The Art Of Deception, Book Two, Stolen Hearts series, Romantic Suspense (29 page)

Sophie squatted down and put her arms under Cleo and tugged. “She’s too heavy. I can’t pick her up." When she stood, she made certain the coat tree was within grabbing distance.

“This is getting far too complicated. If you hadn’t gotten involved with that FBI agent, everything would have worked out perfectly. I suppose I’m going to have to kill both of you right here.”

Sophie heard a deadly click as Ciro pulled the safety off. The sound echoed inside her. “You have to tell me why,” she said, her voice sounding tinny to her, as if coming from a great distance.

“You’re the one who messed up,” Ciro snapped. “It’s only fair you die without knowing. I only wanted you and Raphael to go to jail for a while. Murder really isn’t my thing.”

“Then put your gun away, and we’ll talk this through. For God’s sake, Ciro, painting a forgery doesn’t come close to murder.”

“Cleo painted the forgeries." He aimed the gun at Cleo’s head.

“Cleo? Why?”

Ciro smiled thinly. “Because I asked her to. Poor, dumb Cleo.”

Sophie grabbed the coat tree and brought it down on Ciro’s arm. A gun shot ricocheted through the room. The gun clattered to the floor. Sophie kicked it under the sofa just before Ciro barreled into her. Locked together, they fell backwards. Her head smacked against the hardwood floor and her breath whooshed out as Ciro landed on top of her.

A black speck blossomed in her brain as Ciro’s hands tightened around her neck. Her lungs strained for oxygen.

No! She pulled at his hands, dug her nails in. She twisted and tried to thrust her knee between his legs, but her limbs refused to obey. The black spot spread cancer-like until all she could see was one small point of light.

Her muscles slackened and her hands slipped down to the floor. She tried to pick them up to fight, but the effort was beyond her. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Gage was supposed to be the hero. Where was he? Why hadn’t he saved her?

Why, she wondered as even that last pinprick of light disappeared, hadn’t he believed her?

Halfway up the stairs to Sophie’s apartment, the sound of a gun shot reverberated straight through Gage’s soul. He stumbled, cursed viciously and scrabbled up the last few stairs. Without taking a breath, he crashed the apartment door open with his shoulder.

Ciro was lying on the floor. Cleo’s body sprawled three feet away from him. Where the hell was Sophie?  His heart stopped beating when he saw one beautiful little foot sticking out between Ciro’s legs.

He grabbed the collar of Ciro’s shirt and jerked him to his feet, spun him around and smashed his fist into Ciro’s face. Ciro flew halfway across the room, hit the wall and sunk to the floor.

“Sophie." Gage knelt beside her lifeless body, his vision blurred as tears crowded his eyes. “Come on, buttercup. Don’t give up on me. Please." He ran his hand over her forehead, then bent her head back and covered her mouth with his. He blew into her mouth.
One, two, three, four, five. Nothing.
His hands trembling, he pushed gently on her chest, her body already cold beneath his hands.

“Breathe, damn it." He bent forward to breathe again into her mouth but was distracted by a noise at the open door.

Chance Spencer strode into the room, his gaze sweeping the fallen bodies. “Jenkins, get in here pronto,” he shouted over his shoulder. He moved over to Gage and put his hand on his shoulder. “Let Jenkins do that. He’s EMT.”

“Go to hell." Gage shook Spencer’s hand away.

“Move out of the way, Gage. We need an ambulance,” he shouted at the men pouring into the apartment, then grabbed Gage by the scruff of his neck and dragged him away from Sophie.

“You son of a–”

“She’s breathing." The man who had slipped into Gage’s place beside Sophie confirmed. “She’s going to be okay.”

The wail of a siren drowned out what Spencer was trying to tell him. Like he wanted to hear anything the bastard had to say. Gage stared down at Sophie. Already color was seeping back into her face.

She’d almost died. If he’d been a minute later, Ciro would have killed her. His breath came in short stabs, not enough to clear the buzzing in his head. He’d turned her away when she needed him the most. He’d almost gotten her killed.

“I’m sorry, Gage." Spencer planted himself in front of him. “I had an agent posted upstairs, but Sophie locked the door and he couldn’t get to her. I thought I’d get here before this, but– Hey man." He took a step back as if the force of Gage’s glare had pushed him.

Gage knew the attack was his fault. Yet he couldn’t stop the anger, the helplessness that reared inside him. He pulled his arm back, formed a fist and plowed it into Spencer’s face. The satisfying crunch of bone against bone barely registered as he turned away.

“I’m riding in the ambulance with her." He followed the EMT team out without looking back.

Without opening her eyes, Sophie whimpered as she tried to swallow the scratchiness in her throat. The interior of her throat felt like someone had scrapped sandpaper over her muscles and rubbed them raw. It was a hundred times worse than when she had tonsillitis.

But everything else felt the same, the starchy sheets, the antiseptic smell, the nagging feeling of loneliness although she hadn’t opened her eyes yet.

“Sophie?” The man’s voice sounded deep and melodic. She thought she might have heard it before, but couldn’t think where.

She opened her eyes. She was definitely in the hospital, and she definitely didn’t know the man who sat on the chair beside her bed watching her anxiously. She tried to sit up, but he put his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back.

“Bet you need a drink of water. Got it right here. How are you feeling?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but pain sliced up and down her throat. Had she thought sandpaper? More like razor blades. She accepted the plastic cup of water and drank, then tried to say thanks, but it came out sounding more like ‘anks’.

