Chapter Four
“Who the hell did you contact about the statue?” Constance demanded. She had the phone the kidnapper had left for her in one hand and her phone in the other.
“What are you talking about, girl?” Mario demanded.
“Someone contacted me.”
“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” She heard him shuffling in the background.
“No, no, it’s not. Do you know why, Mario?” She took a deep breath, conscious of the fact her voice was getting louder and louder. “One of the buyers you contacted—and, yes, I know you contacted at least two people—wasn’t happy about that fact. They took Abigail.”
“Took her?” She heard the disbelief in his voice. “What do you mean took her?”
“As in kidnapped her. Apparently, the buyer wants to make sure he gets the statue.”
“Shit, it has to be Wilde. The other buyer is in New York.”
Okay, this was good. She needed all the information she could get. “Who exactly is this Wilde?”
“Ah, Nicodemus Wilde. He collects a bit of everything. Thing is, I can’t see him kidnapping Abigail.”
“But he’s the only one local.” It had to be this Wilde guy. “Where can I find him?”
“I don’t know for certain. I have a phone number and email address.”
“Give them to me.”
“Hang on.” She heard movement and knew Mario was heading out back to his office. She grabbed a pen and piece of paper and waited. “Okay, here it is.” She copied down the information. It wasn’t much, but it was a starting point.
“We’ll get her back.”
“We? No, I’ll get her back. You stay out of it.” The last thing she needed was Mario getting hurt. She might be angry with him, but he was still her friend, more family really. “You need to step away from this.” There was one thing he could do for her. “Is there anything you can tell me about the statue?”
“Haven’t had time to research it yet. I just knew I had two potential buyers.” He heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry, Constance. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt either of you.”
“I know.” And she did know that. He’d try to weasel as much money out of a deal as possible, but he’d never knowingly harm a hair on their heads.
“I’ll see what I can find out and get back to you.”
“Okay, but don’t take any unnecessary risks, and for God’s sake, don’t talk to anyone else about the damn statue.”
“On my honor,” he promised.
A loud knock came on the front door. “I’ve got to go. There’s someone here.”
“Do you think it’s the kidnapper?” Mario asked.
“Of course not. He wouldn’t knock on the front door. Work on the statue problem.” She ended the call and tossed both phones on the coffee table. It was probably only Mrs. Karsh from next door.
She did not want to deal with her well-meaning but nosy neighbor right now. She went to the front door and pulled it open without even looking through the narrow window that ran alongside.
It wasn’t Mrs. Karsh. It was a man. A very tall, very large, ruggedly handsome man was standing on her front stoop. She looked behind him to the classic American muscle car parked in the driveway and then back at the man. “Can I help you?” She had no idea who he was, but she had to get rid of him.
He nodded. “I’m Nicodemus Wilde.”
This was Wilde, the man who’d most likely kidnapped her sister. “You bastard,” she yelled. Then she launched herself at him.
…
Nic barely had time to blink before the woman was on him. She beat her fists against his shoulders and chest. It didn’t hurt him, but it had to be hurting her hands. He caught her around the waist, lifted her off her feet, and carried her inside. The last thing he needed was the neighbors wondering what the ruckus was all about.
Tarrant had called him fifteen minutes ago and given him a rundown on what he’d been able to discover about the statue, and it hadn’t been good. There had originally been four of them, and they’d been commissioned by a prominent member of the Knights of the Dragon almost three hundred years ago. And they were thought to have mystical powers, ones that could effectively trap a drakon without walls or chains.
His brother’s final words to him had been, “Get that damn statue.” He’d also been ordered to see if Constance Owens had any of the others. It was conceivable the set had been split up years ago. But the seller might be holding back.
Never had he expected to be met at the door by a whirling dervish trying to punch his lights out. He kicked the door shut behind him but didn’t let go of the woman. This had to be Constance. The other sister was barely out of her teens. Still, best to be sure.
“Constance.” He gripped her shoulders and forced her to take a step back. He controlled his strength so he didn’t hurt her, but it wasn’t easy with her swinging at his face and chest. “Constance.” He said her name a little louder.
“What have you done with my sister, you son of a bitch?”
He took a good look at her now that she’d stopped trying to hit him. She stood about five and a half feet tall and was slender in build. She had shoulder-length, straight blond hair, but the last few inches of it had been dyed a vibrant cherry red. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, and her blue eyes snapped with anger. She was a fighter and had quite a mouth on her. He liked that.
“Nothing. I don’t even know your sister.”
She seemed to deflate right in front of his eyes. “You don’t? But you have to. You’re the only buyer who’s local.”
Nic slowly released his hold on her and held out his hand once again. “I’m Nicodemus Wilde, but you can call me Nic.”
She ignored his hand and raked her shaky fingers through her hair. The red tips feathered around her shoulders. She took a deep breath and slowly released it. This was a woman on the edge, but she was doing her best to pull herself together. “Constance Owens.”
