Chapter Three
After eating a substantial breakfast, Nicodemus went down to the parking garage. He could have used the valet service to retrieve his car, but he wasn’t in the mood to wait.
He’d been filled with a nervous energy as soon as he’d checked his voicemail and discovered he’d gotten a call from Mario while he was in the shower.
He strode across the parking garage and unlocked his vintage 1968 Dodge Charger. There were people around, but it was still fairly quiet by Vegas standards. He started the engine, loving the loud rumble of the motor.
The sun was up, and the air was getting warmer. Nic drove with the windows rolled down, not bothered by the slight chill in the air. He might prefer it hot, but he could handle frigid cold temperatures just as well. He just didn’t like to.
He knew the city like the back of his hand, remembered when it was nothing but a swath of desert. So he had no trouble making his way to Mario’s shop. He parked around the rear of the building, like all the preferred customers did. The storefront was mostly for tourists and locals who weren’t serious collectors.
He climbed out of the car, made his way to the back door, and banged on it. “I’m coming,” Mario yelled. “Hold on.”
Locks were undone, and the panel opened. Mario squinted into the sunshine. “Come on in, Wilde.”
Nic ducked his head and stepped inside. His eyes automatically adjusted to the gloom. He was glad for his preternatural vision. Mario didn’t believe in wasting money on things like good lighting.
“What have you got?” He was suddenly wary and stopped in his tracks. There was a tinge of something in the air, something particularly nasty.
“I don’t have it here, but I have pictures,” Mario promised.
“Who has it?” Whatever it was, Nic knew he needed to find it. And destroy it, if possible.
“A friend. Got it at an estate sale and is looking to move it quick.” Mario motioned to the computer screen. “Have a look.”
Nic found himself drawn to the picture on the screen. He listened with half an ear as Mario rattled off the particulars—carved out of teak, sapphire eyes, about six inches tall, origin unknown.
“The stones are real?” He trusted Mario to be honest with him.
“Absolutely. Verified it myself.”
Those were no ordinary sapphires. They were drakon tears. He could tell by the symmetry of the gems and their size. “I want it.”
“Thought you might.” Mario sounded smug, and Nic slowly turned to look at the man. “Figured there would be a finder’s fee in it for me if you wanted it.”
Mario was a mercenary at heart. Nic didn’t blame him for that. A man had to make a living. “If I buy it, I’ll give you twenty percent of whatever I pay for it.”
“Good enough.”
“Email me the pictures and the contact information for the seller.” Mario bobbed his head. “And Mario, I had better be the only buyer.”
As soon as Nic was back behind the wheel of his car, he drew out his phone and checked his email. “Come on.” He was usually a patient man, but not today. There was something about that statue that made his stomach clench. Whoever had carved it, whenever it had been crafted, it was dangerous.
Finally, he got a ping to signal an incoming email. Sure enough, Mario had sent him the pictures and the email address for the contact.
Nic dialed his brother. “What?” Tarrant answered.
“I’m sending you pictures of a statue.”
“That’s your line of collecting, not mine,” he pointed out.
Nic’s grip tightened around his phone. “It’s a statue of a dragon with sapphire eyes.”
Tarrant swore. “Real sapphires?”
He knew what his brother was asking. “Tears.”
Tarrant swore again. “Shit.”
“I need to know what, if anything, you can find out about it.” He paused, and his brother caught his hesitation.
“What aren’t you telling me, Nic?” Tarrant demanded.
“It’s dangerous. I could sense that even though the statue was no longer in the store.”
Tarrant blew out a breath. “Not good.”
Nic rattled off the email address. “This is all I have on the seller. I need to know more.”
“Hang on.” Tarrant’s fingers clicked over computer keys. Nic knew he was working his magic. There wasn’t a better hacker on the planet than his brother.
“It’s for one Bill Watkins.” He rattled off the street address not too far away. More clicking. “Thing is, Bill Watkins is dead, my friend.”
“Well, that makes things interesting.” And potentially more dangerous.
“Hang on. He has two granddaughters. From what I can see, they’ve been living with him most of their lives. They live in the home now.”
That made Nic relax, but only slightly. “So they probably kept the email for business?”
“Looks that way.” Tarrant made a humming sound. “I’m looking at their emails now.”
Nic raised an eyebrow. His brother really was a scary son of a bitch at times. “And?”
“Nothing. It’s all related to buying and selling vintage items and a few antiques. Small-scale buyer and seller from the looks of things.”
“My contact mentioned the seller had found it at an estate sale and was looking to move it quickly.”
“It seems to be far outside what they usually deal in. You be careful.”
“I will. Do you have a phone number for—what were their names?”
Tarrant chuckled. “Constance and Abigail Owens.”
Old-fashioned names. Nic liked that. “I’m going to pay them a visit and see if I can’t get that statue.” He didn’t trust Mario not to try to round up another bidder.
