It wasn’t until they’d deposited her here, released her handcuffs, secured her arms behind the pipe—her fighting them every inch of the way—that they’d finally whipped off the hood. Then they’d shut the door behind them, leaving her here alone.
She’d been sitting on the floor, her mind rioting, ever since. She’d kept it together by asking for God’s strength and by focusing on how to escape and by ignoring the full-blown panic attack hovering over her.
Just a few hours ago, she’d been in her clean, orderly, familiar kitchen at Sweet Art, boxing chocolate in preparation to make deliveries.
Now she was here.
When she’d discovered that Zander had lied to her, she’d let anger submerge caution.
“This piece of art is worth a fortune,”Zander had said to her earlier.“There are plenty of people in the world who wouldn’t hesitate to kill us both to get their hands on it.”Until she’d seen Tom and the others with her own eyes, the people Zander had been afraid of had seemed as imaginary to her as storybook pirates. It certainly hadn’t occurred to her that the pirates might use GPS on her car to guide them to Renoir’s masterpiece.
She hated that her carelessness had led Tom toYoung Woman at Rest. And she really hated that she’d put Zander in danger. What if they’d takenhiminstead of her? And it had been all her fault?
She could—shewould—bear the stress of the situation she found herself in now. She couldn’t have borne it if Zander had been the one taken.
The last time she’d seen him, he’d been unconscious on thesurface of the parking lot. What if they’d hurt him? What if they hadn’t simply tied him up inside Frank’s apartment—
Stop it. She couldn’t let her train of thought go there.
They’d tied him up inside the apartment at The Residences, and he’d be fine.
She chewed the edge of her lip.
She wished she’d stopped by to see Nora last night after she and John had returned from Fiji. She wished she and Willow had taken the day trip to Bellingham’s galleries they’d been planning. She wished she’d done a better job of telling her parents that she’d had the best childhood possible because of them. And she desperately wished her last minutes with Zander hadn’t been blistered by her temper.
Text message from the co-pilot of Tom’s private plane to Tom:
We’ve made up time in the air and will be arriving earlier than expected, in one and a half hours.
Chapter
twenty-three
The first time Zander entered the Merryweather police station’s conference room, Detective Shaw had informed him and Carolyn that Frank’s autopsy revealed a bullet wound.
Same oval wood table. Same framed print of the American flag. This time, however, there were more players.
Kurt Shaw had taken the seat next to Zander. Across from them sat Police Chief Warner and a captain from the sheriff’s department. Kurt had contacted Agent Delacruz, who’d been patched in via video conferencing on an iPad. Two FBI agents were en route from the nearest satellite office.
While they waited for Emerson and her attorney to arrive, Zander had been answering questions. At Kurt’s urging, he was holding an ice pack against the swelling on the side of his face.
The sensation of the ice pack irritated Zander all out of proportion. Not because of the sting of cold. But because every second he held it there marked another second of time wasted.
They needed, theyallneeded, totake action.
The other men appeared somber and intense, but none revealed outwardly the roiling anxiety he felt inwardly.
“How about I get you something to eat or drink?” Kurt asked. “You look pale.”
“Thank you, but no.” He couldn’t even think about food—
The door opened. Emerson and her attorney, a serious man wearing glasses and a gray suit, entered. The attorney shut the door behind them, and they took the two seats at the head of the table.
“Good afternoon,” Emerson said.
“Afternoon,” the others responded.
Zander set the ice pack on the table.
