Blaire

I had never felt as isolated as I did now. Jake wasn’t telling me anything and I was ready to climb the walls. I heard Amelia had been transferred to a secure location, and I was feeling guilty enough to leave her alone. Even Andy wasn’t answering my calls or texts. He could blame me all he wanted, but, dammit, he’d always been logical about this. Then I remembered Grant, and how I couldn’t reason with him. I was fighting for us—why couldn’t he see that? An eternity of resentment wasn’t how I envisioned our lives together. That wasn’t a life … that was going to be hell.

My phone buzzed.

Andy calling.

Finally.

“Andy!”

“Hey.”

“How are you holding up?”

There was a deep exhale. “I don’t know what else to do, Blaire. The senator has shut me out. I think he blames me.”

“Why in the world would they blame you? I’m the one those assholes want.”

“So Grant wouldn’t give you up, huh?” There was bitterness in his tone and even if I understood how he felt, hurt pinched my heart.

“I tried to convince him to give me up.”

“Listen,” Andy sighed. “I’m kinda drifting right now, hoping the senator or Gus will return my calls. I’m in Manhattan and was wondering if I could crash at your penthouse. I need someone to commiserate with.”

“I would love nothing more than someone to talk to, Andy. I’m slowly losing my mind waiting for news.”

“You think your guard dogs would let me up?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

I argued with Jake for five minutes.

“When everybody abandoned me at the ER, Andy was there for me, Jake,” I said. “He got shot because of me and needs my support now.”

“He’s going to mess with your head,” Jake responded. “He’s going to want you to take Val’s place.”

“As I should!” I gritted out. “But you’re here to stop me. So what’s the harm in letting him up?”

Jake glared at me for a second longer before allowing the building guard to let Andy into the elevators.

My friend walked in, looking haggard. Dark circles smudged his under-eyes and his already light complexion had become more pasty. Poor Andy. He was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, a far cry from the suits and crisp white shirts he wore as part of the senator’s staff. His red brown hair couldn’t get more mussed up, but it was like he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly.

“Andy,” I whispered. I ignored the fear of rejection and walked up to him and hugged him tightly. He was stiff, but he gave me a token one-arm hug. “I’m sorry.”

He sniffed a laugh. “Yeah. You must feel like shit, but I can’t hate you, Blaire.” His eyes were shifty, as if he wasn’t certain he should be here. He eyed Jake and the other bodyguards.

“Come on, let’s go to the living room. Have you eaten? Do you want something to drink?”

“I’ll have a glass of water if you don’t mind.” He crashed on one of the couches with his forearm over his eyes.

I was feeling more torn up by the second as I walked into the kitchen to fetch Andy his water. I wished Grant would call soon. It’d been over two hours since he’d left to meet his father in his Lower Manhattan office. Waiting sucked.

* * *

Grant

Grant arrived at Thorne Industries and waited for his father who was already en route from the Manhattan Heliport. The senator was bringing in reinforcements, but he didn’t elaborate who or what. This was making him antsy and he wished he’d kept Blaire in a separate unknown location. Even if he knew his dad wouldn’t stoop to kidnapping her, the possibility had crossed his mind. There’d been a minute of charged tempers on that first phone call with his dad because Grant wouldn’t consider using Blaire as bait.

His office phone buzzed and the night guard announced the arrival of his guests.

“Send them up.”

He couldn’t sit still, so he got up and walked out of his office, past the reception area, and waited for the elevator car to arrive. It didn’t take long. The elevator doors slid open and the senator stepped out flanked by two men as tall as Grant. Both were built—one had light blond buzz-cut hair; the other had dark hair. Both were about forty, but it was hard to tell with the blond one, there was a depth of experience in his ice blue eyes.

“Viktor, Sully,” the senator said. “You haven’t met my son, Grant. Grant, this is Viktor Baran and Sully—Gabriel Sullivan,” he said flatly, gesturing to each man in turn. “They work for Artemis Guardians Services.”

He shook hands with the two men. Grant sized them up, not only as former military, but he’d bet they’d been in special-ops.

“Gentlemen,” Grant waved his arm toward his office.

“They specialize in international K & R but offered to help given the circumstances,” the senator explained.

“Do you think we can convince Val’s kidnappers to take a ransom instead?” Grant didn’t waste time in asking.

They’d entered his office and he motioned for them to sit. The sitting area comprised of two sofas and two wingback chairs surrounding a coffee table. The senator sat in one of the chairs; his two companions remained standing. Viktor leaned against the door frame and Sully stood with arms crossed.