“Give me an hour,” Tarrant demanded. “Let me see what I can find out about the statue first. If it’s as dangerous as you think, you need to be prepared going in.”
“You don’t think it’s a setup, do you?” Nic had wondered about that himself.
“I don’t see how it could be, but I don’t want to take any chances.”
Nic glanced at his watch. “I have a couple other stops to make. If I haven’t heard from you by the time I’m done, I’ll give you a call.”
“Sounds good.”
When Tarrant hung up, Nic slid his phone back into his pocket. He glanced toward the store and thought about going back in to warn Mario about contacting any other buyers. Then he shrugged. It wouldn’t really matter anyway. Nic was here in Las Vegas. He had the name of the seller and would be contacting her in about an hour. No other buyer could move that fast.
Still, he couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding that filled him as he drove away.
…
Jeremiah Dent closed his account book and pushed it aside. Unlike many of his counterparts, he kept his records the old-fashioned way, using paper and pen. There were too many people with the ability to hack into computers for him to feel safe having his personal business there.
He pushed away from his desk and walked over to the open door of his safe and went inside. He loved the smell of old books. Many in here were one of a kind, filled with information that could give a man power if he knew how to use it.
He set his record book in its place and left the safe, making sure it was locked behind him. He touched a hidden button on the wall and a panel slid over the door, hiding it from sight.
Like his safe, he kept his true self hidden. To the world he was a sixty-year-old man with graying hair, who favored oversize cardigans and spent his time lost in the world of antiquarian books. Even his friends thought him little more than an absent-minded bookish sort, more content to watch from afar than dirty his hands in the sometimes dangerous business of the Knights of the Dragon.
It served his purpose for them to think that. It kept him relatively safe from the infighting and power plays within the ranks of the Knights.
He wandered back to his desk and sat in his chair, enjoying a rare moment of quiet contemplation.
It might be time to start expanding his plans. He wasn’t getting any younger. What he needed was a dragon of his own. Their blood could cure disease and prolong life, but it lost potency soon after being removed from the source and couldn’t be replicated in a lab, at least, not yet. A few dragons were being held captive by members of the society, but their whereabouts were strictly guarded.
The Knights didn’t like to share, not even with one another. They’d do it if pressured by the group as a whole, but having possession of a dragon gave them great power.
His phone rang, and he sighed. So much for his peace and quiet. He picked it up and checked before answering. “Yes.”
“There’s been a development,” Mario Gonzales began.
The conversation was short and to the point. That two-timing seller had contacted another buyer. Jeremiah barely restrained himself from slamming down the phone when he was done. It had cost him extra, but he now had the name of the seller. He’d handle negotiations himself.
As a rare-book dealer, he’d amassed quite a collection over the course of his lifetime and had an entire section devoted to the Knights of the Dragon. He remembered reading a journal from the early 1800s that made mention of a set of statues, and there wasn’t just one, but four. And they were used to catch dragons.
He punched a number only he knew into his phone. Like most members of the Knights’ inner circle, he had cultivated a team of mercenaries who answered only to him. Unlike his counterparts, he kept that information to himself.
“Sir.” the voice on the other end was brisk.
“You’re close to Las Vegas?”
“We’re there. We moved as soon as you contacted us.”
“Excellent.” Jeremiah was glad he’d followed his hunch and moved some of his men into the area when he’d originally heard from Mario. He’d considered his options and thought he had a plan, but this latest conversation with his contact had changed his mind. After all the trouble he was being put through, he was no longer willing to pay for the statue. He didn’t worry about Mario Gonzales. Old men died every day.
But he needed to know if the seller had any of the other statues. “I want to know everything about a Constance Owens.” He rattled off the contact information he’d been given.
“On it.” There was clicking in the background that told him his man was already working on the situation. Unlike his counterparts, Jeremiah employed men like himself. They weren’t flashy. They were methodical and content to remain in the background, but they got the job done.
“Sir, she has a younger sister, Abigail.”
That was interesting. “Take the sister.”
“Sir?”
“Take the sister and leave a burner phone at the house. Leave a man to watch and let me know as soon as Constance returns home. She has something I want, but she may also lead me to a much bigger prize.”
“We’re on it. I’ll contact you as soon as we have the sister secured.”
“I don’t have to tell you not to be seen.”
“No, sir.”
“Excellent.” He ended the call and sat back in his desk chair. If he could get his hands on all four statues, he might be able to use them at some point down the road to capture his very own dragon. If nothing else, they were a valuable bargaining chip to have stashed away. It never hurt to have such an item in his possession.
Less than an hour later, his phone rang again. “Yes.”
“It’s done.”
Jeremiah took down the information he needed and ended the call. “Let the games begin.”
…
Constance was having an excellent day, in spite of being nervous over carrying around that darn statue in her bag. She’d unloaded both the small table and iron headboard at a tidy profit, and she’d mailed the items she’d sold online.
