Portrait of a Girl Page 14

  He cut her off with a slash of his hand, focusing entirely on Jeffers. “Send her over here, and then we can discuss our business.”

  Jeffers looked from her to Tony and back, a smile creeping onto his face. “Interesting. But I think Heather would like to be involved in the negotiations. Sit down, Heather.” His voice cracked through the quiet room. She hesitated, for a second too long. The cane whipped her arm, setting it on fire, her hand instantly numb.

  She saw Tony take a step forward, but he stopped, his face blank and impassive. She’d never felt so alone.

  She sank to the chair, holding her arm against her side, biting her lip to keep the tears at bay. Kind of glad they were ignoring her, her gaze shot between the men, wondering who would make the next move.

  “Now,” Jeffers began, “we all know where we stand. Miss James will remain here, and you will give me my painting. My patience is wearing thin.”

  Tony smiled and gestured with the cardboard mailing tube in his hand. What the hell had he found? She’d searched her entire house at least ten times and had been unable to uncover any surprises. Did he have a fake, hoping to pass it off for the real thing? Was he bargaining with her life?

  “I’m afraid you no longer hold most of the power, Marcel. It’s two against one, and I have your prize. So I tell you again, let Heather leave.”

  Jeffers reached down, and with surprising strength, hauled her to her feet, holding her in front of his body. He threw his cane to the floor and took a pistol from his jacket pocket.

  White spots floated before her eyes, and she wondered if he’d shoot her just for fainting. Over the buzzing in her ears she was able to make out a few words, like Tony telling Jeffers to put the gun down, and Jeffers saying go fuck yourself, although with a refined French accent. She finally focused on Tony and was terrified to see a gun in his hand as well. Her entire body shook, and she could taste vomit in her mouth. She tried to catch Tony’s eye, but his concentration was on Jeffers and his gun. She flickered her gaze to Chas, who crouched like an enraged tiger, ready to leap into the fray.

  Someone was going to die.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Time seemed to stand still. Like in old Western movies, the showdown at high noon. Both men with guns in their hands and neither man blinking. Heather racked her brain trying to think of something she could do to help. Fear held her frozen. She doubted she could move even if the room erupted into flames.

  “Don’t be a fool, Jeffers.” Tony held the cardboard tube, which she hoped contained the sought after painting, out toward Jeffers. He spoke in a quiet voice, as if talking to a frightened dog. “It’s a very simple trade. The painting for the girl.”

  Jeffers laughed, pulling Heather closer. She was sure his grip left finger-shaped bruises. “My young friend, do not think I am so naive. I know perfectly well that as soon as I let go of your little pute you will shoot to kill. I may have only a few months to live, but I prefer to let God decide when I join him in heaven, not a whelp such as yourself.” He backed toward the terrace doors, pulling Heather along. He was very careful to always keep her between himself and Tony—and Tony’s gun.

  Please don’t pull the trigger, Tony.

  Was it safe to assume that since he carried a gun he’d been trained how to use it? Why didn’t Chas have a gun, too? If both good guys had a gun, Jeffers would be outnumbered and this would all be over.

  She managed to catch Tony’s eye, and it took her a few seconds to realize he was sending her a signal. And another couple of seconds to decipher the signal.

  Okay, time to put on her big-girl panties. Maybe get out of this room alive.

  Taking a deep breath, she prayed for strength. She let her body go completely limp. Her knees hit the floor first, pulling her from Jeffers’s grasp. She immediately flattened her body onto the tile, wishing she could slither away like a frightened snake.

  With every heartbeat she expected the pain of getting shot. Or would she hear the blast first?

  She rolled to her left, the direction Tony had indicated with his eyes, and didn’t stop until she found herself pressed against the base of a large armoire.

  She raised her head just enough to see, pushing the hair from her face. Luckily Jeffers wasn’t paying any attention to her. Unfortunately he was concentrating on the other two occupants in the room. In slow motion Jeffers raised his gun.

  “Tony, watch out,” she tried to scream, but only a whimper escaped her dry throat.

  Her heart stopped. Was she about to witness the death of her lover?

  Tony raised his gun. A shot exploded, filling the room with sound, like a complete fireworks show all at once and at close range. She managed a scream this time and covered her ears.

  Jeffers fell backward through the door. He must have been the one shot. She got to her feet, ready to go to Tony, to welcome his safe embrace. He was bent over on the floor. She saw blood on his hands.

  No, no, no.

  She scrambled across the floor and knelt next to Chas, who was lying still, his eyes closed.

  “Is he—”

  “He’s alive.” Tony pulled his T-shirt over his head and used it as a bandage on the seeping wound. “Here, press as hard as you can.” He jumped to his feet and ran out the door.

  Heather pushed her sleeves up and held the shirt on Chas’s shoulder, afraid to press too hard in case it hurt, but desperately wanting the bleeding to stop. She’d seen enough blood for one day, thank you very much. She let out a small sigh of relief when his eyelids fluttered open.

  “Did we get the bastard?”

  Heather bit her lip, not sure how to answer. There had been no other gunshots, so she suspected Jeffers had made a clean getaway. She shook her head. “I don’t know. Tony ran after him. Are you in much pain?”

