Beauty & the Beast: Vendetta

  He hung up.

  * * *

  Heather gasped as ice water hit her in the face. Her hair, face, and front were drenched and as she sputtered, a harsh white light blinded her. When she jerked against the zip-ties, needle-sharp pains sliced through the numbness in her arms and legs. She choked back a cry of agony and fought not to panic.

  “Hello.” The light receded and as Heather blinked, the figure holding the flashlight wobbled into focus. It was the Russian woman. Svetlana. She was wearing a sweatshirt and black leggings, and her hair was pulled back. She wore no makeup and Heather was surprised to see how young she looked. Her age, maybe. And naturally pretty. Heather was in some kind of cell, like in a prison, with vertical metal bars. She could see stacks of boxes. Something stank like sewer water. A creature chittered in the dark.

  Rat, she thought, gooseflesh rising along her arms. She tried to lift her legs off the ground but they were restrained against the chair.

  “Please untie me,” Heather said. “This hurts so much and I’ve already sworn I won’t run away.”

  “Shut up.” Svetlana aimed the flashlight in her eyes again. “Now, listen. Where is jacket? Your sister does not have. We have sent new people back to apartment. If they find, I shoot you. Through your eye. For lies.”

  “What?” Heather cried. “Are you kidding?”

  Her answer was a sharp slap across her face. Her head snapped back. Yellow dots exploded behind her eyelids and she heaved, sick to her stomach. Svetlana threw more water at her. Heather was so dizzy that for a moment she thought she’d fallen sideways again.

  “Do I seem joking? Where is jacket?”

  “She said she was going to pack it!” Heather cried. “We were talking about it because she was worried about getting my rash, and Vincent told her it was fine. If she left it behind I’m sorry! I had it but I gave it back to her!”

  “You were Suresh girlfriend. He tell you about chip.”

  “No!” She winced, pain and fear firing every synapse. She was shaking so hard her ribs ached as if they would crack. She didn’t want to know about any of this. The less she knew, the better. If she knew too much, they’d kill her.

  “Wait,” she said, as Svetlana prepared to hit her again. “Wait. She packed it. Of course she doesn’t have it.” She heard herself. She had one more chance not to lead these people to Cat. But Cat was her only hope, her lifeline. And there was Vincent, her beast brother-in-law. He’d tear these people apart—literally—if they came after him and Cat.

  “What you are saying?” Svetlana demanded. “Packing is in suitcase! Suitcase is in hotel room! Chip is not there!”

  Heather nodded, trying to think straight. It felt so wrong to tell her. But she couldn’t figure out what else to do.

  “There was a special s-s-s-service.” Terrified, cold and wet, she was stammering. “Please, can’t you untie me? I’ll tell you. It hurts s-so much I can’t even think.”

  The woman frowned. “Ilya will see.”

  “S-so? Is he the boss of you?” Despite the horror she had witnessed, Heather had had the presence of mind to watch her captors. They didn’t like each other. Each was vying for control.

  Svetlana balled a fist and Heather braced herself for a lot of pain. But the punch did not come. Instead, Svetlana left her alone. What if she had gone to get a gun? What if she was going to shoot her through the eye here?

  Oh, God, oh, my God. Heather went blind with panic. She jerked on the zip-ties and squeezed back hot tears.

  The woman returned. She was holding a knife and as before, Svetlana cut the tie that bound her wrists together. The pain as the blood rushed back into her constricted hands and fingers was almost more than she could bear. She held her hands together, then tried to make herself rub them.

  “Okay, I did for you,” Svetlana snapped. “Talk.”

  Heather wanted to ask her to free her legs, too, but she didn’t want to piss Svetlana off. But it was hard work to form words.

  “They sent their luggage ahead,” she said. Svetlana scowled at her. Maybe she didn’t understand. Heather tried again. “The cruise ship company took their suitcases. They sent them to Los Angeles. To put on the ship.”

  Understanding dawned. Svetlana closed her eyes slowly as if in frustration.

  Try to grab the knife, Heather told herself, staring at it. She won’t expect it. Go for it.

