid smoothly into traffic.

  “We’ll hear everything you say, and everything in close radius around you,” Rhys said from the driver’s seat.

  “Right,” she replied.

  “But you won’t hear us. We can’t risk an in-ear mic.”

  “Got it.” She fiddled with her clutch.

  “Vander, she coming through?” Rhys asked.

  “Yes. Crystal clear.” Vander’s voice came from the console of the car.

  “So, Vander pulled a few strings and he got a friend, actually a very good client of Norcross, into the party. He won’t approach you unless you need help.”

  Haven swallowed. “All right.”

  “His name is Zane Roth, he’s—”

  She gasped. “A billionaire. The King of Wall Street. One of New York’s Billionaire Bachelors. Voted Sexiest Man of the Year last year.”

  Rhys growled. “You done?”

  Oops. Someone sounded put-out. “I mean, I’ve seen him and his friends online.” The media loved the three men, and Haven couldn’t blame them. Three hot men who’d met in college, gone on to be outrageously successful billionaires, and were all shockingly attractive. What wasn’t to like?

  Maybe her man didn’t want to hear that.

  “Pfft. Who wants billions, anyway? What a headache.”

  In the rearview mirror, she saw Rhys’ lips twitch.

  “I totally prefer hot badasses, with sexy tattoos and messy, thick, rock-star hair.”

  Rhys shook his head, but he was smiling.

  The suburbs changed as they headed toward Sea Cliff. It was a wealthy neighborhood, with mansions nestled on the cliffs, offering sweeping views of the Pacific Ocean and the Golden Gate Bridge.

  Soon, she was taking in the large, fancy houses that she knew were all multi-million-dollar real estate. Ahead, a line of cars was pulling up in front of a stately, Tuscan-style mansion painted a gray-green with black accents. The front garden was immaculately landscaped. More mansions flanked it, but she noted it had a large side yard, probably because the back of the house was cliffside with water views, and a driveway on the other side was blocked by security guards.

  Her nerves came back, dancing a jig in her belly.

  Rhys pulled up out front and she took a deep breath. The house screamed “I have money.” It was a little too stuffy for her tastes.

  Rhys swiveled in his seat. “Be careful, Haven. That sexy body is mine. I have lots of plans for it later.”

  She felt a curl in her belly. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Count on it.”

  He got out and circled the car, then opened her door and helped her out.

  Security guards flanked the doors to the house. Other guests—also dressed to the nines—were heading up the stairs.

  She sucked in a breath. She’d been to fancy fundraisers as part of her job. She knew how to turn it on and hobnob.

  She felt the brush of Rhys’ hand, then he was gone. She couldn’t risk looking back. She walked up the steps, her shoulders back, making sure to show plenty of leg through the slit in her dress.

  She smiled.

  Showtime.

  * * *

  Haven walked through the crowded rooms of Volkov’s mansion. There were a lot of people there, all in designer dresses, suits, and tuxedos.

  Ugh. Were all these people aware the painting was stolen? Were they all interested in buying it?

  No, probably not. Harry had said this shindig was to gauge interest. Probably where Volkov could drop some bait, and see who bit.

  She took a glass of champagne from a white-suited server with a tray. The house was decorated in “rich, single, older-man” style, which involved a lot of dark colors, lots of wood, and heavy furniture. As she’d guessed, the back of the house was all glass windows, offering a breathtaking view of the Golden Gate Bridge. She noted a lot of San Francisco’s elite were here. Some guests were out on the terrace, while others mingled inside. She wandered through the room, and her gaze caught on a painting on the wall.

  She gasped. A Rembrandt. It was gorgeous. She turned and spotted a Giambologna bronze resting on a side table. It had such beautiful lines. This Volkov might be a criminal, but he was one with good taste.

  She moved into an adjoining room that was less crowded. She passed a man in a suit who gave her an appraising, interested look. She kept her smile bland and moved on.

