Collector's Item (14 page)

When a dark SUV backed into view and into the alley, Peyton tensed. “Stop.”

The image froze and Peyton strained to read the backward lettering on the license plate. He ground his teeth. “I think it begins with ‘FSG’ but it’s too blurry to be sure. The techs’ll have to pull it.”

From beneath the counter came a muffled “whadja expect” and Peyton growled. Klaussner’s head popped up over the counter, his eyes wide.

Peyton gave the man his best poker face. “Keep rolling it backward.”

With an audible gulp, Klaussner nodded and disappeared behind the counter.

The headlights on the SUV went out and the doors opened. Torne climbed out of the driver’s side and backed toward the rear of the SUV. A woman Peyton thought looked vaguely familiar got out of the passenger side.

Ham leaned closer to the screen. “Well, I’ll be. That’s Patricia Tercelon.”

Peyton snorted. So that was KT’s missing aunt. Well, she didn’t look like a captive. What
did
she look like was a partner to kidnapping. A willing partner.

Patricia Tercelon opened the rear passenger door and then stepped around it to bend inside. Torne joined her and then they straightened, closed the door and backed down the alley supporting a staggering KT.

Peyton’s pulse picked up at the blurry image of KT, her head lolling, stumbling between Torne and the woman. Max surged forward, his fury an added pressure behind Peyton’s eyes. His hands curled into fists on the counter.

“Freeze it!” he growled and the tape stopped again.

Chapter Fourteen

“Drugged, but at least she’s alive,” Ham said. He leaned over the counter to speak to the store owner. “I want that tape.”

“I’ve only got two tapes for this thing,” Klaussner whined.

“Then I guess you’ll have to buy another one.”

The sound of a long-suffering sigh rose from behind the counter. “Sure.” There were several clicks and whirs and then Klaussner stood up, a small cassette in his hand. He held onto it for a moment. “Will I get it back?”

Peyton caught a glimpse of something akin to anticipation in the man’s eye and his leash on his temper frayed. He launched himself forward and Klaussner backpedaled into the display behind him.

Cigarette cartons and snuff packages rustled and shuddered from the impact, several tumbled to the floor. The man paid no attention to his merchandise, his terrified gaze fastened on Peyton.

Peyton’s fingers curled around the far edge of the counter and Klaussner all but went cross-eyed trying to watch Peyton’s face and his hands at the same time. He gave up and shot a look at Ham who stood back, arms crossed over his chest.

“Hey man!” Klaussner pointed a shaking finger at Peyton. “Make him back off. Don’t let him go all hairy on me.”

Peyton growled again, letting the sound rumble through his chest until the man actually whimpered. “If so much as a single frame of that tape turns up on the web or newsstands, you’ll really find out what happens if I get hairy. Do you understand?”

Klaussner swallowed and nodded. “All I meant is it’s an old unit and the tapes’re hard to find. That’s all.”

Ham stepped forward and clamped his hand on Peyton’s shoulder. “Easy.” His fingers tightened in warning.

Peyton restrained the urge to shrug off Ham’s grip and eased back from the counter. When Peyton was back on his side of the counter, Klaussner took a shuddering breath.

Ham held out his hand to the store owner. “I understand your concern sir, but right now, that’s evidence. Check with the precinct. They’ll let you know when you can pick it up.”

Klaussner dropped the cassette into Ham’s hand never allowing his gaze to stray from Peyton. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Peyton turned and stalked out, Ham right behind him. Anton stood talking to one of the officers, but stopped as soon as Ham and Peyton stepped outside. He intercepted them in the middle of the street, but, with a brief nod to Anton, Ham continued toward a policeman standing beside a cruiser.

Peyton marveled at Anton’s restraint. If he’d been in Anton’s shoes, Peyton would’ve grabbed Ham’s arm and demanded to know what was going on. As it was, Anton watched Ham confer with the policeman for a moment before looking at Peyton.

“Get anything?”

