Rose Quartz (9 page)

Johnny followed her in while Hank strode to the kitchen. He came back with the derringer tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

Johnny looked at the gun and sneered.

Correctly interpreting Johnny’s expression, Hank said, “From this range you’ll be just as dead as if I’d used your Glock.”

“That’s going on the assumption you get to it faster than I get to my Glock.”

Bella rolled her eyes. “Y’all, does this look like the OK Corral?”

Johnny gave Hank one last hard stare then sat down in one of the overstuffed apricot and latte tweed chairs. “Very nice. Very classy.”

He looked around and studied a large painting over the marble mantel of the fireplace. A garden scene set at the height of summer. Crimson poppies vied with blue larkspur. Tall stalks of hollyhock bloomed vigorously in the back and creamy-tinted foxglove was interspersed throughout. A Monarch butterfly flitted by a large white cat. Johnny frowned in concentration. “It’s similar but it’s not your work.”

“Very perceptive of you,” Bella said.

“Me, I can be perceptive.” He grimaced in what Bella was sure he felt passed for a smile.

“And the cat?”

Bella shook her head, “Not mine. The artist is Sarah Miles. The cat is named Monet and he belongs to Sarah.”

His gaze slid to Puss–Puss, who stared at him unblinkingly from his mistress’s lap.

“Artists and their cats.” Once again Johnny’s gaze drifted around the room. This time stopping on a small, ten-by-fourteen head portrait of Bella, her expression pensive as she gazed into the distance. It was framed in a wide muted gold frame. “Breathtaking,” Johnny breathed. “Who is the artist?”

Bella’s gaze softened as she looked at the portrait, her lips tipped up at the ends. “Sarah’s niece Meghan. She is an up-and-coming portrait painter. Mark my words, in the future you will hear her name mentioned often.”

Apparently tired of the chitchat Hank cut in. “Why are you here, Morelly?”

Johnny turned to Hank, his features hardened. “You put four of my best men in the hospital. I owe you for that.”

Hank’s stony gray eyes narrowed.

They were like gazing into a stormy sea, Bella thought then brought her mind back to the matter at hand.

“Any time, any place.” Hank’s voice was dangerously quiet.

Bella’d had enough. “Stop it. Just stop it.” She could feel fire shooting behind her eyes. Taking a deep, calming breath, she straightened and looked directly at Johnny Morelly. “Mr. Morelly, I must admit, what little respect I had for you disintegrated when you tried to kill me.”

Hank made a low growling sound in his throat and leaned forward.

Sensing the tension, Puss–Puss growled too.

Bella turned and looked at Hank. “Sugar, shut up.” She looked at Morelly. “What did you want to talk to us about?”

He nodded, his expression respectful. “We are at a stalemate. I have no desire to kill you but a favor was called in.” He shrugged. “I could not refuse.”

Hank leaned forward, his expression hard, his body rigid, “By whom?”

“An associate.”

“Is that associate’s name Victor Price?” Hank asked.

“No. But Price’s name was mentioned.” He swiveled toward Bella and looked at her amulet. “He wants a piece of your jewelry. Why, I wonder?”

Absently, Bella touched the amulet, making her beautiful complexion glow and Johnny’s eyes cross. Her breasts rose and fell as she shrugged. “I don’t pretend to know what goes on in the mind of a psychopath, sugar.”

Johnny blinked and shook his head as if trying to clear it. “I have a proposition.”

“Let’s hear it.” Hank’s voice was hard, his gray eyes, like chips of ice, drilled into Morelly.

Johnny turned to Hank. “You’ve drawn too much attention to me and my men. If anything happens to Ms. Tremaine the cops are going to be all over me. On the other hand I have my reputation to uphold. Without it I lose respect. I lose face.”

Hank leaned forward and said softly, “I’m all for rearranging your face.”

“Sugar.” Bella’s voice held a world of warning.

Hank leaned back an inch, his expression dangerous.

“Let’s just hear what Mr. Morelly has to say.”

“You leave town.” Johnny leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands over his flat stomach.

Bella blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You leave town. No one can expect me to waste you and steal your baubles if you aren’t here. My turf is Atlanta. Go back with your Yankee cowboy. I don’t operate up north.”

“I can’t do that. I have a show in three days.”

