“I still don’t know why Karl quit, but Jenny is working out pretty good, don’t you think?”

Charlie nodded, too breathless to speak, not that she would have spilled the beans anyway. It was no mystery to her why Karl had abruptly quit two weeks ago, the day after Lucjan’s visit. But Stacia was oblivious. Or pretending to be.

“By the way, Jake’s coming to New Orleans. Isn’t that great?

She tripped on the treadmill, barely catching her feet as her hands slammed down on the rails.

“No hands!” Jenny snapped from the other side of the gym. God, the woman had radar like a fucking bat.

Stacia was still prattling away, unaware her words had kick-started Charlie’s already racing heart.

“Yeah. Great,” she gasped as Jenny came over to increase the incline. “Why now though? I thought he was busy.” That had been all the explanation Stacia had offered about the mysterious message from Lucjan.

It was none of her business, and the less she knew about Stacia and Jake’s business the better, but the subterfuge stung nevertheless. Especially when Stacia had been acting keyed up and out of sorts ever since that day. Charlie would have liked to blame it all on Lucjan’s appearance and the obvious tension there, but she was afraid there was more to it than that. Despite herself, she was worried about Jake.

And that pissed her off.

“He’s between jobs at the moment. And New Orleans is his favorite American city. I told you he’s been dying to catch one of your shows. He’s just been busy.”

“Okay.” She said nothing further, focusing on the burning in her calves and ass. She wasn’t sure what to think. Pissed or not, did she want to see Jake again?

No.

Sure, her stomach had jumped when Stacia had mentioned his name, but that was probably just because yesterday had been ab day. She frowned and ran faster, chasing the pain.

“My boss isn’t happy about me taking so much PTO,” she panted, changing the subject.

“You earned those vacation days, didn’t you?”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “It’s tax time, Stacia. Me being gone now is an asshole move of the first order.”

“You should just quit.”

“Quit?” She gulped and almost took a header off the treadmill again. Jenny crossed the room and nosed the incline up another three degrees. Five minutes later the torture finally stopped.

“I can’t quit my job,” she said when she could breathe again. “I have bills. Lots of bills. Like gym memberships and whatnot.” She glared at Jenny before trying to step off the treadmill gracefully. Instead, she slumped to the floor like a bloated water buffalo.

Stacia handed her a towel, snorting. “You sold four pieces in the past six weeks. What did you clear on them?”

Stacia knew exactly how much Charlie had cleared. After all, she was taking eight percent and probably deserved a lot more. “A nice nest egg, sure. But who knows how long that will last. My job pays my rent, my healthcare, my car payment. I need that. It’s—”

“Safe?”

“There’s nothing wrong with safe.”

“No, there isn’t.” There was a hint of wistfulness in Stacia’s voice that surprised her. “But there is something wrong with never taking a chance, Charlie. When was the last time you took a chance?”

“You mean before some crazy Aussie chick’s brother fell through my window and I didn’t call the cops?”

Stacia started but Jenny was already on to her next victim, oblivious to their conversation.

“That was just good instinct,” she hissed. “I’m talking about doing something for you, stretching your wings.”

“I thought that is what I’m doing. You think this gallery shit is easy for me?”

Stacia winced. She knew better than that. Charlie’s first show had gone well . . . after she’d puked in the gallery bathroom, twice. And tried to duck out a side door.

It was Stacia who had brought her back, Stacia who had stood by her side while Charlie quivered. She still felt like an imposter, like all this wasn’t quite real. Because she knew better than most that good things never lasted.

But seeing the looks on peoples’ faces as they studied her art? The frowns, the narrowed gazes. The parted lips, the little bit of wonder that danced in their eyes as they leaned closer. The way their faces relaxed and the smiles came.

It was nice. It really was.

It was also terrifying.

And exhilarating and addicting and amazing and . . .

Dangerous.

Danger, Will Robinson. Danger.

“I can’t quit my job.”

Stacia only smiled knowingly. “We’ll see how you feel after New Orleans.”

---

“New Orleans. That’s where the sister and that painter are headed next.” Timor’s voice was eager, too eager. “Archie found the announcement on a couple of the event sites we’re following. This could be our chance to have some fun.”