“Video of Torne’s car. License plate number was too blurry to read. All I got was a partial. Ham’s letting them know, but the techs should be able to clean it up and get the full plate number.”

Peyton jerked his head toward Anton’s car. They walked to the car and stopped beside the rear door. Anton’s driver opened the door and stood waiting.

Peyton eyed the driver and then looked at Anton. “Listen, another thing. Looks like Patricia Tercelon’s in this with Torne. She was helping him get KT into the second vehicle.”

Anton’s growl raised the hair along Peyton’s arms and back of his neck. KT’s father took a deep breath and the rush of angry energy eased down to a roiling simmer.

“If anything happens to KT, I’ll...” Anton stopped himself.

Peyton finished it for him. “I’ll take care of Torne and Patricia. You have my word.”

Anton’s eyes flickered from Peyton to the police and Ham and back again. Peyton shook his head. “My word. Sir.”

The anger dwindled further and Anton nodded.

“They’re probably out of the city already,” Peyton said, as if the short exchange never happened. He took a breath. “Once they leave the city, it’s a crap shoot.”

Ham joined them at the car. “They’re searching the traffic cams and tapes. We should have a route pretty quickly.”

Peyton looked at Ham. “Torne’s heading out of the country. To do that, he’s gotta have a plane.”

Ham frowned. “All the airports are being watched, private included.”

“Not the one he’s gonna use. I guarantee it.” Peyton looked at Anton and gestured to the door of the limo. “Sir, I suggest you use your resources to light a fire under the locals. We need that plate number.”

Anton looked at the open door and then back to Peyton. “And what will you be doing?”

Peyton glanced at Ham. “We’re gonna go see a man about a plane.”

****

Benny Lofland’s shop stood on a prestigious block of SoHo among upscale boutiques and restaurants. Dark-stained wood framed a display window with the single word “Lofland’s” etched in the glass in foot-tall letters. Spots lit the items in the display: an elaborate tea set arranged on a table that looked too fragile to support it, a huge framed still-life of over-ripe fruit and cheeses on a simple black metal easel, and a four-foot tall green oriental vase.

When Peyton pushed open the door, classical music flowed out to greet him while a discreet chime sounded in the rear of the building. The door swung shut behind him, soundless despite its weight. Two of the exposed brick walls supported an eclectic array of paintings of all sizes and styles from modern to classical. A massive wooden bar, complete with brass boot rail, held pride of place on the third wall and served as the reception desk where a statuesque brunette held court.

Cassandra Jones. The first time Peyton met Benny’s receptionist/assistant, Peyton recognized her as the predator she was. Though she was 100% human, with that body and whisky-kissed voice, Cassandra Jones all but screamed “man-eater.” A dare that most red-blooded males would find irresistible; Peyton just found her overstated. However, he never insulted an alpha in her own territory.

“Welcome back to Lofland’s, Mister Wyndham,” Cassandra said as she slipped from behind the bar and flowed across the showroom. “Always a pleasure to see you.”

Wyndham was one of Peyton’s aliases. The high-brow name always tickled his mid-western sense of humor. He knew he was a little under-dressed for the persona he had developed for “Mr. Wyndham,” but Cassandra pretended not to notice.

He rolled out his British accent. “Good afternoon, Cassandra,” he said, taking her pro-offered hand in his and lifting it to his lips. “And, as always, the pleasure is entirely mine.”

Her fingers tightened on his for just a moment. Her eyelashes brushed her cheeks above a Mona Lisa smile and then swept back up to frame emerald green eyes. Peyton smiled in return and let her fingers slip from his.

He wondered, for the umpteenth time, what was her natural eye color? She always wore contacts that matched her outfits; today, an elegant jade green suit with a frilly beige blouse.

A professional through and through, Cassandra gave no sign of the offer tendered, nor disappointment at Peyton’s lack of response. She did a half-turn to gesture to the rear of the store.

“Mr. Lofland is just finishing a private transaction. If you’ll wait in the Americus Salon, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Peyton had no doubt Benny had known the instant he stepped through the door, but he nodded. “I know I don’t have an appointment, but I’m a bit anxious about a commission I gave Mr. Lofland.”

