Marked Masters (13 page)

Now I'm getting fashion tips from a thug.
Great. "Thank you so much for noticing. I've been at a bit of a
disadvantage with limited luggage this trip."

He smirked, then pointed toward the painting
I'd been studying. "I see you like Sebastian."

I turned and pulled the Fendi closer as I
processed possible options to get away from him. "Yes. I love his
work and the legend behind his life story."

"Ahhh, women and their romance." He leaned
closer. "I have a couple of Sebastians of my own. In my office. I'd
love to show them to you."

Come up and see my etchings, little
girl.
Okay, maybe not, but that's how his offer made me feel.
Regardless, I'm nothing if not diplomatic. "Gee, I'd love to, Tony
B, but I'm only here for part of the day. Just breezing through to
add a little Beacham interest to the celebration."

"Really? That's funny, because I heard
something different. My mistake."

Yeah, there was the warning shiver again. So
who tipped Tony B off about me? Melanie or Alice? And why? Did he
have anything to do with Tina's murder? I could have asked if he'd
seen Simon lately, since I knew they were acquainted in the past,
but common sense told me to get out of there fast. "Well, it was
good seeing you, Tony B. And thanks again for thinking of me." I
excused myself and headed back to the lobby level to regroup. The
man was never a person to be trusted, but something about the way
he said what he had made me doubly uncomfortable.

I texted Jack and Nico and asked them to
meet me outside the ladies' room. While I waited inside, I rummaged
through the Fendi for Cassie's Hermes scarf. I still loved the
suit, and would always take Margarite's clothing suggestions over
Tony B's, but this was a festive event, and a little extra color
couldn't hurt. I did a quick twist maneuver with the scarf and
connected the ends in a loose knot. The golds and burnished brown
in the Hermes were a perfect complement to both my hair and the
linen suit.

In a couple of minutes, an old-money matron
wearing blue silk and dripping diamonds pushed open the door and
asked, "Are you Laurel Beacham?"

"Yes."

"Well, there are two nice gentlemen out here
who asked me to see if you would please come out."

"Thank you." As I pushed past her, she
entered the restroom. I scanned the hallway, looking for either of
the guys, but was instead grabbed by each arm and muscled farther
down the hall and away from the crowd in the lobby.

I twisted to try breaking free, but their
holds only tightened. "Wait a minut—" And that's when the goon on
my right lifted the portion of the Hermes that lay across my bodice
and pushed it into my mouth.

"Keep quiet, and everything will be
fine."

Obviously the diamond-clad matron didn't
know a gentleman when she saw one.

We exited the building at the loading dock,
where a big black Mercedes sat idling. Next thing I knew, one of
them grabbed my Fendi and pawed through it until he found my cell
phone. He took the phone, dropped it to the pavement, and smashed
it with his size thirteen shoe. I couldn't scream, so I wiggled and
fought. I was not getting into that car without a struggle. My heel
ground into the instep of the goon holding my right arm. But my
self-defense move didn't matter. They shoved me and my purse into
the trunk and slammed down the lid.

Okay, no phone, trapped in the dark in what
felt like a mobster's car, and Jack and Nico had no idea where I'd
gone. Hell, I didn't even know where I was going. Or why. Or who
had the balls to kidnap me in broad daylight. This couldn't be
good.

I wasted a few moments looking for the trunk
latch release cable only to find it had been disabled. While that
area in the Mercedes was good sized, it isn't surprising I quickly
felt a bit cramped and claustrophobic.

Nonetheless, I counted myself lucky I was
awake and all in one piece so far. As I quantified the situation, I
did take the opportunity to not only remove the scarf from my mouth
but to take it off my neck as well. Call me paranoid, but all of
Jack's talk that morning, chastising me for continually putting
myself into harm's way, was hitting home. I couldn't take credit
for this current predicament though, as I had little choice but to
move with the Danger Twins.

I squeezed the slippery fabric, telling
myself being proactive was better than nothing. After all, having
something knotted around my neck left me vulnerable for an easy
throttling. Conversely, holding the fabric in my own hand meant I
had my own silky noose ready if a chance defensive move presented
itself. The fabric might be beautiful and softly elegant, but I
knew from experience that silk was deceptively strong, like my own
backbone, and I intended to use both if pressed into another
corner.