“No,” Viktor clipped.

“Why can’t we just pay for whatever those paintings are worth,” Grant said. “I understand there may be more valuable work hidden underneath, but everything has its price.”

“Agreed,” the blond man said. “However, your net worth is roughly twenty-billion dollars, Mr. Thorne. You’re six billion short of what those paintings are worth.”

“You’re shitting me,” Grant whispered.

“I’m not,” Viktor responded. “Sully, do you want to explain?”

“Most of the intel is classified,” Sully said. “And what I’m about to tell you does not leave this room or this could undermine months of intelligence work.”

Grant backed into his desk and perched on the edge. What the hell was going on?

“You’re familiar with the Russian oligarchy. You’ve done business with a few of them and your recent rival for the Galleria Development was Ivan Yashkin,” Sully said.

“Go on.”

“There’d been a recent shake-up in the oligarchy. Billions of dollars were mishandled and became lost in the infighting. Roughly twenty-six billion were in offshore accounts and were set to be invested in the U.S. with the ultimate goal of destabilizing the financial market.”

“Jesus,” Grant muttered.

“I’m sure, as a business man, you understand the intricacies of market volatility. They also planned to infiltrate the U.S. banking system via these offshore accounts. It was believed that Sergei Kostin was entrusted the lost account numbers by his brother, the former most powerful mafia boss in Russia.”

“What happened to Kostin’s brother?”

“He was assassinated. It was a brutal shake-up. The Kremlin, the Oligarchs, and the Russian mafia are this one big happy family until they turn on each other. We believe Kostin was tortured regarding the account numbers and he revealed where the paintings were, however, the interrogation proved too much for his weak heart and he died. Yashkin couldn’t get to the building where the paintings were hidden.”

“That’s where we had an advantage on the bid,” Grant said. “There was bad blood between the family that owned the Galleria Development and Yashkin. He’d attempted several hostile takeovers of that family’s corporation before. Wait, are you saying the account numbers are hidden under the paintings?”

“Correct.”

“Blaire mentioned some technology that can scan through the pigments.”

“Yes, but since they’d kidnapped the senator’s daughter, it appears that method had failed. They need someone who’s familiar with Kostin’s technique to get to it.”

Sully’s phone beeped and he excused himself to take a call.

“How did they find out about Blaire?”

“We’re not sure,” Viktor said. “Kostin must have talked about Paulina Antonova and Yashkin had strong ties to Orlov. I think they were aware that Kostin had taken to Paulina and had built her up as an unwitting protégé.”

Sully returned. “That was our analyst. He’s sending me a dossier on the men we think got to Valerie. This is also the reason why we didn’t bring any of the senator’s staff with him.” He handed the tablet to the senator. His father looked at the screen and paled. “Oh, Christ, Valerie.” His father’s fingers shook as he rubbed his temple while reading through the information just received.

Viktor must have received the same transmission and handed his own device to Grant.

His eyes zeroed in on the picture staring up at him and absorbed the supporting intel. His blood turned to ice. “Son of a bitch!”

* * *

Blaire

Someone’s phone rang and I heard Jake answer. There were seconds of silence and then I heard him inhale sharply. “We’re at homestead Charlie, Mr. Thorne.” I wracked my brain for what that meant. I was about to walk out the kitchen when I heard quick movements and then…

“Drop it!” Jake yelled before I saw him go down. One of my bodyguards rushed me toward the elevator.

“What’s going on?” I shrieked.

He got dropped as well, dragging me down with him. I pushed his body off and sat up, confused. Andy approached me with a lazy stride, his right hand holding a weird looking gun.

“What did you do?”

“Your bodyguards are lucky I like them better than Val’s,” Andy said, stopping three feet in front of me.

My heart tried to reject what my mind was telling me, but all my interactions with Andy suddenly made sense. “You set me up.”

“Not really. You weren’t my job at first. I was simply insurance—my boss had bigger plans for me.” His eyes turned hard. “You screwed that up because you kept turning up like a bad penny.”

“I trusted you!”

“We’ll have a heart-to-heart later, sweetheart.” He raised his gun and shot me with no hesitation. The searing prick in my stomach instantaneously dimmed my vision and turned my muscles to Jell-O. I collapsed on the floor unable to move. His image blurred as he crouched in front of me and spoke in this slo-mo voice I couldn’t make out. He stood and dragged my body into the elevator. Afterward, there was nothing.