Now that she wasn’t yelling at him, the smooth sound of her voice slid over his body and into his soul. His dragon stretched inside him, wanting to get closer. He ruthlessly pulled the creature back under his control. The last thing he needed to do was shift in the middle of the woman’s living room.
She was standing just inside the door trembling, so he took her by the hand and led her into the living room. It was a comfortable room with a sofa and chair set that looked like it came straight from the fifties. Several paintings by artists he recognized graced the walls, and there was a shelf in the corner with pictures and knickknacks. It was homey and lived in without being cluttered.
He pushed her into the chair and crouched in front of her. “Tell me what happened?”
She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” He sensed her hesitation and waited as she studied him. Finally, she straightened her shoulders, seeming to come to the conclusion he was telling her the truth. “The statue is no longer for sale. You can leave now.” She waved her hand toward the door.
In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Nic found himself amused. “I can’t do that.” He kept his tone low and as nonthreatening as possible.
She frowned, the action making her nose crinkle slightly. He was charmed. “Of course you can.” She pointed toward the door. “You walk that way, open the door, and step outside.”
“After attacking me like that, I think I deserve an explanation.” He’d barely felt her punches. Beneath his skin were the plate-like scales of his dragon. It would take a hell of a lot more than a few punches to hurt him.
She bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry about that, but you need to go.”
She honestly wasn’t going to tell him, wasn’t going to ask for help. He didn’t know whether to be impressed by her courage or dismayed by her recklessness. “You need help. If I understand the situation correctly, Mario contacted another buyer and that buyer is playing hardball.”
Her gaze shifted to the coffee table and back to his face in the blink of an eye. Nic turned and noticed the two phones sitting there. Common sense told him both of them weren’t hers.
“What happened, Constance? If you don’t tell me, I’ll only go back to Mario and make him talk.”
“Bully,” she muttered under her breath before plastering a fake smile on her face. “There’s been a misunderstanding, Mr. Wilde. There is no longer a statue for sale. I’m sorry for your trouble.” Then she frowned. “How did you find me?”
“Mario gave me your email address. It wasn’t hard to trace that back to your grandfather and then to you.”
She stared at him, her pale skin going even whiter. “Who the hell are you? It’s not that easy to do something like that.” Since he was crouched in front of her, she pulled her feet up on the chair, stood, and jumped onto the floor.
He slowly stood and her eyes widened as she watched him reach his full height. She swallowed heavily. “You need to leave.”
He shook his head. “Not happening. You might as well tell me the truth.”
“I’ll call the cops.” She hurried around to the coffee table and grabbed her phone, clutching it tight in her hand.
He shook his head. “No, you won’t.” She couldn’t afford to. Not if someone had kidnapped her sister. “Talk to me,” he coaxed. “Let me help you.”
…
Constance didn’t know what to do. Nicodemus Wilde had found her. He made it sound as though it was the easiest thing in the world to do. And while they weren’t exactly hiding, it shouldn’t have been quite so simple. They’d kept their grandpa’s email when he’d passed for continuity and for safety.
“Mr. Wilde.”
“Call me Nic.”
She swallowed again, her mouth suddenly dry. Calling him Nic was a bad idea, a very bad idea. “Okay, Nic.” Darn, she’d done it.
There was something about him that set all her senses humming. It was the same sensation she got when there was something special nearby, something precious that others didn’t see. She usually got it when she was prowling estate sales and flea markets. It was the same one that had led her to those darn statues secreted away in the basement at the estate sale.
She’d never gotten the feeling around a person before. It was both baffling and enticing.
“Look, I appreciate the offer, but you can only make things worse.”
He tilted his head to one side and studied her. She tried not to notice the way his black hair caught the sunlight or the way his dark, dark eyes seemed to pull her in. And she really tried to ignore the way his black leather jacket encased a wide set of shoulders or the way it was open in the front, exposing a flat stomach covered in black cotton. And he was wearing jeans. She was a sucker for a man in a pair of well-fitting jeans. And the denim was molded to muscular thighs.
She sighed and rubbed her face. She was losing her mind. This was no time to notice how good looking a guy was. She knew what she was doing. If she was focused on Nic’s outward appearance, she wasn’t worrying about what was happening to her sister. But avoidance wouldn’t help Abigail, wouldn’t bring her sister back.
“You can’t help.”
“Yes, I can. Do you know the name of the other buyer?”
She shook her head. “No. Mario only told me your name. Because you’re local, we figured it had to be you who took Abigail.” Just saying her sister’s name made her heart hurt.
“Find out.” He pulled his own phone out and held it in his hand. “Find out,” he repeated.
Constance didn’t take orders from anyone. She was an independent woman who stood on her own two feet. She wouldn’t have it any other way. But she was way out of her depth here. She could haggle with the best of them, make a living in a business that was precarious at best. But she didn’t have the first clue at how to deal with a kidnapper.
