PaintedPassion (15 page)

Selina’s eyes moistened. “Are you sure?”

Melissa rose to her feet then paced the office. “Why aren’t
the police involved?”

“They are. Trust me. Everything’s on a tight schedule in
case Hector’s receiving inside help.” Trella slung an arm around each of their
shoulders, giving a gentle squeeze. “What I need you two to do is go out there
and rave about my work.”

Selina hugged Trella tightly. “As long as you promise to be
careful.”

Melissa kissed Trella’s cheek.

“Eveything’ll be fine.” Trella assured them both.

Her friends left the room and Trella breathed a sigh of
relief. As happy as she was about this showing, the uncertainty of not knowing
when Hector’s smuggling ring would be brought down produced a layer of tension
she struggled to conceal.

“Hiding out?”

She glanced at the doorway where Carlos stood, a tender
smile on his face.

“No. Had to clue Selina and Melissa in since Candy had them
thinking Hector was dating me.” She approached him, stopping when she stood
toe-to-toe with him. “I told them the basics.”

He closed the door. “You’re a trooper.”

“I’ll be happy when we’re at home at a private celebration.”

He laughed and hugged her close to him. “Me too. That dress
is working every man’s nerves out there. Mine especially because I know what’s
underneath.”

He cradled her face between his hands as his firm lips met
hers. She couldn’t stop the helpless moan from escaping. Something about this
man made her willing to take whatever risks were necessary.

He ended the kiss, stroking her skin with his warm fingers.
“Rodriguez has arrived. Stay alert. I’ll remain in here for a bit after you
leave.”

She planted a quick kiss on his lips.

He groaned. “Tonight can’t come quick enough.”

Trella left the office. She spotted Selina and Melissa
standing before the show’s centerpiece and made her way over to them. “How long
are you two planning to monopolize this prime real estate?”

Melissa laughed. “Don’t think we aren’t planning to grill
you later about how you talked him into posing for this one.”

“Yeah.” Selina agreed.

“Enjoy yourselves, ladies. I have the real thing.” Leaving
their side, Trella maneuvered to the front of the gallery where Francois stood
surrounded by several young people whom, she surmised, were his budding
artists.

A hand gripped her upper arm, stalling her movement. “You
didn’t mention Diaz was your subject.”

She turned to see Hector dressed in a navy suit. “I’m
indebted to him for his willingness to help me out.”

A hard glint appeared in his eyes. “I’m certain he didn’t
require much persuasion to allow you to paint him nude.”

His hold didn’t loosen. She glanced around and discovered
several people watching them. “Hector, honey, there’s a towel around the man’s
waist.” She pointed out the obvious.

Hector let her go.

Francois strode up with a big smile. “Councilman Rodriguez,
glad you could make it.”

Hector shook his hand. “Thank you. I would not have missed
this for the world. I was questioning Trella about her subject.”

Francois clapped excitedly. “Oh yes, I’m happy she took my
advice. Passion leaps off the page does it not?” He kissed her cheeks before
leaving them alone.

“It does.” The coldness of Hector’s words matched his eyes.

Trella inwardly cringed. “Excuse me. I see someone I need to
speak to.”

Hector regained his grip on her arm. “Don’t play games.”

“I’m not playing you,” she hissed, trying not to draw
attention to them.

His fingers squeezed her flesh tighter. “What are you up
to?”

“Nothing.” She looked for Carlos or one of the other guys
but due to the sheer number of people standing near her, neither man was in her
direct line of sight.

Francois reappeared at her side. “This is a fantastic
turnout. Trella’s done a wonderful job.”

Hector’s hand fell away. “I’m happy the show is a success.”

“I’ll check the back for more champagne.” Trella
volunteered, jumping at the opportunity to escape Hector’s side.

“I’ll send a waiter in to carry what you find.”

“I’ll be back, Hector. Mingle and view the rest of the
pieces.”

On her way to the storeroom several folks slowed her
progress, effusive in their praise. She thanked them as quickly as possible and
kept moving.

When she reached the storage room, she opened the door then
flipped on the light switch. She breathed deeply, struggling to slow her racing
heart. Surely the guys knew Hector was here. She would feel better if she heard
Carlos’ voice but her phone was in her purse locked in Francois’ desk.