The car took enough short-block turns to
hinder my keeping a running tally in my head. Besides, I didn't
know Miami well enough for it to matter anyway. When the engine
went silent about twenty minutes later, I had no idea where we
might be. I just hoped it wasn't some dead-end road near a
cemetery.

The more gracious goon, the one who only
shoved my scarf in my mouth, opened the trunk lid and grunted in a
way I interpreted to mean "Get out."

They resumed the tag-team escort, and I
realized we were in an underground parking garage. I began to
realize where I was going and why.

"Laurel, what a pleasure to see you." Tony B
greeted us when the Danger Twins shoved me into his office. He took
in my appearance in one piercing comprehensive glance. "I'm sorry
we had to do things this way, but I heard you were asking about
Tina, and I wanted a private place to give you the bad news."

"Tony B, I appreciate that, but I already
got word. You really shouldn't have gone to all this trouble." I
glanced back at the Danger Twins. I summed up the situation quickly
and decided I needed to take the offensive. Let Tony B believe I
considered all of this the fault of his over-enthusiastic goons not
understanding his orders. "Your men take their commissions
seriously." My upper arms felt bruised, and I played it up for all
it was worth, rubbing my muscles as if to assess the damage, and I
warned, "You do realize your people stuffed my own scarf in my
mouth, manhandled me out of the gallery against my will, and
stuffed me into a car trunk?
Your car trunk. To your office.
By any stretch of the imagination, I could level a charge of
assault, battery, and kidnapping. Surely you want to apologize and
put this all right again."

He walked around the massive desk and leaned
against its dark wood front panel, his posture stiff and tone of
voice menacing. "How did you hear about Tina?"

"Why…from the event planner. She said Tina
took off. Quit, I assumed." With my words I saw the steel tension
leave his body. He smiled slightly and waved a hand for his
henchmen to leave us.

He motioned me into one of the visitors'
chairs, and I sat, holding the Fendi in my lap and keeping a bit of
space between us. He shot me a glance, letting me know he
recognized what I was doing. He poured scotch from the decanter on
his desk and held out one of the glasses. "Please, let's have a
drink together," he said.

I didn't want to mix alcohol with this
scenario. I needed to stall and figure out how to get rid of the
liquor. Not much else I could do though. I took the glass. "To what
are we drinking?" I asked.

"We're celebrating. A long-lost item has
returned to my possession after a series of events conspired to
keep it away. Or, should I say, a series of people?" he mused as he
sipped his drink, then produced the smile of a shark going after a
school of fish.

Damn, damn, damn! Of course he referred to
the snuffbox I was supposed to pick up at the
castillo
last
month. Until I'd found my mustachioed contact dead and the snuffbox
missing. How had Tony B gotten involved with it? Rapidly, I
replayed the history of the snuffbox as I knew it. Neither Tony B
nor his organizations fit in at any point. Was he the one
responsible for the mustached man's death? Surely not. But the hit
man who confessed was Italian. While Tony's name was associated
with a lot of high-powered, albeit often shady, dealings in the art
world and various other activities, I hadn't heard the word murder
associated with him. But he could hire someone, and even if
everyone knew the guy who confessed hadn't actually carried out the
murder, the Italian connection was still there. So the confessor
could have covered for one of Tony B's compatriots who did the deed
and needed protection.

I set the glass on the desktop and stood up.
"Would you excuse me?" I smiled. "As you can tell, I'm a bit worse
for wear, and I'd like to visit the powder room." He pointed, and I
headed toward the executive bathroom.

"By all means, proceed," he said smoothly.
"But please leave your bag here."

"Oh, but—"

"The bag stays here, Laurel. I want to speak
with you, and I don't want you getting in touch with someone who
will interrupt our conversation."

I couldn't help it. I slammed a fist against
my hip and said, "One of your underlings already stomped my phone
in the alley. I couldn't get in touch with anyone short of sending
a message in a bottle through the sewer system."