Johnny deliberated then stood. “Three days. Leave after the show.” He studied her amulet for a moment as if weighing his odds.

Hank’s hand dropped to the gun at his waist and Puss–Puss began to growl.

With a shrug, Johnny turned. “I’ll see myself out.” The door shut with a soft thump behind him.

Bella and Hank looked at each other as tense silence built between them. It was Bella who broke it. “I’m not leaving town with my tail between my legs.”

“It certainly won’t be with your tail between your legs but you are leaving town as soon as the show is over. Don’t fight me on this, Bella.”

“And if I do?”

“I’ll hog-tie you and toss you in the back of the truck like a calf at a rodeo.”

There was just something about his implacable expression that made her uneasy. She had always been able to get around men. Well, with the exception of cold-blooded killers like Johnny Morelly and psychopaths like Victor Price, she amended silently but something told her Hank McHenry was the exception to the rule. A maverick who’d never run with the herd.

She sighed in defeat. It was going to be a damn long three days.

* * * * *

Victor grabbed the bars of his cell and shoved against them. He threw back his head and howled out his fury, spittle forming at the corner of his mouth and dripping down his chin. Morelly had failed and he, Victor, was still in this dank, lightless gray cubicle.

He paused, arrested. His eyes lit with madness. Of course, Victoria!

Chapter Five

A string quartet, dressed in black, plucked their instruments in the corner of a large well-lit room. White-shirted waiters zigzagged between men in tuxedos and women dressed in long sleek dresses and wearing sparkling diamonds. They stood in groups studying Bella’s paintings. A mix of perfumes hung in the still air, some light and fruity, some heavy and overpowering.

It was the first night of her showing and the premier event of the season, held at the most prestigious gallery in Atlanta. In the beginning of her career, she had found the excitement overwhelming. Now all she could think about was getting home and out of her three-inch spike heels.

Bella glanced at Hank from under her lashes and bit down on her lips to keep from smiling. The man standing next to her looked as handsome as sin. Feet splayed, arms rigid and hands locked in front of him, he looked more like Secret Service than an art lover. He even wore dark glasses to hide his magnificent shiners. A close-clipped, partial beard camouflaged the bruises on his face.

A young woman in a fitted burgundy dress stepped out of the crowd and walked up to Bella. She pointed at the picture of Hank—now minus the green mustache—that hung in solitary splendor on the west wall. “I’d love to have that painting and the man in it.”

Bella narrowed her eyes, trying to place the young woman. Enlightenment dawned. “You’re the attendant on the Rome to Atlanta flight.”

“You remembered.” The woman smiled, pleased.

“And you are?” Bella tipped her head toward the airline employee.

“Ann Sullivan.”

“Ann Sullivan, meet Hank McHenry, the man in the portrait.”

Ann put her hand over her mouth then removed it. “Oops. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“How can any man be embarrassed about getting complimented by a lovely woman?” he said gallantly.

Bella blinked. The man was full of surprises. And she was pretty sure he hadn’t touched the champagne.

Ann eyed him speculatively, the look of an interested woman.

Bella nearly jumped out of her skin as Hank draped a casual arm around her shoulder. “Can I get either of you lovely ladies anything?”

“I’d like some champagne,” Ann said.

Hank looked at Bella.

“I’ll have a glass too.”

Ann watched him walk away. “He’s taken?”

Bella ground her teeth, fighting back the urge to say, “Don’t you think he’s a little old for you, dear?” Just as she opened her mouth a very handsome man with a charming smile bumped against her. “Forgive me,” he said as he steadied her.

Before she could respond he had moved on, weaving smoothly through the crowd.

“Wow, what a looker,” Ann said, her eyes glazing.

“Don’t drool, sugar,” Bella responded, her eyes on the handsome stranger as he headed toward the door. Automatically, she touched her left forearm and encountered bare flesh, her amulet gone.

Before she could yell for security he reached the door. As if attuned to her very thoughts, Hank turned his head. She motioned toward the door then began running through the crowd.

Hank glanced at her arm and his jaw tightened. He shoved the people in front of him out of the way and ran for the door.

Raising his hand above his head, he pointed to the man walking quickly out the door. Bella nodded then yelled, “Stop that man.” But the steady murmur of voices from the crowd, now packed like sardines, and the string quartet playing in the background, drowned her out.

