Chapter 25
HIGHEST BIDDER (CLEO)
Jasper Fairfax waits in the office, right next to the largest antique desk I’ve ever seen, just like Mr. Talbot promised.
It’s a lovely space. Large, well lit, bursting with colorful nineteenth century paintings on the walls. That ginormous desk dominates the room and puts the one I inherited from Gramps to shame.
The smile the art puts on my face slowly melts when I notice Fairfax’s face.
He’s shiny with sweat and he looks like he’s aged ten years from our last meeting. Tired, pale, with bloodshot eyes and dark bags around his cheeks. Has he been… crying?
What the hell?
My heart rabbits.
He reaches up and rubs his temples like he’s fighting back a blinding headache. Then he gives me this vacant smile, devoid of the energy and charm I saw before.
“Mr. Fairfax, hi. Are you feeling okay?” I ask in a small voice.
I briefly forgot Holden. Oh, but his warning comes rushing back now. So does knowing I’m in here with them alone.
“Do you, uh, need some water?”
“Such a kind girl,” he strangles out, his voice flat.
“Guys, what is this? What’s—”
I spin around just in time to see Mr. Talbot closing the door behind him and turning several locks.
Holy shit!
When Holden kept saying this could be a trap, I thought he’d totally lost it. I figured it was just his own weird way of frustrating me, reminding me I’m not good enough for Mr. High and Mighty Single Dad one more time, even if he wasn’t doing it consciously.
But now…
“Sit down, Miss Blackthorn. Please,” Mr. Talbot clips, gesturing to the chair in front of the desk.
My heart hangs in my throat, beating ferociously as I scan the room again, trying to take in as many details as I can before I move.
That’s what Holden would do, but if there’s a threat, where?
I already regret sending him away, hating how Talbot jumped at the mere suggestion.
I can’t breathe.
I just see his shocked, pained face when I told him to leave.
He knew.
He knew and I made him stand down. Like a spoiled brat, I puffed up and insisted I could handle this alone.
Nothing like a little life to prove me wrong.
Time slows as my eyes dart to every corner.
Pretty, pretty paintings on the wall.
A desk stacked with neat papers and an expensive looking iMac next to Fairfax and his bulging eyes.
A huge vase filled with flowers on a side table, flush with gold details I’d stop to admire if it was any other time.
A window that probably looks out to a side street, covered by thick blinds.
The entire museum is set back from the road, ringed by a black iron fence. Even if I could jump out, there’s no easy, clear escape.
Plus, the door is locked. That’s why Talbot stares me down, stopping by the side of the desk, waiting impatiently for nothing good.
I’m definitely trapped and I don’t know why.
Dragging a slow, harsh breath into my lungs, I face the curator again, who’s pacing by the desk. My hands shake.
“Sit down,” he says, harsher this time.
Yikes. Why didn’t I notice how nervous he looked this morning?
But I didn’t want to acknowledge the faintest possibility that Holden might be right. I wanted to prove I wasn’t helpless and I never wanted to see him again.
Bitter, catty stuff, and now it’s caught up with me.
I edge toward the seat, biting back the urge to run to the door and scream. I wonder if Holden would even hear me.
It’s an old building and these walls look thick.
The only thing left is to listen to whatever sick demand they’re about to make. I’m their captive in what should be the safest place around.
“Good, good. Thank you,” Mr. Talbot whispers with relief. He collapses on the edge of the desk, throwing his long legs over it as he buries his face in his hands.
What. Is. Happening?
…and if I’m their prisoner, what do they want? Why do they both look like they’re at a funeral?
“Guys, what’s going on? Tell me!” I yell, hugging the black briefcase to my chest like a shield.
Talbot looked hungry enough when he first laid eyes on it. It’s weird he isn’t insisting I hand it over or trying to rip it from my hands.
He looks up miserably, but he doesn’t move.
Fairfax sighs, dragging a hand down his face, showing off his red, raw eyes.
“They… they have Steven,” he whispers numbly. “Took him hostage at my own office.”
Steven. His son.
The bright young man in the lab coat who looked like he was holding the Holy Grail when he got a good look at the egg.
“Hostage? Who has him?” My blood chills.
I glance at Talbot again, who shakes once with a terrible, strangled sob. He nods slowly, erratically as he looks up, his eyes clouded.
“My wife. My two-year-old baby girl,” he mutters, pressing his head against his fingers so hard his knuckles go white. “They’re both at home in the basement right now with armed men. They’re dead if I don’t do this. Oh God, forgive me…”
I cannot believe what I’m hearing.
It’s like seeing a spaceship materialize above you. You can’t possibly believe it, even when you’re drenched in terror.
“But how? How can that be?” I clutch the briefcase tighter, knowing it’s pointless.
Maybe with Holden here, I’d have a fighting chance, but I let Talbot send Holden away.
I sent him away.
It’s my turn to catch a case of watering eyes.
Fairfax looks so desperate it scares me as he looks my way again, like he’s trying to tell me something, some silent secret I don’t want.
My heart pounds on. I’m worried I’ll black out.
I still have my phone.
Is it too late to call Holden? Text him? Dial the police?
“But what happened, guys? Who’s doing this?” I demand.
They stare at me blankly, then they share a defeated look, like the first man who answers drops dead.
Then a side door painted gold swings open.
A tall, rough man steps out, emerging from what looks like a storage room, this dark space piled with boxes and covered objects leaning against the wall.
I thought Holden was tall, but this man is a mountain.
Not a gentle one.
Greying black hair, oddly angled nose like it’s been repeatedly broken, sharp dark-blue eyes that lock on me like an eagle.
Brute muscles straining under his suit. A field of small, pockmarked scars on one cheek crawling up from his beard. Damaged skin like he was in a fire once or had something scalded poured on his face.