She peered at the stacks of boxes on the floor, reading the
labels to find what she needed.

The door opened behind her.

She straightened. “We have four cases of champagne left,”
she said without turning around. “If you want, you can carry two now and come
back for the rest later.”

Something heavy slammed against her head. As she fell, her
last thought was of Carlos.

Carlos stood on the sidewalk outside the gallery. Jackson
hurried to his side. “It’s on. ICE is raiding the drop houses on the list. Some
of the locations were already being watched for suspected illegal activity.”

“I’ll let Trella know and Miguel can stay with her.”

Carlos entered the gallery. Shouldering his way through the
throng of people, he scanned the crowd but didn’t find her. He checked to see
if Donovan or Jose had seen her. Neither of the men responded in the
affirmative.

He waylaid Francois. “Where’s Trella?”

The bespectacled man frowned. “Haven’t seen her since she
headed to the storeroom for more champagne.”

“How long ago?”

“Ten minutes, I think.”

Carlos rushed to the storeroom. A waiter holding two boxes
stood just inside the doorway.

“Have you seen the artist, Trella Arnold?”

The young man shook his head.

“Was anyone in here when you came in?”

“Nope. Door was wide open.” The young man left, carrying the
boxes from the room.

A rush of panic hit Carlos. Something was wrong. He felt it
in the chill of the air wafting over him.

He found Francois. “I need you to unlock your desk.”

The older man frowned. “I was on my way to—”

“Now, Francois,” Carlos said.

The older man hurried to do his bidding with Carlos behind
him.

As soon as the key was free of the lock, Carlos yanked open
the drawer he’d watched Trella leave her purse inside.

Heart pounding, he picked up her handbag, rifling through
the contents, praying wherever she was, she had her phone with her.

Carlos’ hand gripped her cell. He dashed from the room on autopilot,
his training coming to the fore. He motioned to the guys to meet him outside.

In seconds Jackson, Jose, Donovan and Miguel joined him.
Carlos wiped a hand down his face. “Trella’s missing. Anyone see her leave?”

No one had.

“Rodriguez’s limo left about five minutes ago,” Jackson sajd.

Carlos stared. “How the hell did Hector snatch Trella from a
packed gallery and disappear without anyone seeing anything?”

“If he has her, he has help,” Donovan stated. “I’ll be right
back.” He hurried around the side of the building.

“We’ll find her,” Jose said.

Carlos pushed back a sudden rush of fear. Louis had trusted
him to protect Trella and now she was gone.

Jose punched numbers on his cell. “I’ll contact the station.
If Rodriguez has snitches working for him, they’ll give him up when they
realize the Feds are involved.”

Carlos looked at Miguel. “Stay here and keep Francois calm.”

Jose stepped closer to Carlos. “You’re not coming with us.”

Carlos resisted flattening his friend. “Bullshit. We’re
wasting time.”

Jose gripped Carlos’ shoulder. “You have too much to lose.
We want Rodriguez alive. Let us do this, man. Take his gun, Jackson.”

Carlos didn’t move a muscle. “He. Has. Her.”

“We do this by the book. You want Rodriguez to walk? Do
you?” Jackson asked.

He scrubbed his hands through his hair, hating to admit they
were right. If this was anyone else, he’d have realized it sooner. But it was
Trella. His Trella.

“Give it to me,” Jackson said.

Carlos handed over his gun.

Donovan rushed toward them. “Rodriguez’s limo was
accompanied by a pick-up.”

Carlos’ heart pounded. “Check the warehouse first.”

“Why?” Miguel asked. “She could be at any one of the
locations on the property list or on her way out of town.”

“Rodriguez would see the irony of taking Trella to the same
place where Louis lost his life.”

“I’ll stay with Carlos and Miguel,” Donovan volunteered.
“Jose, you and Jackson go after Rodriguez.”

* * * * *

Trella came to. She opened her eyes, but something dark
covered her face. The stench of stale fried foods flavored with exhaust smoke
filled her nostrils. She tried moving but her hands and feet were tightly
bound. Whatever she rode in had a noisy engine.

She wriggled, trying to work the cover off her face. A
second later it was snatched off.