Hank was through the crowd like a shot.

A man a head taller and shoulders like a bull stopped in front of her. She shoved hard. He swung around. “Hey.”

“Sorry, sugar, I’ve got to get through.”

“Oh, Ms. Tremaine, allow me.” Swinging his broad shoulders, he pushed through the crowd.

Tension mounted with every step. By the time she reached the doorway, she was almost dancing with impatience. “Thank you,” Bella threw over her shoulder as she bolted outside.

She looked to her right then her left and saw Hank disappearing around the corner. Thrusting forward, she took off after him. Her tight-fitting white silk dress hampered her. Stopping for a moment, she grabbed the hem and ripped, then took off, her stilettos clicking against the sidewalk. Even in three-inch heels her stride was long and firm. She might not diet worth a damn but she could run the mile in five minutes flat. Her arms moved like pistons as her muscled legs ate up the sidewalk. She turned down the block, swerving around two teenage girls and was just in time to see Hank turn another corner.

Her pencil-thin heel caught in a crack and she went down hard on the sidewalk, the shock of rough, textured concrete against her knees and palms bringing tears to her eyes.

“Here, miss, are you all right?” A hand gnarled with arthritis reached out to help her up. Tipping her head, she saw an old gentleman with a shock full of white hair bending over her. Taking his hand, she nearly pulled him down as he hauled her up.

She bent over and scooped off her heels. “Thanks.” Not waiting for his reply, she took off again, reveling in the sense of freedom and the cool feel of concrete against her feet.

The aches and pains in her knees and palms faded and a runner’s high kicked in. She barely noticed the occasional pebble she stepped on. She could just see Hank.

Dammit, he’d turned another corner. Her heart pumped as she pushed herself to catch up. She was a sprinter—not much of a long-distance runner. She focused on her amulet and surged forward.

Where had Hank gone? She looked around as she ran. Fewer and fewer people were on the street. They were heading into the less savory area of town. She tried to ignore the stitch in her side. One step at a time, she gained on Hank and the thief who had her amulet. Then Hank disappeared from view.

“Dammit,” she muttered, panting for breath. As she got closer, she saw a dark alley to her left. That had to be where he’d gone. Her step slowed. Apprehension traveled her spine like a spider crawling over her skin. Why, oh why, a dark alley? She didn’t like dark alleys. She especially didn’t like them in Atlanta, the city that averaged over two thousand violent crimes a year.

Her breasts rose and fell as she took a deep breath. Was she a woman or a mouse? Stepping into the alley, she began to jog, looking from left to right. Her eyes watered and she almost gagged. The scents of refuse, human sweat and excrement layered the warm night air.

“Where are you, Hank?” she whispered under her breath, clutching her shoes. They were the only weapon she had. Bella winced as she stepped on something sharp but kept going.

She reached the center of the alley when a figure stepped out of the shadows. Her blood chilled and the hairs on the back of her neck rose. It wasn’t Hank. She sucked in her breath and smelled her own fear. The man started toward her, a swagger to his step. She spun around into the arms of a stringy-haired, hard-muscled white male.

“Hi, honey, how’s tricks?” His breath reeked of alcohol and spicy food.

She might be quaking like blancmange inside but she wasn’t about to let this juvie know it. “Sugar, I’m going to give you three seconds to get your hands off me.” Her voice was as cold as ice.

He laughed and tightened his grip. “Or what?”

“Or this.” Bringing up her knee hard against his groin, she stabbed him in the neck with one of her stilettos. He crumpled to the ground like a balloon without helium.

Before she had time to savor her victory, she was swung around and a fist connected with her jaw. As she fell, her head hit something sharp and hard. She saw stars then everything went black.

Voices came from a long way off. How long had she lain here—seconds, minutes? She shuddered as a hot, clammy hand squeezed her thigh. “I say we do her here.”

“No, man, we’ll take her back to my place then we can drag this out as long as we want. I’m already getting hot. Even with all that blood on her you can tell she’s a looker. A little old but what the hell.”

“Easy for you to say. The only thing I’ll be able to do is use her for a punching bag. I hope she didn’t permanently injure me. Besides, how do we get her out of here?”

