Sophie Oak - One to Keep

“Bad business,” Teeny said, shaking her head. Her little beak of a nose was turned down in what looked like sadness. “I can’t believe it.

Would you like some fudge?”

She held out a tray of perfectly cut fudge. She was wearing slacks and a pink sweater, and a lovingly detailed apron.

This was an autopsy in Bliss.

“No, thanks,” she said, giving Teeny a smile.

“I’ll take some, Momma.” Logan reached over and grabbed two squares, giving his mother a thumbs-up. “I’m going to take some back for Hope. Nate left her answering the phones for the day.”

“Me, too,” Rachel said, taking three. The dog at her feet whined.

She frowned at Jen. “Don’t look at me like that. Baby needs fudge.”

“And cookies.” Callie smiled at them, a huge tray of cookies in her arms. “Stella sent them. Apparently tragedy requires carbs. She’s on a tear. She’s been working nonstop. She made like a hundred sandwiches when she found out the Sheriff’s Department was working on a homicide. I had to tell her that there were really only like five people working the case, but then Zane inhaled four sandwiches, and I just let her work.”

“And you didn’t mention this to us, why?” Rachel asked, frowning at Callie.

Callie set the tray on the small reception desk. “First, Nate asked me to keep my mouth shut.”

“Since when has that stopped you?” Jen asked. It was no secret that Callie Hollister-Wright was the hub for information in Bliss.

“This is serious.” Callie pushed her glasses up her nose. “I knew it would upset Rachel, and after what you went through, it should upset you as well. Besides, I only knew they had found a body early this morning. It could have been an accident. We have a town full of tourists. The last thing we need is some sort of panic.”

“That is very mature of you,” Rachel said.

“Thanks.”

But Jen knew what that little frown on Rachel’s face meant, and she agreed with it whole-heartedly. “It wasn’t a compliment. We’re your best friends. You aren’t supposed to hold out on us.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Rachel replied, a finger pointing out in Callie’s direction. “Don’t start talking about your husbands. Who did you call when you put that dent in Nate’s new truck? Should I remind you that it wasn’t Nate? Was it Zane?”

“It was you, and you know it.” Callie crossed her arms over her chest. “Of course I called you. You have a really devious mind. I would never have thought about saying I was installing a satellite radio for his birthday and getting the damage fixed so he never knew about it.”

Jen grinned and gave Rachel a high five. “I would have gone with tinting his windows. See, Callie, you can love your husbands, but your girlfriends are the ones who get you out of trouble. I should know. If you two had been with me, I’m sure one of you would have pointed out what a damn weasel my boss was. Such a jerk. I was supposed to be the artist-in-residence, but he had me doing the stupidest crap.”

“Some men.” Rachel shook her head. “I remember my boss at my last job before coming to Bliss. He treated me like his barista.”

“Yeah, well, Jean Claude seemed to think I was a handy man. One of the last things the bastard had me do was—oh, yeah.” Just like that it fell in place, and she wanted to smack herself for not seeing it sooner. The day before she’d been arrested, he’d had her mess around with the security cameras. He’d complained that the security company would take too long. Bullshit. Bastard. Son of a bitch. He’d set her up, and she’d been too stupid to see it.

“What?” Callie asked, her eyes round under the glasses she wore.

“I know where that painting is.” Jen started for the door. “I was just about to give the damn thing to Rachel as a baby gift.”

“Whoa! You were about to give me a half-of-a-million-dollar, black-market Picasso? I thought it was just one of yours. Though they are beautiful.” Rachel’s mouth hung open. “That’s the awesomest present ever. Way better than the baby monitor that also acts as a SETI receiver. Baby boy’s going to college.” Jen reached for her coat. “You don’t get to keep it, Rach. It has to go back, but at least I know where it is. The nasty jerk hid it under the painting I was going to give to Rachel. He pulled the canvas off and hid the Picasso under mine. I wouldn’t be able to tell because he was a dipshit when it came to his personal life, but brilliant at what he did.