  But she couldn’t make herself do it. She was paralyzed, both with fear and the trauma of the long hours in restraints. Her legs were still tied to the chair. And how much damage could she do with a knife? Ilya was probably somewhere around here. Svetlana would yell for him. And tell him to bring a gun.

  “Okay, good, Heather Chandler,” Svetlana said. She turned to go and started walking out of the cell.

  The door was open all this time, Heather thought. If I hadn’t been tied up, I could have made a run for it.

  “Please, Svetlana, my legs?”

  Svetlana stopped walking. She hesitated for a beat. “Nyet,” she replied without looking at Cat. Then she shut the cell door behind herself.

  “Cat, I’m sorry,” Heather whispered.

  Come back for me…

  * * *

  “You understand what I am saying, Miguel,” Anatoly said. He had removed the SIM card from his phone and inserted a fresh one to place this call. He had stacks, piles of SIM cards and throwaway phones. It was nine a.m. in London now. Why did everything move so slowly every time there was need for urgency?

  “Sí, Anatoly. No worries. You know what I can do. I have lots of people in L.A. for this kind of thing. I’ve done many jobs like this before. Successfully. I’ll get my people aboard and no one will know who they are.”

  “No one suspicious. The woman is a police detective.”

  “They’ll melt into the ship’s population. No one will realize they’re my operatives. I swear it.”

  Anatoly tried to picture the kind of people Miguel Escalante would send. Not gangbangers, that was certain. Miguel was a wealthy, classy Angeleno. He had moved himself out of the barrio early in life, become educated, moved in high circles. Yet no dirtier street fighter walked the alleys of East Los Angeles.

  If Anatoly were aboard the Sea Majesty himself, would he be able to identify Escalante’s soldiers?

  “Very well,” Anatoly said. “Do it.”

  “Por favor, put the deposit in my offshore account.”

  Anatoly could feel himself relaxing. Just a little, but it was a welcome respite from all the tension. In his early years, he had questioned his suitability for this path in life. In the movies, those who operated outside the law were portrayed either as depraved monsters or heartless sociopaths. He was neither. He was a normal person, and just like any other normal person, he got nervous when business wasn’t going well. Even billionaires bit their nails when the stock market tanked.

  But he had more faith in the individual to whom he was speaking than anyone in his own organization, sad to say. Faith, however, was not the same as trust.

  “By the way, amigo, I assume you have not been contacted by anyone else,” he said slowly, “for any reason, about the Sea Majesty.”

  “No, and if I am, I will explain to him—or her—that I am unable to be of service.”

  Like hell you will.

  Yes, faith was not the same as trust. The best strategy he could employ was to diminish the value of the chip to anyone but himself. No one else need wonder why he wanted it. Even though, of course, any good businessperson would.

  “Once we hang up, I’ll move them in. And I won’t call until I have results,” Escalante continued.

  At last. Someone who is competent.

  “Good.” Anatoly disconnected. He clicked a button on his laptop computer and sent the money to the proper account. Done.

  He took the incoming call from Svetlana.

  “If we don’t untie her legs, she may lose them. There is no circulation,” Svetlana said. “She may die.”

  They both a
lready knew she was going to die. It was just a matter of timing. “Okay. Our business may take a while. Untie her, but watch her.”

  “She’s harmless. But of course I will.”

  You’d better.

  Anatoly would breathe easier once that stupid little idiot was dead. Stupid people were more unpredictable than smart ones. Anyone who tried to double-cross him was pretty stupid. And no one was harmless.

  No one.

  CHAPTER TEN

  JT groaned and turned over. He nudged Tess with his elbow.

  “You know the rule,” he mumbled. “You wake her, you walk her.”

  Princess Mochi yipped in agreement. Without opening his eyes, JT grimaced. Mochi understood a few words, and one of them was W-A-L-K. You were supposed to spell it or say something like “that thing she likes to do” or else there would be no peace in New York City until one of her human minions got up, got her leash, and got going.

  “Well, you woke her up.” Tess was barely coherent. She sure was sleeping a lot. When they’d gone to bed last night, she’d looked really tired.

  “I didn’t wake her up,” JT said. “You’re the one who used the bathroom.” She sure was going a lot. Maybe she was sick.