  Chas pulled his lips into a half smile and let his eyes close again. “Not as bad as the last time.”

  The last time? She couldn’t begin to imagine being shot. Chas had been shot before and he still did this job? Hell’s bells, she’d have quit in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

  Voices raised in argument drew her gaze to the terrace door. She couldn’t see past the lush plants, but she recognized Tony’s voice. She’d know that deep voice anywhere. She suspected it would fill her dreams for years to come.

  He stepped through the door and came directly to them, crouching down next to her. He looked in her eyes before scanning the rest of her body.

  “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” He lightly touched the red welt on her arm, where Jeffers’s cane had landed.

  Tears clogged her throat at his concern. She was sure it was part of his job, but for just one minute she’d pretend he really cared. She wondered what would have happened if they’d met under different circumstances. Sheesh, he wouldn’t have noticed her.

  Not trusting her voice, she shook her head and turned her attention back to Chas. The bleeding had slowed, and his color had improved.

  “He got away, Chas.” Tony placed his hand on his friend’s arm. “He drove through the vineyard. The gendarmes were too late getting here.”

  “Merde.” Chas closed his eyes. “I was looking forward to his trial, the miserable old—”

  “His doctor is giving him a few months, at most.”

  She sucked in a breath. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Cancer, his stomach.”

  Chas struggled into a sitting position and leaned against a chair leg. “I’m almost sorry for the old bastard. What of his little boy?”

  “The authorities will contact the boy’s mother.”

  “Did you happen to hear the maman’s name?” Chas frowned, keeping his gaze focused on his friend.

  He shook his head and peeked under the T-shirt bandage. “No. Hang on, the medics will be here—”

  “Brace yourself, my friend. I heard her mentioned several times since I’ve been here. It seems she’s been trying to see her son but the old man wouldn’t allow it.”

  “St
op beating around the bush, Chas.”

  “It is our old friend Magritte.”

  Heather wanted to ask who Magritte was, because based on Tony’s reaction, she was someone very important. But not in a nice way. He didn’t seem pleased to hear her name.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “From what I gathered, she arrived here a few days after—well, after Greg was shot. And stayed until last year.”

  “She married that old thief?” Tony seemed angrier, if the squinted eyes and tight mouth were anything to go by. “The bitch!” He jumped to his feet and stalked from the room.

  Heather looked from the empty doorway to Chas. “What’s going on? Who’s Magritte?”

  Chas shook his head, shifting slightly, a grimace tightening his face. “It happened many years ago, but she is the one responsible for the injury of Tony’s partner.”

  “Will she be arrested?”

  “Bah, we have no concrete evidence. So unless she has—”

  Tony strode back in, every footfall an expression of anger. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

  Chas slumped lower, his pale face sweaty.

  “Leave him alone.” She checked for more bleeding under the soaked T-shirt. “Can’t you see he’s in pain?”

  Tony sat on a small couch, burying his face in his hands. Every muscle in his upper body visibly taut, quivering with some suppressed emotion. Heather’s gaze lingered on his smooth skin and powerful arms. The memory of their one night together washed over her, and she wondered what would happen if she crossed the room and slid onto his lap. Wrapped her arms around his naked shoulders and pressed kisses to every inch of exposed skin.

  He raised his head and consumed her with his gaze. As if he’d read her mind, he leaned back, resting his arms on the back of the couch, inviting her to take what she wanted.

  “I know he’s in pain, and by God I wish it was me who got hit. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to be working alone on this case.”

  She shook off the lust, sure that she’d misread the signals. The pain on his face had nothing to do with her. She might as well have been one of the statues in the garden.

  A uniformed medic entered the room, towing a stretcher and equipment bag, saving her from making a bigger fool of herself. She moved to the other side of the room to give the man space to work. Tony kept his focus on his fallen partner, his jaw clenched.

  They soon had Chas loaded on the stretcher, an IV in his arm. Tony walked out with them, and she waited for him to come back for her. She assumed there would be questions, and more questions. But she still held out some hope there would be a flicker of warmth in his hard stare.

  There was constant commotion both inside and out in the garden, but no one had bothered with her. A half hour later two officers came in, one of them a woman, and asked her to accompany them to the local station.

  She sat in the back of the small police car, bumping down the dirt road. Under other circumstances she would have enjoyed the scenery, the acres and acres of vines slumbering in the golden light of evening. The occasional farmhouse straight from a painting by one of the masters, complete with a flock of geese. Did the farm wife feed the geese in that awful way to produce delectable foie gras?

  Tony wasn’t at the station waiting for her. Nor was he at the small hotel when she was finally released.

  Well, he was working. She assumed her part in the whole fiasco was done. He had other suspects and witnesses to question. Including Magritte, with the sexy name. The rest of her was probably sexy, too, because she was French and all French women were sexy.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Heather paced in the small space between the bed and the window. She hadn’t realized requesting a “single” meant she’d be given a glorified closet.

  Pacing got very old, very fast. It seemed all she did lately was wait, with control of her life in someone else’s hands. And she was tired of it, dammit.