She struggled with her choices. What was the best thing to do for Abigail? She had no guarantee if she handed over the statues that the buyer would hand over her sister. And she definitely couldn’t go to the cops. That left only the man in front of her.
Knowing what she was doing might put her sister in more danger, she lifted her phone and punched in Mario’s number. “You better not be lying to me,” she warned. Nic Wilde might be bigger and stronger than her, but if he was in on this plot, she’d find a way to hurt him.
“I’m not.” His words were blunt. He didn’t add any explanation. He just expected her to believe him. Funnily enough, she did.
“What?” Mario said when he answered. “I told you I’d call you back when I found out anything about the statues.”
“Who was the other buyer?” she asked.
“What? What are you talking about, Constance? It’s Wilde. It has to be Wilde.”
“Just give me a name and address.” She was running out of patience. Every second that ticked by was a second that Abigail was scared and in the clutches of a crazy man.
“Jeremiah Dent in New York. But the guy is an antique-book dealer.”
“Keep looking,” she told him. She ended the call and slipped her phone into her back pocket. Nic was already talking to someone on his phone.
“Jeremiah Dent. A book dealer in New York. I need to know everything about him, and I need it now.”
How the heck had he heard that? The man must have acute hearing. She didn’t think Mario had talked that loud, and he hadn’t been on speaker.
Nic began to pace. He was so big he seemed to swallow up all the available space and air around him. The man had to be well over six and a half feet tall. A lot of tall men were skinny or had long legs that looked like spindles. Not Nic. No, he was proportioned perfectly. It really wasn’t fair for a man to be that good looking.
He paused, and his eyes widened. “You’re sure?” His head fell forward, and he rubbed the back of his neck. That didn’t bode well.
Her stomach dropped. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been counting on his help until it seemed as though he’d reached a dead end. But he’d tried to help her. That counted a lot in her book.
He nodded at something else the person on the other end said. “I’ll be careful. Just let me know if you find out anything else.” He tucked his phone away and took a deep breath before facing her.
“You couldn’t find out anything.” She rushed forward, her words tripping out of her mouth. “That’s okay. You tried. I appreciate that, but you have to leave now.”
“Constance.”
She shook her head. “No, you have to go. What if someone is watching? What if they know who you are and think I’m making a deal with you?” Her blood ran cold. “It could get my sister hurt.” She couldn’t even think the kidnapper would kill her sister.
“It’s too late for that.” His words struck her like a sucker punch.
“Why would you say that?” she whispered. A sense of inevitability came crushing down on her. She was a pawn in a game of chess being played by an unseen player.
“You’re in way over your head,” he began.
She shook her head, refusing to believe anything he was saying. “I’m not. All I have to do is wait for the call and hand the statues over to the kidnapper.”
She realized her mistake as soon as the word slipped out of her mouth. Nic went still and narrowed his gaze. “Statues? I thought you only had one.”
Shit, she’d really stepped in it this time. There was no point trying to backpedal. He wouldn’t believe her anyway. She shrugged and turned her attention to the black phone, willing it to ring.
“Constance.” The way he said her name gave her shivers. His voice was so deep and low it sounded intimate.
She hadn’t known the man for long, but she already knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Best to tell him the same thing she had the buyer. “I have a crystal one with emerald eyes, too.”
He stared hard at her as if assessing her honesty. Well, she was telling the truth, just not the entire truth. “I appreciate you trying to find out about Mr. Dent. Really I do, but you have to leave.”
“It’s too late for that,” he repeated. Nic sounded resigned, which she found totally confusing.
“It’s not too late. Maybe no one knows you’re here.” She had to believe that, had to believe his presence wouldn’t threaten her sister’s well-being.
“They know.”
That stopped her cold. “They?” She shook her head. “There’s only one man. The buyer.” She could handle a single person but not a group. “This was a crime of impulse, of passion.”
Nic shook his head and started toward her. She backed up and kept going until her back hit the living room wall. “I’m sorry, Constance.”
Now she was really scared. “What haven’t you told me?” She grabbed the front of his jacket and fisted her hands in the supple leather. “What do you know?” The longer he was quiet, the more terrified she became. “Tell me.”
“I’m going to do everything in my power to get your sister back,” he promised.
That was good. Not that she thought he’d be much help, but she appreciated the gesture. She also knew he was stalling. Her heart was racing, the pounding so hard her chest hurt. It was getting harder to breathe. She wanted her sister home, and she wanted her here right now.
“Nic.” She wanted to shake him but knew she wouldn’t be able to move him. He was too big, too solid, too strong.
“Jeremiah Dent isn’t working alone. He’s part of a secret society. The Knights of the Dragon. They believe certain artifacts have power and will help them enslave dragons.”
Constance stared up at Nic, wondering if he was putting her on. One look at his face assured her he was deadly serious. “You’re joking?” It had to be said. Who believed in secret societies, especially one that thought dragons were real?
“No joke. The Knights have your sister, and they’ll do whatever it takes to get those statues.”