Darnell frowned at the phone in his hand. “You can’t expect to have a shot at Anastacia.” Not yet. Though he had plans for the female Harris twin, once some rather complex negotiations were completed.

“Not her.” There was more than a hint of disappointment in the two short words, but the man was still excited and not bothering to hide it. “The artist. The sister is leaving right after the show. We got a hit on her passport, an airline headed out of the city around midnight.”

And Kowalewski’s men with her. Or at least most of them.

“But not Ms. Gracen?”

“No.” Timor’s breathing sped up. “She’s staying the night. Getting her beauty sleep, I guess, while the sister sets up the next gig.” The obscene sound of the man’s panting cut off and Darnell knew he was holding his breath, waiting for approval.

Sick fuck.

Looking out over the sparkling sea that was his current view, Darnell considered it. Timor obviously needed to blow off steam and if the man got himself into something more than he could handle . . .

His smile was immediate, thin and cold and satisfied. Either way, the potential rewards far outweighed the risks. The Harris twins needed to be reminded that there were consequences for getting in his way.

“Take lots of pictures,” he said softly before ending the call on Timor’s bark of delighted laughter. With a chuckle of his own, Darnell slid open the glass door and stepped out onto powdery white sand, lifting his face to the sun.

What an absolutely stunning day.

---

Jake strolled through the French Quarter with a grin that wouldn’t quit. Of all the cities in the world, this one was definitely in his top five. He loved the vibe here, distinct from any other American city. Even Hurricane Katrina hadn’t kept the Big Easy down for long; like Proud Mary, this city just kept rolling.

The evening was lush with laughter, music and the Cajun patois as he made his way through the gathering throng, streetlights and neon beginning to blink on. It was warm but not oppressively so, though the air held a visceral weight. It was easy to imagine ghosts or vampires just beyond the lights.

Under the glitter and the savoir-faire, New Orleans had a dark soul. He could appreciate that. There was a small crowd waiting at the doors ahead but he slipped around and made his way to the back, where a small loading dock was unsecured. He shook his head as he stepped inside. Careless. He made his way through the boxes and crates and the sawdust on the floor until he reached a familiar hallway that led to a familiar door.

“Jake!” A tiny black man stood behind a gleaming ebony desk, flashing a white smile. “Moi ami. You have come to see the pretties.”

“You’re lucky someone doesn’t make off with one of your pretties, Tomas. I’ve told you time and time again, a good lock and a solid door are worth more than a fancy security system, but that only holds water if you lock the fucking door.”

Despite his size, Tomas had a powerful presence. He waved a careless hand before stepping forward to wrap Jake in a hard hug. “If I locked the door, then how would you’ve sneaked in, eh?”

“I have my ways.”

“This I know.” Tomas released him. “You are looking well. Stacia said there was some trouble up north . . . ?” A few years back Tomas had sat on the board of NOMA when they’d hired Jake to track down a gang who had disappeared into Mexico with a few pre-Columbian figurines. Like most of his clients, they’d found him preferable to filing a claim with their insurance company.

Jake had recovered two of the three missing pieces, found a friend in Tomas and gained another reason for visiting NOLA as often as possible.

“It was nothing.”

“Hmm.” Tomas’s look was shrewd as he linked his arm with Jake’s and started for the door. “This artiste of yours, she is a strange little catin, but she has something.” He shrugged and waved his free hand again. “Something that could be great, frère.”

Goose bumps tingled along Jake’s spine. He’d never heard such high praise from Tomas.

“Stacia did good finding her, huh?”

Tomas reached for the door. “Ahh, but Anastacia, she tell me you discovered our Charlotte.”

“Did she?” he said casually.

Tomas’s black eyes glittered. “How did this blessed event come about?”

“Oh, you could say we just fell together.” He ran his fingers down his tie.

“Interesting.” Tomas raised his thin eyebrows. “Charlotte, she say something very similar when I ask her that same question. It must be quite the tale.”

“Not nearly as exciting as you imagine.”

“Somehow I doubt that, but you must come and—”

“There you are.” Both men turned to see Stacia standing in the hall behind them. Dressed in screaming red, his sister was stunning, as always. Jake smiled, but Stacia didn’t. “Mind if I have a quick word with my dear brother, Tomas?”

