“Don’t turn on any more lights,” he said, turning to face her.
“What? How are you going to find your—” Fiona’s mouth stopped when she saw the gun pointing at her.
The gunin his hand.
“Brad?” Her stomach squeezed and she couldn’t catch a breath.
“We don’t need any more lights on in here.”
His face had shifted into a mask that Fiona barely recognized. Even in the half-light, she read his expression: ugly and determined. “What’s going on? Why do you have a gun pointed at me, Brad?”
“I tried to do it the easy way, Fiona. Really I did. But nothing seemed to work out right.”
She didn’t know whether she should move or just stand there. That pale glint of metal pointing at her didn’t help her focus on her choices…all it did was freeze her mind.
“What are you talking about? You don’t need the gun for anything. I’llhelpyou.” Fiona kept her voice calm and soothing as her brain began to function. “This won’t be good for your political career, you know,” she said reasonably.
“I tried to find it on my own…the stuff that Valente left. But you’ve hidden it so well that I couldn’t.” His words rambled and the tone of his voice sounded surprised and confused.
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I haven’t hidden anything—”
“What is this abouthidden drawers?You found hidden drawers in here, didn’t you? What was in them?” He moved toward her, lurching as though his legs had numbed. The gun stayed steady, focused at her. “I heard you tell that old lady tonight. Where are they?”
Fiona’s heart stopped as Brad grabbed her arm, pulling her closer as he aimed the gun at her middle.
“If you would tell me what it is you’re looking for, I’ll help you to find it.” She tried to keep her voice calm and steady as she frantically searched for a way to escape this horror.
But his fingers dug into her upper arm and he gave a rough jerk—unexpected and sharp, so that her head snapped back and forward, leaving her disoriented and dizzy.
“Valente had secrets, you know…you must know what they are, or he would never have left this shop to you. It has to behere.Now show me the hidden drawers.”
With a vicious shove, he thrust her away from him and she slammed hip-first into the edge of a table, then stumbled and tripped on her gown, tumbling to the floor. A lamp on the table teetered, then fell off the table, landing with a crash next to her. Fiona began to pull herself up as he came to stand over her, his stance threatening as he pointed the gun two inches from her forehead.
“Now. Show me the hidden drawers.”
Her throat was too dry to swallow, though she tried. Her fingers were numb with cold and fear, and she could barely make them move to clutch the table for support as she staggered to her feet. Her hip stung from ramming the edge of the top, and she’d ground her knee into a shard of glass as she struggled to stand.
“There’s a—a drawer in that big desk over there.” Fiona kept her voice steady and cool, despite the reality that had begun to set in.
Brad Forth was a political figure, completely in the public eye. He had a gun, and he wasn’t about to let anything ruin his career, now that he’d won.
Fiona was suddenly, sickeningly certain he had no intention of letting her tell the tale of what happened here tonight—once he found what he was looking for. She was going to conveniently disappear.
Just like Gretchen had.
“Valente was a criminal, you know, Fiona.” His words became conversational, now that it appeared that she was going to comply. “He was a horrible man. And ugly one. His real name was Kremer…Josef Kremer. Ever heard of him?”
Fiona gasped in spite of herself. “Hewas Josef Kremer? The Nazi war criminal?” She gaped at Bradley, who seemed to relish the moment of her shock. “Valente?”
“My great-uncle…yes, and his father too, who was one of Hitler’s elite. They were infamous, notorious anti-Semites.” He laughed darkly, then prodded her with the gun. “The drawers please.”
She limped toward the back of the store. That explained why Valente had been blackmailed about the whereabouts of Josef Kremer. He hadn’tkilledKremer—hewasKremer. He couldn’t let anyone learn his true identity.
“Look, I’m not going to tell about your great-uncle,” she told him, pausing to turn and look back. “I don’t really care. No one really cares anymo—”
“Get going!” He shoved her again, and she fell forward again, this time flat on her cut knee, her palms slapping onto the floor. They stung and the sharp pain zipped up her arms. “I’m tired of you playing games with me—you pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, playing hard to get, toying with me…Well, tonight I’m going to take care of you and my uncle once and for all….no more waiting, no more games. Tonight, I’m in charge.”
* * *