Hector sat in the passenger’s seat. “Won’t help you any to
fight.”

Wedged behind worn gray seats of an old pick-up she
discerned the driver was taller than Hector and had long, coal-black hair bound
in a ponytail.

“I’m disappointed you didn’t understand the potential we
possess as a couple.” He sighed. “Despite your rebellious behavior I have a
present for you.” He winked. “Pretty sure you’ll enjoy his one too.”

The vehicle stopped. Hector climbed out. The driver—a young
man who appeared to be in his twenties—put his hands beneath her armpits and
slid her out of the truck. She looked up at him. His face bore a resigned
expression. She glanced around. They’d parked behind a warehouse. He tossed her
over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing. With each jarring step she
squirmed but the bindings held.

Inside the building smelled musty. The man carried her into
a room. He placed her on the concrete floor with her back against the wall.

Hector laughed. “Look around. This is your gift.”

At Hector’s nod the man cut away the cloth over her mouth
with a pocket knife.

“This,” Hector said, waving a hand around the room, “is
where your dear departed husband lost his life.”

His words sank in, etching themselves on her soul. She
trembled with rage, longed to hurt him in some manner—to do something to make
him feel a measure of the pain she’d suffered through.

Hector grabbed her head. He removed the pins from her hair
with no pretense of gentleness then he wrapped her hair around his fist and
yanked. Her head fell back, hitting the wall.

“People are animals. We all die the same way.”

The death grip he had on her hair brought tears to her eyes.
Her scalp hurt like hell but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing
it. “You won’t get away with preying on people’s dreams.”

He loosened his fist, releasing her hair. “Ah, so you do
know about my venture.” He leaned closer. “See I figured that detective husband
of yours had clued you in on what he’d discovered.”

She had to keep him talking in order to allow Carlos time to
find her. “The police are on to you.”

“Your dearly departed husband tried that angle too.” He
stroked her cheek. “Guess what? He was lying. Just like you. Nobody messes with
my money.” He laughed, the sound sharp and ugly in the quietness of the room.
“The suspect,” he said, indicating the silent man who’d carried her over his
shoulder, “lured your husband here.”

Tears flowed down her cheeks as she stared at the tall,
lanky man. “You killed my husband?”

The man said nothing as he stared at her. She thought she
saw regret and pity reflected in his eyes but he lowered his lids.

“Follow the plan,” Hector told the man. “Leave us.” He rose
and stood at the doorway as the man left them alone.

She returned her attention to Hector. “Why?”

“Your husband had the audacity to visit me. Told me he
suspected some wrongdoings associated with my work program. He suggested I
initiate an investigation into the program. If questionable activities occurred
then my name wouldn’t be sullied in the public.”

Hector paced the floor. “He had the nerve to question an
elected official. But,” he said, glancing at her, “the man who just left was
too scared to do the job. Too worried about his wife and children.”

A cold chill of evil wrapped around her. “You…you’re
saying…”

Minutes ticked by in silence. When he opened his mouth she
tensed.

“I shot your husband.”

Oh God no!
Her stomach rolled and she swallowed back
the sudden increase of moisture in her mouth.

“The phone calls didn’t scare you away.” He pulled a gun
from his back pocket. “I figured I might have to get rid of you too. If you’re
gone, your husband’s partner will return to Vegas.”

Successful in pushing back the urge to be sick she wriggled
against the bindings. “No he won’t. He won’t stop until you’re in prison.”

Hector laughed again, the sound grating on her nerves. “I’ll
pick off everyone he cares about. Trust me, he’ll give up.”

“If you let me live, he’ll leave you alone.”

He sauntered over to her. “No. He’d keep fighting for you
because I’d do the same if you were mine.” Kneeling beside her, he slid a
finger along her cheek. “Such a cock tease, Trella. You wanted me to wait
before I took you. Wanted to wait until the show was over. Yet you gave it to
your dear dead husband’s partner.”

Please no.
She held her breath, praying he wasn’t as
crazy as he acted. She shook her head. “No, Hector.”

His laughter rang out. “You’ll learn to stop lying to me.
You think I don’t know you fucked your husband’s partner? I’ve studied your
work for years, Trella.” Determination shone on his face. “I’ll be the last man
to make love to you.”