“Not at all. Not at all.” Tomas patted Jake’s arm in silent sympathy before releasing it. He closed the door behind him.

“Stacia. How’s every—”

“What about those unexpected flight changes?” When apart, that had always been their code for police trouble. They hadn’t really gotten to talk candidly since he’d left Europe, as neither of them trusted cell phones when it came to the shadier side of their business, though he had tried his best to let her know all was well. Despite his assurances, Stacia had obviously been stewing. “And why did I hear that shit from Lucjan?”

He flinched. “A minor inconvenience. Just some routine questioning courtesy of the policja. Lucjan was heading to your neck of the woods anyway, so he stop—”

“So you were in Poland! You lying bastard.”

“Now that’s not nice. Our parents were properly married, as you very well know.”

“What the hell did that psycho have you doing, Jake? You better come clean sharpish. I don’t really care if I have nieces and nephews one day, I’ll castrate you right here and now if you lie to me again.”

He swallowed. “It was just a tiny favor.”

“A tiny favor that got you in trouble with the police?”

“There wasn’t any trouble, just some routine questioning. It was a good thing, sis. They grilled me a bit, got their answers and were satisfied. All in all much better than if I had tried to get out of the country without them clearing me first.”

“Clearing you of what exactly?”

“A minor piece went missing from the Gdańsku.”

Her jaw ticked in and out. “Since we both know you did it, how were you cleared, brother dear?”

He braced himself. “Lucjan had one of his girls cover for me. Two of them, actually.” He smiled weakly as the color built in his sister’s cheeks.

“Typical. Just fucking typical.”

“Stace—” He reached for her, but she batted his hand away.

“And what was he doing in the States anyway?”

“I don’t know exactly,” he hedged. He had an idea, though. Lucjan would never give up on his sister. They’d had that talk when Stacia had left her husband, Lucjan promising Jake he would give Stacia her space if that was her wish but that he’d never, ever grant her a divorce. Since Stacia had been hanging out with Charlie, prepping her for the shows, Jake had no doubt there’d been a tail on them both day and night. Something that made it much easier for him to sleep at night. He thought of the look on Lucjan’s face when he’d talked about the stupidity of love. In four years, Jake had never tried to influence his sister one way or the other. After all, he’d been against the marriage in the first place. And as much as he owed Lucjan, there was no question where Jake’s loyalty lay. Still, this case wasn’t so cut and dried. “He misses you, sis. Maybe—”

“Don’t even,” she spoke through gritted teeth, eyes flashing. “Charlie is expecting you. Get out there. I’ll be along in a minute.”

He nodded, knowing he’d already said too much. With a sigh, he left his sister standing in the middle of the room, her spine stiff.

---

On the outside, Tomas’s gallery was traditional French Quarter, lots of fanciful ironwork and rich color, but inside, it was all cool, clean lines, nothing fussy or distracting. Charlie’s art was displayed to perfection. The bright, simple colors shone, the swirling shapes and unique perspectives compelling, drawing the eye in for a closer look.

Jake strode to one of his favorites, an iris, petals unfurled, a bead of dew rolling down one lush curve. It clung to the ruffled edge of the blossom, glowing against the deep purple, so lifelike he could almost taste it on his tongue. It hovered there, forever poised on the point of falling. Expectation.

He smiled when he moved to the next one. It was the Mackinac Island piece. And she’d named it Joy.

Jake moved down the hallway, barely noticing the other attendees as he took in each piece. Some familiar friends from his time in her apartment, others new and dazzling. But each evoked its own unique response. Charlie’s art was even more stunning than he remembered. A flash of movement in his periphery finally pulled his gaze away from the last canvas an hour later.

A woman in a white dress stood with her back to him, accepting a glass of wine from a passing waiter. She had a lovely back, porcelain skin bared to perfection by the silky fabric. His eyes admired the line of her spine all the way to the dimples flashing above a lushly curved ass. He appreciated art in all its forms, but the living, breathing kind was his favorite.

Then she turned, and the sight of her profile was like a punch to the gut.

Or a gunshot.