“Who?” she whispered hoarsely and pointed at him.

“Chance Spencer." He started to smile, then grimaced. “Caught a little action myself this morning."

She gasped when he turned his head so she could see the right side of his face. His eye had completely disappeared beneath angry red flesh that had started to turn a violent shade of purple.

And then it came back to her.
Ciro and Cleo. Ciro’s gun going off.
He’d tried to kill her. She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on just breathing. Somewhere, mixed in with all those memories was Gage’s voice talking to her, telling her she was going to be all right. Telling her she had to be all right, because he loved her.

She opened her eyes and glanced around the small hospital room. The colors offended her, white walls with sickly pastel green curtains and bedspread. Beyond the window, she could see night had fallen. Spencer was the only person in the room. Where was Vince? Where was her brother? Her mother?

“Tell me,” was all she could get passed her injured throat muscles.

Chance pulled a chair over to her bed, sat and took her hand in his. “That’s a tall order, and Gage might deck me again if I say too much and upset you.”

“Vince?” She pointed at his swollen eye.

“Yeah." He started to smile, but it quickly turned into a frown. “He was right. I shouldn’t have set you up like that. I’m sorry. I had to do something quick to save his career, and we thought we had everything under control, but...." He shrugged. “When you locked the back door to your studio, our agent got locked in, and then the fire at your mother’s gallery–”

“Mother?” She gripped his hand.

“We got her out in time. She’s right down the hall from you. I think your brother’s there now, visiting her.”

“Cleo?”

He nodded. “Other than a nasty bump on her head, she’s okay. We’re not charging her with painting the forgeries. She swears Ciro said they were for a joke.”

Sophie nodded, but her mind had jumped ahead. The only people he hadn’t mentioned were Gage and Ciro, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to ask about either just yet.

“Gage was here until about an hour ago. The doctor finally convinced him you were fine. He blames himself for what happened, and he...he’s kind of messed up right now.”

“Didn’t get it right.”

Spencer’s gaze sharpened. “Sounds like you’ve got a pretty good bead on the guy.”

“Idiot,” she whispered.

“At times he is.”

“Stubborn.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Love him anyway.”

A smile lit his face. “I figured as much.”

She struggled into an upright position. “Take me to him.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re both in pretty rough shape.”

She stopped in the act of getting out of bed. “He’s hurt?”

“Not physically."

“I’m going, anyway.”

“Man." He took her arm and led her to the bathroom. “He’s going to kill me for this.”

She smiled. “Looks like he already tried."

Gage tossed the drop sheets on his bedroom floor, cocked his head to one side and studied the room. The bed would stay, but he’d have to haul the rest of the furniture out of here before he started painting. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. He sank down on the end of the bed and buried his head in his hands. But he’d go nuts if he didn’t keep busy.

Parker, beaming because they could finally wrap up the forgery case, and he could finally get on with his divorce, had told him to go home. Tomorrow was early enough to write his report. That was his boss’s way of telling him he was back on the job.

Like he cared. He grabbed the beer bottle from the dresser and took a slug to wash away the dry chalky taste in his mouth. He’d just proved to himself and the whole damned bureau what a screw-up he was.

Not to mention almost getting Sophie killed. Christ, what a loser. And to think he’d convinced himself he could actually have a meaningful relationship with her. He’d even been thinking of marriage. Marriage!  Sophie needed him in her life about as much as she needed Ciro. For an incredible woman, she sure attracted some weirdos, including him.

Was she awake yet? Had Raphael told her about Ciro? The ache in his chest expanded into a tight band that made breathing difficult. He’d stayed by her side until the doctor had ordered him out of the hospital room. He’d said Sophie was probably picking up on his anxiety even though she slept. He had to agree Sophie was definitely better off without him.

The sound of a vehicle pulling into his driveway pulled him away from his morose thoughts. He went over to the window to see who had arrived. Not that he planned to answer the door. He wasn’t in the mood to see anyone.

Especially Spencer. He ground his teeth as he watched Spencer’s Kia pull to a stop. Maybe he’d been out of line popping him one, but Spencer should never–never–have used Sophie as bait.

And you should have believed her when she said she was innocent. He drank the rest of his beer and turned away from the window. Hindsight was a bitch.

When he heard the rapping on his back door, he went to the top of the stairs and checked his watch. If Spencer didn’t get the message in five minutes that he didn’t want to talk to anyone, he’d go down there and finish what he started this morning.

“Vince?”

What the hell? Gage raced down the stairs. No one called him Vince. No one but Sophie.

And there she was, leaning on his patio doors, looking like she should still be tucked into a hospital bed. What was Spencer thinking to drag her all the way out here? Kill him? Hell, he was going to massacre him.

“Sophie!” He unlocked the door and slid it open. “You’re supposed to be.... For God’s sake, you look ready to pass out." He scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the living room. He deposited her gently on the sofa. “Wait here. I’m going to go kill Spencer.”

“Vince, please stay,” she whispered hoarsely.

He stopped and turned back to her. “You should be in the hospital. What was he thinking?”

“I made him bring me." She stopped and massaged her throat. “Can I have some water, please?”

His stomach turned queasy as he looked at the bruises on her throat. He’d as good as put them there. “Water. Yeah, of course. Here, put your feet up. I’ll get a blanket and–”