  The next room was a large library.

  Nice. Huge walls of shelves were covered in books. Leather chairs were grouped around, inviting people to grab a book and sit and read.

  Across the room, she spotted a Cézanne landscape in a gorgeous gilt frame resting over an ornate fireplace. It should be in a museum, where lots of people could enjoy it, not just one.

  She tamped down her spurt of annoyance and stopped in front of the Cézanne. It was even more exquisite up close.

  “Do you like it?”

  The voice behind her was deep and low, with the touch of a Russian accent.

  She turned her head and saw Aleksandr Volkov standing beside her. He wore a dark, three-piece suit.

  “It’s stunning. I love Cézanne’s work. His sense of solid substance and use of bright colors.”

  “Ah, a beautiful woman who knows her art.”

  She studied his hazel eyes. He had a wide, jovial smile on a rugged face, but his eyes were stone cold. She couldn’t read him at all. Did he know who she was?

  “You have an impressive art collection, Mr. Volkov.”

  His gaze moved over her, making the back of her neck prickle.

  “I do like to collect beautiful things, Ms. McKinney.”

  Ugh, slime alert. She kept her smile in place. “Do you also like to collect things that belong to other people?”

  At that bold statement, she could practically hear Rhys cursing her.

  Volkov smiled. “I assure you, everything you see here was legally acquired.”

  Yeah, but what about what she couldn’t see?

  “I’ve visited the Hutton,” Volkov continued. “Your museum has some excellent collections and exhibits. Especially since you took over as curator.”

  “I love my work.” She cocked her head. “I was thrilled to acquire Monet’s Water Lilies.”

  The man’s face moved into solemn lines. “I heard about the theft. A terrible thing.”

  “Yes, terrible. I really hated the part where the thieves shot two innocent guards and beat me up.”

  His face remained unchanged. “I am sorry to hear that.”

  She pulled in a breath. “I want the Water Lilies back where it belongs.”

  Volkov eyed her. “Desperate people do desperate things, Ms. McKinney.” He moved closer. “You really are very beautiful, Haven. May I call you Haven?”

  Like she could say no. She gave the tiniest nod.

  “I think it’s best if you stay out of dangerous situations,” he said.

  “And not worry my pretty little head?”

  He smiled. “You have an inner fire. I like that.” His voice lowered, his gaze drifting to her cleavage. “A lot.”

  She looked back at the painting, trying not to look grossed out. A finger touched her bare shoulder and she struggled not to jerk.

  “You also have very soft skin.”

  Crap, how did she extricate herself from this?

  “Would you like to see some of my ot
her art pieces, that aren’t on display here in the main rooms?” he asked.

  Go somewhere alone with him? Nope, nope, nope. She sipped her champagne. “Does that include the Water Lilies?”

  Volkov just smiled.

  Haven decided to go for it. “When’s the auction?”

  There was no surprise on his face. “Let’s discuss…art some more after the party.”

  “I can’t—”

  “I insist.” His smile stayed in place. “I’m a man who is very used to getting everything he wants, Haven. I’ll have Ivan stay here with you to ensure you don’t leave before we get a chance to talk.”

  Ivan was a muscled beefcake who looked like he didn’t know how to smile. He was stationed at the door to the library.

  Volkov ran his gaze over her again, then turned and strode back to the main party.

  Oh. Shit. Haven’s shoulders sagged, but tension sang through her body. The champagne she’d drunk turned to bugs fluttering in her belly.

  “Um, Ivan, I need the little girl’s room, so I’ll just—”

  “You stay until Mr. Volkov returns.”

  Great. She was trapped. She wandered across the library, turning her back to Ivan, and pretended to study the books.

  “Help,” she whispered.

  Shit. Rhys would be really, really unhappy about now.

  She eyed the window. She could try jumping out, but it was a two-story drop to the garden below, so she didn’t like her chances.

  She turned to eye Ivan. She was certain she couldn’t take him down. He looked like an ex-wrestler.

