Cheyenne McCray - Point Blank (Lawmen Book 4) (11 page)

One of the show’s clipboard-carrying monitors rounded the corner at the same time Natasha threw her jacket and purse under one of the tables. She smiled at him as she tried to catch her breath. The monitor nodded at her before continuing his rounds.

As the man moved on, Natasha glanced at Gary’s display area and saw the monitor frown at the unattended showroom. The man whipped up the clipboard, wrote on a paper with a pen then continued on his round.

She felt a pang in her chest. Hopefully Brooks would be able to get Gary out of jail and all charges dropped. The police had no proof it had been Gary who had drugged her and she
knew
it wasn’t.

But then who?

Not only had someone drugged her, but had caused her to make a fool of herself with Brooks. How freaking embarrassing.

She mentally shook her head. Brooks would understand—after all, he knew she’d been under the influence of what he called Molly. However, she may have said something that was true before she fell asleep. As a matter of fact, she was sure she had said some mortifying things. She just didn’t want to think about them.

It took a few minutes, but she managed to shake off what had happened, for now. She’d worry about it later.

She forgot to check the texts on her phone, and remembered there was at least one from Mark. She pulled up the messages and found two. One was from Christie, asking how the show was going. Natasha sent a quick text back that it was going well. She didn’t mention being drugged—it would only make Christie worry.

The other text was the one she had noticed earlier from Mark. In his message, he asked her to let him know around noon how the morning went. She shook her head. He was always so damned anxious for news.

A mere ten minutes had passed before her first customer came in. Natasha smiled and greeted the exotic-looking brunette whose hair was pulled back in a sleek chignon. She was dressed in a tailored red suit and black heels, and looked as if she was on her way to a board meeting for a Fortune 500 company.

Natasha’s simple, yet colorful skirts whirled around her ankles as she approached the customer. Natasha wasn’t one to feel self-conscious as she greeted people in general, and that included potential clients. “Welcome to Precious Treasures.” She smiled and extended her hand. “I’m Natasha Simpson.”

The woman barely spared Natasha a glance, and she lowered her hand.
Not the friendly sort,
she thought as the potential customer looked over her framed art.

With a look of concentration, the woman withdrew a phone from her Louie Vuitton handbag and scrolled through a series of photographs. She appeared to be comparing the images to the art while she looked up from her phone to the numbered prints, then back to her phone.

Natasha left the woman to examine the art, and turned to another customer who walked in. She recognized the woman immediately as Judy Pearson. At first glance, Judy had the appearance of a mousy, shy, and quiet individual, but that couldn’t be less true. Within moments, people realized she was buoyant, energetic, a truly delightful person who was fun to talk with. Like she had at previous shows, Judy bought cases of Natasha’s decadent chocolate saddles, which Natasha was able to carry since it was winter and the chocolate wouldn’t melt while being transported in Arizona. Summer was another story entirely, which Natasha learned the hard way.

Judy also bought a case of the lollipops with different western shapes. The chocolates and lollipops were for a small store she owned in Santa Fe, New Mexico, that catered to tourists. Judy liked to travel to the various tradeshows rather than order direct—Natasha had a feeling that Judy wanted to socialize more than anything else.

After they chatted a bit, Judy placed her order, set a time to pick it up, and scurried out the door. “I must stop and see Gary,” Judy called over her shoulder as she entered the doorway. “Bye, sweetie.”

Natasha didn’t want to explain to Judy why she wouldn’t find Gary with his display, so she just smiled and waved. “See you later, Judy.”

A few moments after Judy left, the classy brunette approached Natasha with purpose in her step. Without waiting for Natasha to speak, the woman swept her hand to indicate the framed numbered prints.

“I’ll take all your prints for my gallery.” The woman gave Natasha a hard look. “What is your price for the lot?”

Natasha blinked. “You want all twenty-four prints?”

The woman scowled. “That’s what I said.”

Completely taken off guard, Natasha ran through prices in her head before she named a figure roughly ten percent below the combined original asking price of the prints. She expected the woman to haggle, but the brunette slipped her hand into her purse, pulled out a wallet, and picked out a credit card. It was one of many cards stuffed inside the expensive wallet that matched her purse.