She pulled the van into the driveway and patted the door when she stepped out. Her vehicle was still purring like a kitten, in spite of its age. “Life is good,” she whispered.
She hitched her bag over her shoulder and headed to the house. She’d relax once the statue was back in the safe with its buddies. She hoped Mario’s local buyer had contacted him. She wanted to find a buyer sooner rather than later.
“It will be worth the finder’s fee.” The old goat would milk the deal for all it was worth, but her grandpa hadn’t raised any fools. Mario would only get a broker fee on the dragon she’d showed him and not on the other three. If the buyer wanted those as well, hey, it had nothing to do with Mario.
She knew he’d bluster about that while at the same time he’d be proud of her. They had an odd relationship, but it worked for them.
“I’m home,” she called out. Abigail wasn’t in the living room, nor did she answer. Neither was surprising. Her sister was most likely in their shared workspace, and when Abigail got focused on a new project, the world could explode around her and she wouldn’t notice.
“Hey.” Constance set her bag down on the kitchen table and dug the statue out. She grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator before heading down the short hallway. “I sold both furniture pieces.” This last trip was shaping up to be a profitable one.
The workroom was empty. Abigail’s sewing machine was set up with a piece of fabric halfway hemmed. It looked as though her sister had stopped suddenly and simply walked away from the project.
She set the statue on the table. “Abigail? Where are you?” Constance hurried to her sister’s room and opened the door, half expecting to find her lying on her bed talking on her phone to one of her friends.
It was empty.
She checked the bathroom next. Had her sister taken ill?
The bathroom was empty.
Constance’s stomach was in knots. Where was her sister? If anything had happened, she’d go next door to Mrs. Karsh. Maybe it was Mrs. Karsh who’d had the emergency.
She released a breath and nodded. That made sense.
She was on her way back to the front door when a phone rang. That made her stop and frown. Her phone was in her purse, and Abigail’s phone was practically glued to her hand.
Constance hurried back into the workroom. There, sitting on the table in the center of the space, not far from where she’d set the statue, was a phone in a plain black case. She didn’t recognize it.
It rang again, and she lunged for it. “Yes. Who is this?”
“You have something I want, and I have something you want.”
Her knees went weak, and she slid down onto the floor. “You have my sister?” Why would anyone take Abigail?
“There’s no reason for her to get hurt, not as long as you do as I ask.” The voice was calm and controlled and slightly cultured.
“This is about the statue, isn’t it?” There wasn’t anything else it could be about. The only thing out of the ordinary was those statues.
The man on the end of the line chuckled. That turned her fear into anger, and she surged back to her feet. “If you harm one hair on my sister’s head, I’ll destroy it.”
“Don’t threaten me.” The voice was deadly serious. “Or your sister will pay the price.”
Anger vibrated in her chest. “All you had to do was make an offer. I would have sold you the damn thing, no questions asked.”
“I’d planned to do just that, but your friend Mario told me there is another interested party.”
She was going to kill that old man if something happened to Abigail because of his greed. “I had no idea he would do that. All I wanted was a quick sale. That can still happen.”
“I believe it can. I’ll be in contact soon about where to bring the statue.” He paused. “I’d heard there was more than one.” She could tell from his tone he probably knew there were more but didn’t know if she had them and was fishing for information.
Her gut clenched, and her instincts screamed that she keep the truth from him or at least some of it. She didn’t trust him and knew she’d need an ace in the hole going forward.
“There was one more.” She somehow knew he’d never buy that there was only one. She went with her instincts and prayed she didn’t get her sister killed.
“Excellent. Which one?”
The man on the other end of this phone knew exactly what these statues were. If he was willing to kidnap a woman for them, they were even more dangerous than she’s imagined.
“Crystal with emerald eyes.”
“I want that one as well. And Ms. Owens, tell no one about this, or your sister will pay the price.”
The call ended before she could demand to speak with Abigail. She stared at the phone. What the hell was happening? How had her very ordinary life become something out of a thriller novel within a matter of hours? Who the hell was the man behind the call? And how was she going to get her sister back?
First things first. She grabbed the statue and went to the large safe in the closet. She had to keep the damn thing secure when all she wanted to do was smash it into a hundred pieces.
“If something seems too good to be true, it probably is,” she muttered. Her grandpa had said that over and over again. It was the mantra he’d lived by. Too bad she had to prove him right.
Her hands were shaking as she attempted to unlock the safe. It was much harder than it should be. By the time she’d opened the damn thing, she could barely see through her tears.
Someone had her sister.
She glared at all four dragons. This was their fault. No, it was hers for buying the damn things in the first place. For the first time in her life, she cursed her talent for finding treasure where others saw only junk. If she hadn’t followed her instincts to the basement, she never would have come across the statues or the necklace.
She locked the safe again and went back to the table and stared down at the phone. Staring at it wouldn’t make it ring. Constance swiped at the tears on her cheeks. Crying wouldn’t solve anything.
She needed information. And she knew just where to get it.