Cassandra smiled. “I understand. If you’ll follow me.” She completed her turn and he followed her swaying figure toward a door tucked behind a shoji screen.

She held the door to let him enter the private show room. As the name suggested, this one featured an Americana theme. A war-torn flag sandwiched between massive plates of glass hung on the wall opposite the door, above a heavy black walnut Federal sideboard. Peyton recognized the style because his aunt had one just like it in her dining room. An elaborate wooden dining room table with seating for twenty served as the conference table.

Cassandra moved to a tall wooden pie safe and pulled open the doors to display a fully stocked bar. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Tonic water’ll be fine.” Peyton took a seat at the table, opposite the door, the sideboard and flag at his back.

Cassandra carried a glass and a single-serving size bottle back to place on the table in front of Peyton. She twisted the cap off the bottle and leaned forward to pour the liquid in the cup. Her perfume, a heavy, spicy scent, swept over Peyton. She tipped the bottle upright and paused to look directly into his eyes. “Can I do anything else for you, Mr. Wyndham?”

Peyton gave her a suitably regretful smile. “I don’t think so, Cassandra.”

She set the bottle on the table and smiled, her gaze lingering on his lips. “Very well.” She sauntered to the door and then stopped, her hand on the doorknob. She looked over one shoulder. “You will let me know if you change your mind?”

Peyton lifted the glass to salute her with a smile. “Of course.”

She nodded and slipped through the door, leaving him alone with his drink.

Chapter Fifteen

Peyton lifted the glass and gave a tiny sniff. Nothing but tonic. Though he had seen her open the bottle, he knew the glass could have been treated with something. He really had no reason to suspect Benny, but a little caution went a very long way to keeping Peyton’s skin intact.

He took a tiny sip, let it float on his tongue and then, satisfied, swallowed. He set the glass down at the sound of the door handle being turned.

The door opened again and Benny Lofland stepped inside, his hand extended as he crossed the room. In his mock turtleneck and sport coat, he might have been coming from an uptown soiree. The close-cropped salt and pepper hair contradicted the youthful, unlined face and trim athletic figure. Benny seemed as timeless as the antiques he sold.

“Mr. Wyndham, I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” The door swung shut slowly behind him.

Peyton rose to shake Benny’s hand across the table. “Ms. Jones took good care of me.”

Benny’s eyebrows rose and fell once as he shook Peyton’s hand. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“She’s quite an asset to your organization,” Peyton said as they took their seats, facing each other across the polished surface of the table. The door clicked shut.

Benny sat back. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. I was just following up on that item you asked about.”

“I’m in a bit of a rush,” Peyton said. “Leaving the country can create so many challenges.”

A low buzzing sound came from Benny’s chest.

“I understand.” Benny slipped his hand into the pocket of his coat. The movement was abnormally slow, his gaze locked on Peyton as if to say, “See? Nothing threatening here.”

Peyton maintained a casual pose, though his muscles tensed. Why did he feel like Benny was up to something? Max paced in the back of Peyton’s consciousness, and Peyton gave a little internal shrug. Why would he think that Benny wasn’t up to something? “Anything you can do to help expedite the commission would be appreciated.”

Benny drew out his cell phone and tapped a few keys. He glanced at the screen and then back to Peyton. “Expediency can be expensive.”

Peyton gave a hard laugh. “Benny, please. You know I value our relationship, but there are limitations to my patience and my bank account.”

Benny’s gaze flickered, but his smile remained intact. “Things are a bit, shall we say, disrupted right now. My usual contacts had their hands full. I had to go a bit beyond my standard circle.”

Translation—the Collectors are running scared and he had to resort to outside sources for the information. Peyton nodded. “You’ve always been resourceful.”

Benny nodded. “Understand that such contacts have less of a working relationship with me and require more collateral. I’m sorry, but my fee will have to be adjusted a little to cover the difference.”