  Rhys would come. He’d get her out.

  Suddenly, the door opened. “Darling, there you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

  Haven instantly recognized the handsome man in an impeccable Armani tux.

  Right. She’d forgotten about her in-house rescuer. Zane Roth. Owner of Roth Enterprises. Finance billionaire.

  The body under the suit looked lean and solid. Not a man who just sat at a desk. His thick, brown hair was well-cut, and his smile was as sexy as hell.

  She smiled. “Zane.”

  “Hey—” Ivan took a step forward.

  Zane ignored the bodyguard and took her hand. He winked at her. “I just needed my lovely date.”

  “Mr. Volkov wants to talk to her,” Ivan rumbled.

  “I’m afraid we have other plans.” Zane tucked her close to his side and headed for the door.

  Ivan sidestepped and tried to block them.

  Zane’s handsome face sharpened. “You know who I am?”

  Ivan grunted. “Yeah.”

  “I’m guessing your boss doesn’t want you to piss me off. So, I suggest you get out of my way.”

  Boldly, Zane brushed past the man and dragged her into the hall.

  As they walked down the hallway, he tipped his head close to hers, voice lowered. “I’m Zane. Sorry to meet you under these circumstances, Haven.”

  “Hi. Thanks for the rescue.”

  “I don’t usually get much of a chance to play knight in shining armor.” He patted her arm. “Vander sent the house layout to my phone. We are to make a hasty exit out a side door and into the garden. Likely Volkov will send his goons to find you.”

  “I’m cursed,” she muttered. “Like the crappiest luck known to man. Or woman.”

  “Well, you have the Norcross brothers at your back, so I’d say your luck is changing. Now, smile, and look like I’m the most handsome, charming man you’ve ever met.”

  Despite everything, Haven laughed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Listening to Volkov come on to Haven, oozing his slime all over her, was one of the hardest things Rhys had been forced to listen to.

  What was worse, was not being able to do anything about it.

  He curled his hands, his knuckles turning white. Knowing that she was in there, alone, afraid—

  Vander clamped his hand on Rhys’ shoulder. “She’s doing fine. Your girl is tough.”

  Rhys nodded. She was. He just wished she didn’t have to be. She’d been through enough.

  They were standing in the shadows, one house away from Volkov’s mansion. Somehow, Vander had ensured the homeowners were out for the night. Rhys heard the music and murmurs of people on the terrace.

  The rest of the Norcross team was spread around the area. They were all good—Ghost Ops had honed them to be the best in the world. Easton hadn’t been Ghost Ops, but he’d been a damn good Ranger. They hadn’t let their skills go rusty, not even Easton.

  Vander’s friend, Zane Roth, was in there too. Still, the man was a billionaire businessman, not a soldier. If things went south…

  Then Rhys heard Volkov’s tone turn steely across the line.

  “Let’s discuss…art some more after the party.”

  Rhys’ body locked. He heard Vander curse under his breath.

  “I insist,” Volkov said. “I’m a man who’s very used to getting everything he wants, Haven.”

  Fuck. Anger exploded in Rhys. He took two steps.

  Vander grabbed him. “You can’t burst in there. There are security guards everywhere.”

  “That asshole wants my woman. Threatened her.”

  He could hear her fast breathing across the line. She was afraid. He listened to her trying to get out of the library using the bathroom excuse. Smart girl.

  But Volkov’s thug wasn’t falling for it.

  “Help,” she murmured.

  With a growl, Rhys shoved against Vander. Rome appeared out of the darkness. Both men shoved him against the wall of the neighboring house.

  “You go in there, you put her at more risk.” Vander’s tone was the same one he used as commander of their Ghost Ops unit. “She needs you clearheaded.”

  Shit. Rhys’ shoulders slumped. “Vander…”

  “We’ll get her out.” His brother lifted his phone. “Zane, you’re a go. She’s being held in the library. Get out via the side exit. Schematics are on your phone.”