  Turning for another circuit of the tiny room, she stubbed her little toe. “Ouch,” she yelped, and hopped to the bed clutching her foot.

  If she weren’t careful she’d totally lose it and cry, or something equally useless and pathetic.

  The phone still hadn’t rung, even though the officer had assured her Tony would call, three hours ago.

  Had Chas had a relapse? Lost too much blood? Gone into shock? She hardly knew the man, but he was a good person who’d assisted in her rescue. If he died because of her—

  A loud knock snapped her out of her reverie, and she limped to the door. She had her hand on the knob when common sense kicked in. The memory of being held at gunpoint was a little too fresh.

  “Who is it?” she murmured.

  “Me. Tony.”

  Her heart stopped. And when it restarted, all the blood drained from her head and she fell against the door. Why was he here? Why did she want him to be here? What if he came through the door and swept her into his arms?

  What if he didn’t?

  “Heather, open this damn door, now.”

  She took a deep breath, straightened her borrowed, too-small blouse, and opened the door.

  He strode in, filling the room, at once intimidating and comforting. Much like the appearance of a cop on the scene when you most needed one.

  Oh, wait, that’s right. Tony was a cop, of sorts. So when he claimed by omission that he wasn’t one, he’d been lying.

  Huh. Fancy that.

  Did all men lie? Or only the ones in her life?

  “What do you want?” She turned her back and retreated to the window, the farthest away she could get in the small room.

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay and—”

  “Just hunky-dory, as you can see.”

  I will not cry, I will not cry. Dammit. She’d wanted him here, but now she couldn’t face him without knowing where she stood. She was too afraid of the answer to ask.

  “Sorry I wasn’t able to join you at the station. A few things came up at the château.”

  “I was treated very well. They even fed me.” She turned toward him. “It was the best meal I’ve had in quite a while.”

  He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, drawing her attention to that region of his anatomy and reminding her of their one night together. A crisp navy-blue shirt replaced the T-shirt he’d used to stanch Chas’s blood. He looked stern and official and utterly perfect.

  He grinned and patted his flat stomach. “They gave me a sandwich at the station. Best sandwich I’ve had in quite a while.”

  Dammit, why was he being so nice? And cute? How was she supposed to stay mad at him when every cell in her body wanted to close the space between them and get sweaty?

  He crossed the room in two steps and stood next to her at the window, putting his arm around her shoulder. She sent him a questioning glance.

  “When Jeffers had you at gunpoint, I was close to losing my cool.”

  “You appeared calm, cool, and collected to me.”

  “I had to call on every bit of my training and experience to not do something stupid, like charge at the bastard.” He turned her, wound both arms around her waist, and crushed her to his chest. “I’ve never been so scared.”

  Heather rested her head against his heart, the steady thump a comforting reminder that they were both safe. And maybe she was wrong about his motives. Maybe he cared about her just a little. A little was good enough for now.

  She linked her fingers behind his neck and raised her face. “I was scared to death, until you showed up. Then I knew everything would be okay.”

  “I’m not sure I deserve your trust, after—”

  “One question,” she said, pulling away from him. “Did you sleep with me just to use me, hoping I’d lead you to something?”

  “No. I can’t—”

  She placed a finger on his mouth, tracing his lower lip. The time for talking was over. They had all night to remind each other they were alive.

&nbs
p; She pulled his head down and did her best to kiss his socks off. She couldn’t get enough of the feel of him, the taste of him. She tugged at his shirt buttons and chuckled when one came loose and rattled on the floor. Toeing off her shoes, she pulled his shirt from his jeans and pushed it off his shoulders. His wide, strong, smooth shoulders that had come to her rescue.

  She quivered. This undressing business was taking entirely too long.

  Tony’s hands cupped her bottom, pulling her against the hard ridge in his pants. Sex with him had been so good the first time. It was bound to be better this time. Although she couldn’t imagine what could be better than perfection.

  She grabbed his waistband and pulled him along as she backed toward the bed. If they didn’t get naked soon, she’d combust.

  “That’s the narrowest bed I’ve ever seen.” Tony got rid of his own boots and set to work on Heather’s blouse. She took a deep breath as the fabric loosened and cool air touched her bare skin.

  “I don’t think we’ll need much room. I intend to be under you or on top of you all night.”

  “I like how you think.”

  Her blouse joined his shirt on the floor and was soon followed by the rest of their clothes. They tumbled onto the bed, which emitted a loud screech.

  She giggled. “I don’t think this is the honeymoon suite.”

  He deftly maneuvered them so Heather sat astride his lap. “If it is, it would allow everyone else in the hotel to judge the success of the consummation.”

  She wriggled lower, releasing another squeak from the bed. “And the duration.” She kissed his chest, his ribs, his stomach, but couldn’t stop giggling. The slightest movement caused an orchestra of sounds from the bedsprings. She dipped her tongue in his navel and was about to continue her exploration of his stupendous body, but he pulled her up along his length.

  “If you go any further, people will think I’ve failed in my duties before I’ve even started.”

  “I’d hate for you to have a sullied reputation on my account.”

  He reached to the floor, grabbed his jeans, and extracted a condom from his wallet.

  “Sheesh, do all guys go around prepared?”