Natasha took the American Express card and read the name printed at the bottom.
Victoria Ash.
The sophisticated-sounding name suited her. “I’ll charge your purchase to this card, and you can take possession at the end of the show, Ms. Ash.”

“I am familiar with WESA’s rules.” Victoria waited while Natasha ran the card. Immediately, the transaction came back as approved and spit out a sales slip. Victoria took the slip from Natasha and signed it with an unreadable flourish. “You
will
make sure none of these are sold before I have them picked up?”

“Of course.” Natasha didn’t let the woman’s irritating tone bother her. The commission on this sale would pad Natasha’s savings account nicely. She took the signed sales slip and handed Victoria the receipt that had printed out after the transaction was approved. “I will put sold signs on every one of the prints.”

Victoria frowned. “I will be extremely displeased if even one of my purchases is not in the crates when I pick up the order. I will examine them, one by one.”

“That’s fine, but you don’t need to be concerned.” Natasha tried to keep smiling, even though the woman’s attitude was on the verge of getting on her nerves. “I don’t double sell products. As far as the public is concerned, I no longer have numbered prints available. It’s as simple as that.”

Victoria glanced at the receipt before sliding it into her wallet as she spoke. “My men will pick up the purchase, but I will be here to supervise.” She fastened the wallet before she dropped it into her purse.

Natasha drew her phone out of one of the pockets she’d sewn into her skirt. She pulled up her schedule. “We need to set an appointment for your pick-up. How is thirty minutes after the show closing on Sunday?”

Victoria consulted her own phone and keyed in the information as she said, “That will be fine.” She slid the phone into her purse.

Natasha held out her hand. “I look forward to seeing you at the end of the show.”

Victoria hesitated. This time she didn’t ignore Natasha’s hand but gave her a fingers-only limp-wristed shake. She pulled her cold fingers away almost immediately before turning and leaving the room with the same determined stride she had used when she’d arrived.

Well, that had been interesting. And lucrative.

A few moments after Victoria walked out, a dark-haired, dark-eyed man entered the room. He wore a sharp, expensive-looking suit, and his shoes were polished to a shine. Victoria and the man could have worked for the same company, as professional as they both looked. Maybe he owned a gallery, too.

Natasha greeted him in the same way she had approached Victoria, and the man appeared to be much nicer and shook Natasha’s hand. Even though he seemed to be friendlier it was clear he was direct, with a keen gaze that was enough to throw anyone off balance. “I am Hector Gonzales.”

“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Gonzales. I’m Natasha Simpson.” She smiled. “Whatever I can do for you, just ask.”

His gaze drifted over her body from head to toe and back, and her cheeks warmed. If he made any lewd remarks to that innocent statement, she was going to punch him.

Fortunately he simply gave a slight nod before scanning her showroom. “Is this all of your merchandise?”

“It’s a sample of what I have brought to the show.” She gestured to the numbered art prints. “The prints are sold, but everything else is available. Some, like the paintings, are originals, but most of what I have comes in bulk quantities.” Another exception was that she only purchased one of each limited edition, numbered print.

While Natasha stepped aside, he perused her paintings, sculptures, and other art. His gaze skipped the numbered prints before resting on the cowboy and Native American resin statuettes. He walked to the small display table where she had placed the pair.

“Ah.” He picked up the cowboy, examined it, and smiled at Natasha as he set the piece down. “Exactly what I need for my store.”

Her estimation of the man dropped about fifty points. No way was he a serious art dealer if he was buying the resin. She carried a very few in her own store, but she was in a small tourist town and had on hand a variety of things for customers who didn’t have the money for the real art.

Well, despite the expensive suit, perhaps this man had the same kind of store she did, and carried a few things like the statuettes. Maybe he even owned a chain of stores.