  Tess grunted. “You got up after that to drink some orange juice. I heard you. It was like five minutes ago.”

  Whoops. He hadn’t realized she’d been awake. But wait, she’d gone again right after that. “Yeah, but then—”

  “Yip, yip, yip!” Mochi demanded.

  They both sat up and slung their legs over opposite sides of the bed. Both of them had on T-shirts and underwear. It was easier that way, so they could slide on more clothes and take Her Royal Highness outside at a moment’s notice.

  This was a stupid argument. He was not going to bicker with Tess over who had to walk a three-pound dog.

  “I’ll do it,” he said. “You need your beauty rest.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Tess snapped.

  He raised his brows. Why was she taking offense when he was letting her off the hook? She didn’t want to get up, he didn’t want to get up. Jeez, cranky. Had she contracted rabies or something?

  “It means nothing. It means that I’m trying to be nice to you.” Her face shifted, but not in a good way. He tried again. “You just looked tired when we went to bed.”

  Without having sex, he added silently. Tess had declared she just couldn’t do it in front of their miniscule houseguest. So did that mean he was cut off for a week?

  Glowering, Tess stood and lifted her sneakers off the nightstand. She had moved all her shoes up so high a mastiff couldn’t have reached them. She said, “I can’t go back to sleep. I’ll take her out.”

  JT zipped up his jeans. “Here’s a thought. Why don’t we both take her? And do something together like we used to?”

  Tess shrugged. “Okay.”

  Her lack of enthusiasm wounded him. While she put on her sneakers, he crouched over the wriggling pup and attached her leash to her collar. For his trouble, Mochi tried to bite him. He gently held her muzzle.

  “Grrr, grrr, grrr,” Mochi said, obviously dog-speak for “thank you.” So very not.

  “I’m ready,” Tess grumped.

  We just started taking care of Princess Mochi. How are we going to last a week? God, what if Vincent and Cat have a kid and ask us to babysit? We’d probably kill each other.

  JT’s blood ran cold.

  * * *

  “Wow,” Cat murmured. “It’s so big.”

  “Enormous,” Vincent agreed.

  The Sea Majesty had been billed as “fifteen decks of aloha, elegance, and fun.” It would carry nearly two thousand passengers. Back in New York, Cat had studied all the images in the downloads about their cruise, but until they’d actually arrived at the cruise lines hub at the Port of Los Angeles, located in the town of San Pedro, she hadn’t had a handle on the scale of the ship. It was like a small floating city rising high above the dock, topped by a control tower as tall as three billboards. Aboard, the walls were painted in beautiful murals of coral, blue, white, and silver and washed with golden California sunlight. Wood and brass gleamed everywhere. Many of the other passengers were wearing aloha shirts and flowered dresses. Vincent had on a loose light blue silk shirt and khaki pants, and Cat was wearing a white shell top, dark blue linen walking shorts, and matching blue wedges. Her straw purse, a gift from Heather, was tiny.

  “Three pools, hot tubs, a spa, a dozen restaurants, and a casino,” Vincent said happily. “Are you feeling lucky?”

  “Oh, yes. Every minute of every day.”

  Hand in hand, they joined the line of check-ins boarding the Sea Majesty. Hawaiian slack-key guitar music was playing and as each passenger stepped onto the ship, a woman dressed in a coral-colored sheath and a necklace of darker coral placed a lei over his or her head and said, “Aloha. Welcome to your journey to paradise.” It sounded corny but Cat didn’t care. She’d been looking forward to this cruise for months. Last night’s bump in the road had only served to underscore just how badly she needed a vacation.

  At their hotel last night, it had been too good to be true to assume they wouldn’t get a visit from LAPD before they went to bed, and sure enough, after their whirlpool soak, one Sergeant Gutierrez had taken their statements and double-checked to make sure they hadn’t discovered that something was missing. When Cat had revealed that she was NYPD, he’d been a bit more forthcoming about the burglaries, even though there wasn’t much to tell: They suspected that it was some local teenage rich kids who made a game out of breaking into homes and hotels in the area on a dare.

  “We can’t prove it yet,” he continued, and he sighed. “Even if we get something ironclad, it might just go away.”

