The Greater of Two Evils by Jane Thornley

Author:Jane Thornley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Knitting--fiction, International Crime--Fiction, Adventure suspense series, Capers, Heists
Publisher: Jane Thornley
Published: 2016-11-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

“I’ll have the blueprints in hand by tomorrow. I hope you’re pleased,” I said, sliding in beside Arkhangelsky. He stared at me with narrowed eyes as the car pulled away from the curb. “What?” I said. Did he somehow realize the phones had been switched? He hadn’t searched my bag yet so how could he?

“Fox suspicious. You do not act like lover,” he said.

“I don’t? I mean, I think I do—knitting my boyfriend socks. How smitten is that?”

“He hears no words of passion.”

“I called you ‘Yaggie’.”

“Pha!” He threw one hand up in disgust. “What is ‘Yaggie’? Foolish, no passion. Yaggie like name of dog. Also, I say you show me place and walk around.”

“I did walk around,” I said, panic increasing. “The camera shows rare paintings and sculptures worth thousands. I even asked to see his icon collection. Surely you saw all that?”

“You did not get into rooms.”

“I tried.”

“Try is not enough. Where is Roman collection, the gold jewelry?”

“How should I know—Having Castle, maybe?”

“Your job to find out. You find out things. Sources say he keeps in London house. Pass over camera.”

“Pardon?” I stared at him uncomprehending.

“The necklace—pass over.”

I fumbled with the intricate clasp until he shoved my head forward and unfastened it himself. Pulling back, I saw him holding the Faberge pendent before his eyes. “I watch again, but will see nothing new. You failed.”

“I didn’t fail. I couldn’t have. I did everything you asked: got you into the ball, arranged for the blueprints—everything.”

“Not everything. I ask for pictures inside house; I ask you act like girlfriend. You do not behave like girlfriend, you do not give pictures of house.” He flipped open the laptop sitting on his thighs and turned the screen to face me.

I swallowed hard. “No, please, no.”

Rena was sitting wrapped in a blanket on a steel chair inside her concrete cube. I searched frantically for details of her cage but saw nothing.

“Please don’t hurt her.”

“You fail, Rena suffers.” He spoke into his phone. A man strode into the room, Parka Boy from the garage. Rena turned as he entered, and was just about to rise, when he shoved her back down and slapped her hard across the face.

“No!” I cried.

The man wrenched the blanket from Rena’s shoulders and struck her again, knocking her sideways off the chair.

I screamed. “Stop it! Tell him to stop! I’ll do anything you say! I’ll try harder! Please!”

Arkhangelsky barked an order into his phone and the man backed away, leaving Rena climbing to her feet, spewing a stream of Italian. Rena wouldn’t beg. She’d never beg, unless it was to protect another. She’d never fail, either. Whether her shivering was in outrage or pain or fear, I couldn’t tell, but I trembled in rage. And guilt.

“Let me speak to her, just one word,” I cried.

Arkhangelsky slammed the screen closed. “No. Tomorrow you film Fox collections or Rena suffers more.”

“You’re such a bastard,” I said. “The only passion you provoke is hate.”

He grabbed my coat collar and yanked me closer.

“Go on, hit me,” I said.

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