With one hand he ripped the front of her dress, sending
buttons pinging onto the floor. His mouth crashed against hers. She shook her
head from side to side in an effort to disengage him.

He gripped the back of her head, holding her still. She kept
her mouth shut. He bit her top lip.

She screamed and he forced his tongue inside her mouth. She
bit down and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

Howling, he thrust her away. His hand connected with her cheek
in a loud crack. Her head struck the wall before she slid onto the floor.

* * * * *

Jaw tense, Carlos paced the length of Francois’ office while
Donovan perched on the edge of the desk. He raked dampened palms through his
hair, helplessness permeating his cells.

Dios!
He hated waiting. He shed his jacket, unbuttoned
the cuffs of his sleeves and shoved them upward.

Francois came in, a wide smile still at home on his face. He
looked back and forth between the men. “What’s going on?”

Carlos inhaled deeply. “Trella’s been kidnapped by Hector
Rodriguez.”

The older man wobbled on his feet. Miguel guided François to
a chair.

Color drained from Francois’ face. “Why aren’t you all
looking for her?”

Carlos brushed his hands over his hair. “The police are.”

“Why aren’t you with them?” Francois asked.

Carlos shot a look at Donovan. “Because I’ll kill Rodriguez
if I see him.”

Donovan’s phone rang. Carlos watched his friend intently as
Donovan answered.

“Where? We’re on the way.”

Carlos dashed from the room before Donovan ended the call.

* * * * *

Trella opened her eyes to pitch blackness.
Don’t
panic.
Stay
calm.
What time is it?
What day?
Her wrists
ached from their confinement.

She recalled the door being to her left. She rolled in that
direction. No one stopped her movement so she surmised she was alone.

Trella hit the wall. She wriggled, using her elbows and
shoulders until she was sitting up. Placing her feet flat on the floor, she
tried easing up the wall. Halfway up, she paused. Her head swam from the
exertion. Gasping, she slumped to the floor.

She searched with her fingertips along the base of the floor
for the door. When she found it she slid her body upward.
Where was the
goddamn knob
? Her fingers slid over a smooth, round object.

She turned it. Locked.

Her chest tightened. Sweat dampened her underarms. How long
did he intend to keep her in here? What if no one found her?

Her head ached. She slid to the floor again and twisted so
she faced the door then banged against the wood with the soles of her shoes.

She screamed Carlos’ name until her throat grew raw.

She had to see him again. He had to know how much he had
come to mean to her. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She loved him. Even if he returned
to Vegas, at least he’d know how much he’d given to her.

Trella curled into a ball, weariness settling over her.

Carlos would find her.

* * * * *

Carlos clenched the passenger side door handle as Donovan
drove. Illegal immigrants had been found at every one of the locations owned by
Rodriguez. As news of the raids broke, people began coming forth with
information. TV vans roared into action, each vying to be the source of the
breaking news.

Donovan turned down a familiar street. Carlos’ stomach
dropped to his shoes.
Please let her be alive
.

The car skidded, blowing rocks as Donovan came to an abrupt
stop. With guns drawn, Jose and Jackson entered the warehouse followed by four
more officers. Several officers stood near their cars, guns at the ready.

Carlos opened his door, assailed by memories of the day
Louis was shot. He climbed from the car.

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

The warning tone in Donovan’s voice stopped Carlos cold. He
cemented his feet to the gravel to keep from running into the building. A
moment later a man with long black hair wearing a white wife-beater and jeans
was led out with his hands secured behind him.

Jose and Jackson kept walking, propelling the man between
them. Eyes narrowing in recognition, Carlos ran to meet them.

“Wait a minute.” He stopped in front of the man in cuffs.
“This is the suspect Louis and I chased into this place.” He grabbed the man’s
shirt. “Where is she?”

Jackson pried Carlos’ fingers loose. “She’s inside. The
ambulance is on its way.”

“She’ll be fine, Carlos,” Jose added.

“Rodriguez left but we’ll get the weasel. Dude here says he
helped Hector because he still owed money for his wife and children. But he
insists Hector shot Louis.”

Carlos dashed inside the building. Two officers milled about
the cavernous warehouse. Trella lay on the floor. One officer stood guard while
another kneeled beside her.