Chapter Twenty-Four #2
All my life, I’d wished for real supernatural powers. Now, I was grateful for the few that had trickled down to me, like unusually sharp senses. I couldn’t see well, but a sixth sense outlined every piece of furniture, every crate I had to maneuver around.
“Keep moving, everyone. Keep moving,” the security guard called urgently.
Oh, I would keep moving, all right. I ran my hand along a table, then took three measured steps through the darkness and reached out. Nothing. My heart pounded as I reached farther. Then, whew. My hand tapped the edge of another table.
I felt along it, located my purse, and pulled out a tiny, laser-point flashlight. I held it with my teeth without turning it on, then bent down, feeling along the frames in the crate.
There. My hands found the biggest, then flipped to the smaller painting beside it. Only then did I click on the flashlight.
Bingo. The Van Gogh. Dad’s Van Gogh, as I’d started to think of it.
I turned off the light, removed the painting, and crept across the room. This would be the hard part.
“Anyone left back there?” someone yelled.
I crouched and held still, thinking, No one in here but us art thieves.
My heart hammered, and I piqued my senses, locating the silhouette of someone in the doorway. They waited, listening. Looking.
I took a deep breath and prepared to activate my emergency backup plan. The one I hadn’t told the guys about.
Shadow-walking. Being there, but not there, like that night Henrik had stalked me from the attic.
If I’d had more practice — or better nerves — I might have tried shadow-walking into this room in the first place. No invitation from Dobrov needed. But I’d only pulled off that trick a handful of times at home, never in an unfamiliar environment.
So, shadow-walking was strictly a backup option. Like now, with the security guy squinting into the darkness right at me.
He turned away and shut the door behind him.
Whew. Good news, but where the hell was Henrik? He was supposed to help me, dammit.
Well, fine. I started feeling my way forward, then stopped and grabbed a second painting — Thaw by a Monet wannabe. Yes, it was a forgery, but it was a good one, and a sudden brainwave told me it could be useful.
I felt my way forward, then grabbed in panic for whatever I’d just knocked over.
Clang! A goblet hit the floor and rolled against my foot.
I froze, looking toward the doorway.
After a few heart-stopping moments, I exhaled, placed the goblet carefully on the table, and continued slowly across the room. Too slowly?
I glanced at the door, then hurried the rest of the way toward the dumbwaiter in the adjoining office.
All I had to do was place the paintings there and knock three times.
Bene would lower the contraption to the ground floor and stash it in a vehicle he and Marius had parked on an adjoining property earlier.
If a problem arose, the backup plan was for him to hide the paintings amid catering supplies.
I reached the threshold of the adjoining office and—
The lights went on.
I jerked back, cursing. Roux had promised to give us four or five minutes. That had barely been three.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and my stomach dropped.
I looked at the paintings, then the dumbwaiter.
Not enough time to reach it. I shoved both paintings onto a row of books in one of the library shelves and hurried back to where I’d left my purse.
Too hurried, because I knocked over the dreary Munch in the process. It toppled over, and I grabbed for it.
Which was why I was clutching a flashlight in one hand and a painting in the other when the security guard dashed back into the room.
“Hold it right there!” he yelled, pulling a gun.
I stuck both hands up, flashlight in one, painting in the other. “Don’t shoot!”
Someone ran up behind him. Running at full speed, in fact, then tackling him. They both went flying, and the gun skidded across the floor.
I jumped back, clutching the painting to my chest as they tussled. One thumped the other’s head against the floor, and he went limp. The assailant rose to his full height and turned to me.
I shrank back, then nearly jumped in glee. “Marius!”
He reached for my arm. “Are you all right?”
Butterflies fluttered in my belly, because what girl didn’t appreciate her lover coming to the rescue when she really needed it?
It might have been a beautiful moment (apart from the unconscious security guy), had it not been for the four men who ran into the room next, brandishing guns and shouting, “Freeze!”
A good time to shadow-walk to freedom — if I were an expert in that trick. But I wasn’t.
I stuck up my hands, holding the Munch for all to see, including the people who rushed in behind the gunmen.
“What the—?” Dobrov started.
“I told you she was up to no good,” a woman snipped.
“Unbelievable,” someone else agreed grimly.
Marius snarled, and I touched his arm. Spraying the room with dragon fire was not a good option. Not that a better one occurred to me.
The gunmen moved aside, and Baumann strutted forward.
“What exactly is going on here?” The points of his canines flashed.
“I just came back for my purse,” I tried.
The woman sneered. “With a flashlight in one hand and a painting in the other?”