Serial killer vibes. There’s something cold and inhuman in the way he moves. He has what looks like a radio clenched in his fingers.
“Easy now, girl,” he says with a thick Eastern European accent.
The charcoal suit he’s wearing doesn’t quite fit him right. It’s tailored to his frame yet still looks out of place, like someone put a collar on an untamed wolf.
I swallow thickly.
Fairfax and Talbot shrink back at the sight of him, their faces going red. My lungs barely work and they feel so dry. I have to will myself to keep breathing.
There’s no gun visible, just the radio. But who knows?
“Who… who are you?” I grind out.
“Old friend of Fairfax’s. He owed me.” His eyes stay flat and hard when he smiles.
I’ve never seen eyes like this before, such unblinking ice fields.
I’m not sure he even needs a gun to kill me.
And for the first time, I notice there are no cameras on the ceiling here.
Oh God.
“Stay still,” he clips when I stir restlessly. “Kindly place the briefcase on the table and this will all be over soon. You will leave this place alive.”
I don’t know if I believe him.
I’m definitely not ready to give up PopPop’s legacy, the last precious thing he ever trusted me with.
Anger roils my blood, and I stare at this man-eating ogre for what feels like an hour.
“J-Jesus, just listen to him!” Talbot’s voice breaks the silence. “Don’t be stupid, Miss Blackthorn, for God’s sake. You know the risks. He’s extremely dangerous, and so are his men. Take my word for it.”
“Da, he is right.” The giant shrugs, like this detail isn’t important. “Rest assured I have no particular interest in you, Cleopatra. Nothing but your treasure.” He nods his sharp chin at me. “Put it down. Now.”
My hands tremble.
Talbot’s composure implodes.
“P-please!” he spits, sobbing brokenly. “The cops, they’ll… they’ll never reach my house in time. My whole family dies if you don’t do it.”
“He’s right. You don’t know what he’s capable of,” Fairfax says with that same icy desperation.
“Viktor Guchkov, leader of the Black Talon group. He manages a crew of highly skilled foreign mercenaries. Miss Blackthorn, believe me when I say I’d stand with you if there were any other options.
There aren’t. He has us cornered. He has my—” He swallows hard.
He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to.
His son.
I’ve never been so uncomfortable with three sets of eyes on me. I don’t even know why it’s so important I fork it over. Obviously, he could snatch it from me right now if he wanted.
Guchkov controls the room quietly.
No force necessary, just the promise of violence.
That much power must be addictive. I can see why he’d keep throwing himself back into dangerous robberies despite the damage on his face.
He basks in his dominance, watching us with a small Satanic smile. I idly wonder if he cares more about scaring people than the money.
But the longer I stare, his smile drops.
He quirks a dark eyebrow and reaches into his pocket. “Move, little girl. I am running out of patience.”
I bristle at little girl, but my attention locks on the slight bulge in his pocket.
Yep, there’s our gun.
Of course. No brawler like him walks into a museum back office to steal a priceless artifact without packing firepower.
Ideally, he’d love to do this without violence. Without anyone getting huffy and throwing a fit and making noise that might just bleed through these dense walls.
Power drunk guys like him never know their limit.
He knows how terrified Fairfax and Talbot are, and he’s relishing it, but it just isn’t enough.
I’m sure he can smell my fear.
I have to fight to avoid locking up entirely. I feel the way my fingers quiver around the briefcase again.
And I have one chance.
Everything hangs on what I do next.
What I decide to do.
Talbot’s chin wobbles. He’s down to his last thread of sanity, about to go berserk if I resist.
Every passing second is torment, and some people are stronger than others.
I sigh brutally and look down. “Guess I don’t have much choice, do I?”
Talbot’s shoulders sag with relief.
Fairfax stares at me with quiet, cool desperation.
I feel for them. I really do.
I can just picture their families, breathless and terrified, trapped by armed men in dark places.
I imagine Talbot’s wife and daughter, their wrists wrapped in duct tape, makeshift gags stuffed into their mouths. Their horror, potent and deadly.
Masked men guarding them with guns.
And poor Steven, so smart and lively, wondering if he made the mistake of his life by following in his father’s footsteps.
Viktor Guchkov looks on with his sea snake eyes, tracking my movements as I slowly stand, clasping the briefcase in both hands.
I do my best not to show how heavy it is.
I move slowly, like the fear makes me clumsy.
Really, I’m just stalling. I’m scared of what I’m about to do.
Sweat coats my palms. It hurts to breathe, and I have a raging need to pee.
No one ever tells you how much danger affects your bladder.
Holden might be built for this life.
Not me.
Still, I can’t back down now.
I need to make them believe I’ll comply, but I’m so scared I’ve lost my mind.
That shouldn’t be hard. The fear, that’s very real, bony fingers skimming down my neck.
My entire body misfires, soaked in adrenaline, and it’s only PopPop’s smiling face in my mind that keeps me moving.
He left me the Hera Egg because he knew I’d find it a home. He understood I’d admire it and I’d share it with like-minded people who appreciate beauty like we do.
I’d never hand it off to some savage second-rate mobster.
Not for anything.
The desk isn’t far, and I can only milk it for so long before I have to drop the bag delicately on the sleek mahogany surface.
My nerves scream, begging me to release the bag with the heavy case inside. But I can’t have it clunking down and making any metallic sound.
My breath stalls.
Humid sweat drips down my spine as I finally lay the bag down and tangle my fingers in the straps like they just happened to get caught.
Just as I hoped, Guchkov steps closer, impatient and towering over me.
He reaches for it before I’ve pulled my fingers away.
Greed. In his head, he’s already won.
He’s trying to see through the briefcase, picturing the marvelous treasure inside.
That’s why he’s distracted as I grab the handle and plow it into his face.