  Seconds later, Rhys heard a man’s charming, yet authoritative voice on the line. Every muscle in Rhys’ body went tight, vibrating with tension. Rhys listened as Zane Roth got Haven clear of the library.

  The ugly noise inside him rose to deafening levels, urging him to move, run, fight, take action. That horrible burn that he’d dealt with ever since he’d left the military. The nightmares and flashbacks had faded, thanks to the counseling Vander had forced on them. But the noise never went away.

  Rhys figured it, and the edginess, the need to move, was a small price to pay. He could deal with it, usually. Right now, it wanted Haven safe.

  “That’s it.” Rhys shoved free. He strode down the narrow path beside the neighboring house. A stucco fence divided it from Volkov’s place. He reached a metal side gate. It opened into Volkov’s immaculately landscaped side yard.

  Then across the line, he heard Haven laugh at something Roth said, and Rhys’ gut stilled.

  She was okay. Hell, she was laughing. How could the woman be so resilient?

  A second later, Roth and Haven appeared.

  They were hurrying down the path, holding hands, and damned if they didn’t look like a good couple. Roth was in a tuxedo and Haven’s green dress glittered in the garden lighting.

  Then she lifted her head and spotted Rhys. A smile broke out on her face, and relief flooded her eyes. “Hey—”

  Rhys closed the distance between them in two strides, and lifted her off her feet. His mouth closed over hers, the kiss hard and punishing. She made a muffled sound, then kissed him back, melting into him.

  Dammit, he realized now just how afraid he’d been.

  Finally, he broke the kiss, and lifted his head. She looked dazed, and he pressed his forehead against hers.

  Without looking at the man, Rhys said, “Thanks, Roth.”

  “My pleasure,” the businessman replied.

  Rhys glanced at the man. “I owe you.”

  Zane inclined his head.

 
“Let’s go,” Vander said. “Zane, you should probably go, too.”

  “It was a dull party, anyway.”

  They all moved out the gate, through the neighboring yard, and onto the street. Rome and Zane said their goodbyes and headed down the sidewalk.

  “I’m getting Haven home,” Rhys told Vander.

  His brother nodded. “We’ll debrief tomorrow.”

  “Hey, you can have your magic mic back,” Haven said.

  “Vander isn’t removing it.” Rhys quickly slid his hand into the neckline of her dress, taking the dot off her skin. She gave a little shudder and he looked into her face. Her cheeks were flushed.

  Vander held out a small case and Rhys pressed the mic inside.

  “Night, Haven,” Vander murmured. “Good work.”

  “Night, Vander.”

  Rhys towed Haven down another street to where he’d parked his Norcross SUV. He’d found a quiet, dim spot on a street a few blocks away.

  “Well, Volkov has the Water Lilies,” Haven said glumly.

  “My guess is that he’s storing it and running the auction as a favor for the Zakharov family,” Rhys said. “No doubt he’ll get a healthy cut.”

  “I didn’t learn much else. I’m not a very good spy.”

  Adrenaline still churned inside Rhys. “Your spy career is over. You’re officially retired.”

  She gave a gusty sigh. “Shame, I liked the outfit.”

  His hand tightened on hers. “I’ll buy you all the dresses you want and take you out somewhere fancy.”

  Her face softened.

  His gut was still hard and wouldn’t settle. He kept imagining what Volkov might’ve done to her. He squeezed her fingers.

  “Rhys, are you okay?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Talk to—”

  He spun her. He pushed her into the darker shadows, and pressed her against a high brick fence under a tree.

  She gasped.

  “No talking,” he growled.

  Inside him, his inner caveman had taken over. He felt a pounding need to know his woman was safe.

  “Rhys,” she breathed, excitement hitching her voice.

  He shoved her up, until her feet were off the ground. His hands slid under her dress and he found her panties. With one twist, he ripped them off.