  Cat lifted a brow. “Let me guess. Rich kids have rich parents.”

  “Rich parents with publicists,” he affirmed. “Those movie stars you see on the big screen? They’re too busy being famous to raise their kids. The kids notice. Act up to get attention. And it still doesn’t work.”

  Ouch. She thought about Mitchell Samosa. What if he’d already had kids of his own, who learned of his tryst because of this stunt?

  Back on the Sea Majesty, Vincent gave her hand a squeeze. “You’re off duty,” he reminded her. “You’re still thinking about the break-in, right?”

  She flushed. “Is it that obvious?” She moved her shoulders. “There. I’m letting it go.” She nodded. “It’s gone.” Wrinkled her nose. “Almost.”

  Soon there was just one passenger in front of Vincent and Cat, a man in a black business suit wearing a pair of sunglasses. He looked distinctly out of place, and reminded Cat of one of the many FBI agents she’d dealt with since her life with Vincent had begun. Curious, she watched him accept his lei but wave away the offer to have his photograph taken in front of a backdrop of curving palms framing a beautiful Hawaiian sunset.

  “Ready to be aloha’ed?” Vincent asked her. His eyes glittered mischievously.

  “So is that what we’re calling it these days?” she replied, snuggling up against him.

  Once upon a time, their secret world had consisted of lies, sneaking, and stolen moments. Now it was made of shared memories, in-jokes, and code words. They had traded the thrill of danger for the excitement of building a life together—one rooted in true love.

  “I can’t wait to aloha with you in our cabin,” Cat whispered.

  Then, as the woman in the sheath prepared to put the sweet-smelling lei over Cat’s head, she looked over at Vincent and said, “Wait. I think you two need to be photographed together. I just can’t imagine one without the other.”

  Cat glanced in surprise at Vincent and he smiled and shrugged good-naturedly, moving up beside her. The woman, whose nametag proclaimed her “DANA CUSHING, CRUISE DIRECTOR,” arranged Cat’s lei on her shoulders, then stood on tiptoe in an attempt to do the same to Vincent. He bent down and lowered his head.

  “Is this by chance your honeymoon?” the woman aske
d. “You’re both just glowing.”

  “Actually, yes,” Cat said. “We’ve been married for a while, but we had trouble getting away.”

  The woman held up a cautioning finger. “Words like ‘trouble’ are not to be spoken aboard your floating paradise. We’re here to melt your cares away, and cater to your every whim.” She led them to the scenic backdrop. “Put your arms around her. Good. Smile at each other.” She half-turned her head and waved at a man dressed in a coral flowered shirt and navy blue trousers. He stood behind a small camera attached to a tripod.

  “Kimo, can you get them both in? I’m sorry. I mean, Cecilio? We had a last-minute substitution for our photographer,” she told Vincent and Cat.

  “You two look great.” Cecilio nodded at them and depressed a button on his camera. “Fantastic.”

  “Your pictures will be displayed in the Majestic Memories shop every afternoon. Pick the ones you want and they’ll be added to your room charges,” Dana told them.

  “Thank you,” Cat said. As they made way for the next guest’s Kodak moment, she added under her breath, “We’re going to have to watch it. It looks like paradise could get expensive.”

  His eyes gleamed as he gazed down at her. “No, Mrs. Keller,” he said softly. “Paradise is free.”

  “Aloha.” A man balancing a stack of colorful folders on top of a clipboard smiled at the two of them. His nametag said ROBERTO. “The Kellers, am I right?”

  “You are,” Vincent said. “We’re in stateroom twenty-one on the Maui deck.”

  “Not anymore,” Roberto shot back. “You’ve been upgraded to the honeymoon suite, compliments of the Sea Majesty. It’s number one, Kuuipo Deck. Kuuipo means sweetheart in Hawaiian.” He smiled and lifted the top folder off the stack. “Your passkey swipe cards, maps, and information are here. Your data is encoded onto your swipe cards, but if you lose one, please let us know right away.”

  “Upgraded?” Cat echoed. She slid a glance toward Vincent. “Did you do this? Champagne, roses…?”

  “No.” He turned to Roberto. “Do you know who informed you that this is our honeymoon?”