He nodded. "Very well. I will, of course,
see that your phone is replaced."

As I hurried to the bathroom, the sound of
his low laughter followed me.

I rolled a towel to set at the bottom of the
door to help hide any sounds I created and let my gaze rove over
the lavish room. A Jacuzzi took up a corner, as well as a toilet
and bidet. There was a small shower as well as a closet filled with
more Italian suits and shoes.

One of the other things I'd learned on the
yacht trip circling Gibraltar was Tony B's wife couldn't hold her
liquor either, and she was one of the most bitter harpies I'd ever
met. Not that I blamed the woman. Her husband openly flirted with
anything in a skirt, and once when I'd helped her to the couple's
stateroom and poured her into bed, she'd mumbled something I hoped
would be useful in the present situation. In a slurred cadence
she'd sung the words, "The bastard doesn't know it, but I know his
safes are in his toilets."

Naturally, I didn't learn where in his
restrooms, but with the size of this space there was plenty of room
to hide one. I started with the obvious and checked the medicine
cabinet for a trip button to make the whole unit swing away from
the wall. Then I moved to the toilet tank. Another minute and I had
the shoe shelves silently rolling out of the way and found the tiny
ribbon marking where to pull to remove the carpeting.

The safe was a standard model I had opened
many times thanks to some wonderful training received from an Irish
thief during my year abroad after finishing college. He taught me
some wonderful moves. I was surprised Tony B didn't have anything
high-tech, but he wasn't really known for having a love of gizmos.
I'd heard him say many times if he "couldn't eat it, screw it, or
intimidate it, what was the use?"

As the safe opened, I held my breath. I ran
my hand through the papers and cash and searched a small velvet bag
containing some not very good jewelry. No snuffbox in sight. I
closed everything, feeling a bit defeated.

No! If Tina was killed today, the snuffbox
was still in Miami. And if Tony B had it, it had to be in this
office building. It had to be here. Maybe he had another
hidey-hole.

I moved to the shower, and that's when I
noticed the flaw. The recessed soap dish was flush on one side but
out just a fraction of an inch on the other. I tugged, I pressed, I
prayed. And just when I was about to give up, I removed the bar of
soap and the unit moved soundlessly toward me. Damn, it was weight
activated.

Ignoring my fear of spiders, I reached
blindly into the dark opening and had to swallow a squeal when my
fingers closed on the object I knew was the snuffbox. Quickly, I
wrapped it in my scarf and then hid it in one of the secret pockets
of the Fendi. I flushed the toilet and turned on the tap, taking
the opportunity to wash my face and hands. Those were comforting
moves designed to give me time to swallow my excitement so Tony B
wasn't aware of my true intentions. Also, of course, I needed to
figure out how to get out of this mess.

There was a bottle of imported Swiss lotion
on the counter. I smoothed some on my face, and the smell reminded
me of my mother. I shut the memory down and stared into the mirror.
I had to get out of here and back to the Browning. Or find a way to
contact Nico and Jack.

Still in the exact position where I left
him, Tony B reached again for the scotch. "Come on, Laurel, drink
up. I can't think of anyone I'd rather celebrate with, and I find
it very fortuitous you are here with me. How's Max?"

"Same. Tight, frustrating, and determined to
have his own way."

"Oh, yes. I think most of us are extremely
determined to have our own way. Don't you, Laurel? You wouldn't
have reached your level of, shall we say, success in your field, if
you weren't so bullish about your recovery process. Or convinced
your way was the right and only way."

I picked up my glass without sitting but
played along. "I'm not sure I know exactly what you're implying. I
work for my family's foundation, and this latest incarnation finds
me heading the London office."

"Of course. My mistake." He smiled and rose,
the glass in his hand. "I'm interested in what you think of a work
I'm relocating. Would you accompany me?"

I followed as he opened a door to what
looked like a study and wondered what this Neanderthal would be
doing with a study. Heavy drapes blocked the sunlight. He flipped a
switch, and a wall sconce came on, perfectly positioned to
illuminate a small yet spectacular landscape unmistakably the work
of the artist Sebastian.