Okay, not a good look.
“It fell over. I just caught it.”
Ironically, that part was 100 percent truthful.
But the woman just snorted. What a bitch.
Double bitch, I decided a moment later, recognizing Celeste, Marius’s ex.
He growled, taking a step toward her.
The barrels of four guns swung in his direction, and the man he’d tackled stirred, groaning.
“How dare you?” Dobrov lectured me bitterly.
Which was pretty rich, coming from a guy who made a living from illicit art deals.
“Stealing — a Munch, no less!” he concluded.
An ugly, forged Munch? You’ve got to be kidding, I nearly blurted. I might be stupid enough to join a band of men I barely knew in a mission to steal a long-lost Van Gogh, but a fake Munch? My pride was definitely wounded.
One of the gunmen listened to his earpiece, then nodded to Baumann. “They got the guy.”
Shit. Did he mean Roux or Bene? And where the hell was—
“Henrik,” Marius snarled as the vampire appeared behind the others.
For the first — and probably last — time in my life, I was happy to see the vampire. If anyone could sweet-talk us out of this mess, it was Henrik.
But all he did was shake his head and mutter, “Unbelievable.” Putting his hand over his heart, he turned to Baumann. “I take full responsibility. I have my people run background checks on all my escorts, but clearly, they missed something.”
So many parts of that statement were offensive, I didn’t know where to begin.
“Escort?” I finally sputtered.
Useless hussy, his glare said. Rolling his eyes, he turned to Baumann. “They all convince themselves it’s love, don’t they?”
Baumann patted his shoulder, like he’d suffered the same problem. “It happens. Don’t blame yourself.”
That meant blaming me, which they did with cool calculation.
“I can assure you, she’ll be dealt with.” Henrik stepped toward me.
I shrank back, too frightened to say, What about dealing with you, you traitor?
Marius moved to block Henrik. Much as I appreciated it, I didn’t like being sandwiched between an angry dragon and a backstabbing vampire. Unless Henrik was faking it in an attempt to salvage this operation.
But that would require loyalty and a sense of teamwork. So, no. I really doubted it.
A slow-motion reel of my life flashed before my eyes, and a tragic soundtrack played in my mind as I thought of Clement.
He had never sparked emotions in me as powerfully as Marius, but boy, would he have been the safer bet.
We could have lived quietly (if not happily) ever after in the French countryside with two children, a dog, and a humble home purchased with whatever I could salvage from the chateau.
The building itself would slowly crumble, and if my grandchildren ever asked why I gave up on generations of family history, I would admit I hadn’t had the heart to try.
Bitterness pooled in my stomach. Was that really what I wished for?
I straightened my shoulders. No, it wasn’t. And I would not give up, dammit. Not even now, when things looked bleaker than Munch’s dreary landscape.
I tightened my grip around the painting, calculating who to swing it at first and which direction to escape in. Henrik made a good target, distracted as he was. His eyes kept darting to the inlaid box. Had he double-crossed us for that?
I raised the Munch, ready to smack him, then the nearest guard.
But Marius came to his senses and backed off, growling into my mind to do the same.
I like your thinking, but no. We’ll wait for a better chance later.
I blinked, surprised by how clearly his thoughts reached me.
Fated mates, I remembered my grandmother sighing. You can hear every word. It has its pluses and minuses.
“Obviously, they were in this together,” Celeste announced.
I bared my teeth, though she was spot on the money. Marius and I were in this together — but so was Henrik, dammit. How was he getting out of this so easily?
The room grew suffocating, and a hint of red shone in Henrik’s eyes.
“Truly a piece of work,” Henrik grumbled, meaning me. “She had me fooled. And now she’s gone and disrupted this lovely evening.”
Fucking vampire, Marius cursed into my mind. He’s enthralling them.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Baumann reassured him. “My men will take care of this issue.”
I glared. A clogged toilet was an issue. This was my life he was toying with, dammit!
“But there’s no reason to ruin a wonderful party,” Baumann concluded smugly.
Celeste cozied up to him, shooting Marius a triumphant look.
“You’re too gracious,” Henrik assured him. “All I can ask is that you leave her for me to deal with later.”
Baumann snickered. “Oh, I’m sure you will.”
I gulped, trying not to imagine Henrik leaning over me. Biting. Sucking. Draining me to the last drop, then disposing of my lifeless body. Off the cliff, maybe? Down an old well?
They turned and headed back to the party, while the gunmen closed in on Marius and me.
“You bastard,” I hissed after Henrik.
If he heard, he didn’t let on. He just sauntered away, leaving us to our fates.