She almost shook her head. It had been a matter of perhaps thirty minutes before someone was looking to buy some of her resin inventory. It had been that way at every trade show from the very first one Natasha had gone to. Almost as soon as doors opened, there was always someone wanting to buy the statuettes. It was like the people made a beeline straight for her display.

Was this crazy or what? She supposed a good number of storeowners shared information about where they had purchased their products.

She moved beside him and stood next to the pair of eighteen-inch tall statuettes. She picked up the Native American. For some reason the statuettes always felt a little heavier at the shows. “Each one comes in a crate of twenty-five.”

“How many do you have?” he asked.

“I have two crates of Native American and two crates of cowboy statuettes.” Although she wasn’t likely to sell all four crates.

He nodded. “How much for each crate?” She named off an amount and he said, “What will you take for all four?”

She almost dropped the Native American statuette she was holding.
Holy crap.
Forty-five minutes from the start of the show and she was going to sell most of what she had brought with her? Well, maybe. She hadn’t given him an amount yet.

Trying not to stumble in her excitement, she calmly gave him a figure with a discount of ten percent. Once again she expected her customer to haggle, but the man pulled a wallet from inside his suit jacket. “Is American Express fine?”

Another AmEx? Hector and Victoria must have resources to use a card that had to be paid off right away.

She was pleased with herself for her composure—she could be an excellent actress. She made an even bigger margin off the damned resin statuettes than she did the numbered prints.

Hello, Caribbean cruise.

She set the statuette on the table, next to the credit card reader. Once again she found an American Express card in her hand and was running it through her reader. The transaction was approved immediately. She had him sign and gave him his receipt.

When she finished that part of the transaction, she set up a time for him to pick up the crates of statuettes. He tucked his wallet inside his blazer.

“Thank you, Mr. Gonzales.” She picked up the statuette she had set next to the card reader. “This pair will go back in the crates before you pick them up.”

“Very good.” He reached out his hand.

She started to shift the statuette to one arm so that she could shake his hand. In her hurry, thanks to her excitement, she moved a little too quickly. The statuette slipped from her grasp. She gave a small cry as it crashed to the floor.

The base of the statuette broke off in a huge chunk. With a groan of dismay, she crouched to pick up the pieces. “I’m so sorry. I’m a bit accident-prone at times. I can mail you another one to replace it as soon as I get back to—”

She picked up the broken statuette and frowned as a bag of white powder dropped out of the base. “What in the world?”

Did the manufacturer put bags of something in the bases to help balance the weight? Sand was often used, but white powder?

Bewildered, she looked up, her mouth open to apologize again. Her eyes widened and her heart nearly exploded when she saw the barrel of a handgun pointed at her face.

“Don’t say a word.” His voice was calm yet harsh at the same time. He held the gun close so that his open suit jacket hid it from view. A click and she knew the man had flicked off the safety. “Slowly put the bag back into the piece and put it all under the table. Make sure it is well covered.”

Her heart thundered. So many things ran through her mind. Should she scream? Would he shoot her if she did? Why was he was doing this? All she’d done was break a resin statue—

That had a bag of white powder hidden in the base.

Everything flooded through her at once as she stared at the gun barrel. She had worked as a police dispatcher. Her uncle had been a police officer. On top of that, she’d seen enough law enforcement shows on TV to have a clear guess as to what was going on, especially with a gun in her face.

The baggie of powder in the statuette had to contain a drug, likely cocaine. Why would cocaine be in the statuettes?

The complete realization came to her in a rush. She was delivering coke-filled statuettes to buyers who came early to the shows to make sure they got their product. That’s why they sold so fast and so well.

She’d never had a clue. She’d been trafficking drugs for Mark. It was the only answer.

“Do what I said.” Hector’s voice grew icier. Meaner. “Now.”

Her hands shook as she looked down at the broken piece before stuffing the bag of white powder inside the hollow statuette and gathering everything together. She nearly dropped the pieces before she thrust them beneath the table and covered it all with her coat.

She swallowed as she looked at Hector again, and she didn’t dare speak. He no longer held the gun, but it didn’t make her breathe any easier. As a matter of fact, she was sure she was about to hyperventilate then pass out.