Good point. She didn’t think she was capable of lifting her head, much less walking.

“We drag her out. Where we are going no one’s going to ask no questions.”

Oh great
.

In the distance, she could hear sirens screaming.
I hope to hell they are coming for me
. They got closer then drew away, the police cars racing down the street.

Holy Mary
,
Mother of God
,
help me now in my hour of need
.

She bit back a moan as hard arms yanked her to her feet.

“Come on, bitch.”

She forced open her heavy lids, wondering if she had a concussion. Her head felt ready to split in half. The man who’d just put her in the canine category was black with a pitted face and dreadlocks. He grabbed one arm and his friend the other and began to drag her out of the alley.

Rocks and what felt like glass brushed along the tops of her feet. She tried to stand up to avoid being dragged but she couldn’t. She could barely keep her eyes open.

They stopped and her head fell forward. A dimly lit lamp from the street threw a dusky yellow glow into the alley.

“Put her down and back off or I swear you are going to live to regret it.”

Hank! Through the waves of nausea washing over her she could hear the dark, dangerous tenor in his voice.

She lifted her head, her vision blurred. “Did you get it?” she whispered but her voice was no more than a breath on the wind. Two Hanks stood in front of her, both looking like Zeus. A much disheveled Zeus. His shirttail was out of his pants and his jacket was torn.

“And who do you think is going to hurt us, old man?” the black male sneered. “Looks like someone’s already had a go at you.”

Hank’s feet were splayed and even through the haze of her blurred vision she could see the light of battle shining in his eyes. He motioned with his hands. “Come to papa, boys. Or are you afraid of an old man?” he sneered.

Both men released her at the same time. Bella dropped to the ground like a rag doll with just enough presence of mind to cradle her head as she fell. She whimpered as her arms hit the pavement, sending a dull tremor into her throbbing skull.

Through the mist of pain she forced open her eyes. All three men were blurred and had a tendency to double but even with her disability Hank’s persona looked sleeker and more fit which she wouldn’t have thought possible.

The black man pulled out a knife. “Still think you can take me, old man?”

Both Hanks drew back their lips in a predatory smile, showing large, even, white teeth. Bella moved her head to the right and the two Hanks merged into one. Thank the gods.

A streak of silver flashed as the knife sailed through the air. Hank shifted and the knife went flying by him. The two men closed in from different directions. He crouched, waiting.

Bella watched, helpless.

When the two men rushed him, he reached out, grabbed them each by the nape of their necks and knocked their heads together. The sharp crack made Bella wince and cradle her own aching head.

The men went down without a sound.

Hank ran to her side and dropped to one knee. “Bella,” he said, his voice hoarse with anxiety.

“Amulet,” she whispered.

“I’ve got it, honey.”

She gave him a loopy smile. He kept spinning toward her then away from her. “My hero,” she said. She was going to make a joke and tell him she could have taken them but she lost her train of thought. She tried to raise her hand to pat his cheek but it fell limply to her side. The world tipped then turned black.

“Wake up, Bella. Come on, ole girl.” The voice came from a long way off. Closer, an irregular thumping sounded in her ear. The scent of blood and sweat mingled with the musky scent of man and aftershave.

Arms around her tightened, as memory tried to slither in through the black wall of oblivion. “Where’s a cop when you need one?” Hank muttered.

He gave a tiny jiggle of his arms that sent the hammers hitting against her head pounding.

She moaned.

“I’m sorry, Bella, but you need to open your eyes.”

Someone must have stuck a sticky, weighted substance on them because she just couldn’t do it.

“Come on, woman. Show me how tough you Southerners really are. No wonder you lost the war.” The sneer in his voice angered her enough to pry one eyelid halfway up.

“That’s my girl. Come on, Bella.”

“A. I’m not a girl I’m a woman. B. I’m not your girl,” she meant to say but realized the words that had formed in her mind had never passed her lips.

“Bella, honey, we are almost to the truck. Thank god I couldn’t get a parking spot close to the gallery. Come on, honey. Show some grit. Open those big beautiful blue eyes.”

A police car, its sirens blasting, came screaming to a stop. The flashing blue light sent lasers of pain through Bella’s head. She closed her eyes and turned her heavy head into Hank’s shoulder.