He just didn’t figure I would be a crazy perfectionist. I decided I could do better. I painted the whole damn thing again in one night and changed some of the colors. Renard must have called the police the minute he realized he no longer had the painting. Asshole.” Rachel flushed slightly. “Uhm, I kind of talked to Holly. The one you put back for me really didn’t go with the room. I might have talked Holly into switching it with the blue one. Don’t look at me like that. It’s a boy. Blue is for boys.”

There was no pleasing a client. Every artist knew it. “It’s fine, Rach. But that means the others are potentially up for sale. I need to get my hands on that painting. Tell Stef I’ve gone back to town hall, and he should meet me there when he can.” Callie was right behind her. “I’m going with you.” Jen brushed past Logan and Marie and out of the door of the clinic. The glare of the sun off the snow made everything seem vital and alive. She loved winter in Colorado, but her mind was on getting to the town hall. Her heart wasn’t going to slow down until she pulled the canvas off that painting and made certain that the Picasso was underneath. It was her sure ticket to getting that potential felony off her record. Once that oppressive weight was off her, perhaps Stef could see her as something other than a girl constantly in trouble.

The clinic was on the end of Main Street. It was quieter here. Up ahead, she could see that the festival was in full whirl, but here, there was an almost eerie quiet. She turned to tell Callie to follow her when she noted the two men standing with her friend.

“Callie?” Jen immediately recognized them as the two men they had seen earlier in the day.

The smaller one with the dangerous eyes was standing far too close to Callie. The big, gorgeous one was walking her way.

“Miss Waters?” His deep voice rumbled out.

“Yes,” she said because she had a terrible feeling that the smaller man wasn’t helping Callie balance on the snow. She caught the glint of metal at Callie’s waist and the way her face tightened. “Let my friend go.”

“I can’t to be doing that.” There was an almost sympathetic look in his eyes, but it didn’t move Jen because the bastard still had a gun in his hand. “You have something that belong to my employer.” Jen took a deep breath. Trouble, it seemed, just kept finding her.

Alexei stepped close to the brunette, who now resembled a frightened deer in the presence of a tiger. The fact that he was the predator was not lost on him. The gun in his hand felt pounds heavier than he knew it to be.

“Don’t scream.” Ivan’s voice was low, but there was no way anyone could mistake the steely threat in it.

Alexei wound his hand around the artist’s elbow and looked back at what was happening behind him. Ivan had the woman with glasses in a dangerous hold. His arm was securely wrapped around her waist, the bulky coats hiding the gun Ivan had shoved into the woman’s side.

“You scream and I have no reason not to shoot you. Understand?” The woman bit her lip as though forcing herself to comply when all she wanted to do was yell. Slowly, she nodded her head. She took a deep breath, and though Alexei could still see the fear in her eyes, a stubborn will took over. She would fight. That small woman, with her sweet face and round glasses, would not go down easily.

“It’s going to be all right, Callie.” The woman he held kept her voice steady. Her jaw firmed as she stared at her friend. “I’ll get us out of this.”

Alexei hated the way his stomach churned, acid rising to his throat. He’d been worried about tears and pleading, but this suddenly seemed worse. These women were calm though afraid, their solidarity obvious in the way they encouraged each other. It was completely different from the others he’d dealt with. He and Ivan had specialized in dealing with other criminals. They had often worked over

“partners” in an attempt to get information or simply to send a message. The people Alexei had interrogated always gave up the other man. They begged and pleaded and lied about their partners in an attempt to throw the violence on someone else.

These women loved each other. These women, he had no doubt, would sacrifice for each other.

There were tears in the artist’s eyes as she looked up at him. “I know what you want.”

He had to force the words to come out harshly. “The painting. My employer pay for painting. He is not a man to cheat.”

“Well, he didn’t pay me. Did he pay you, Callie?” The woman named Callie shook her head. “Nope. I haven’t had a single check come in for a stolen painting.” Jennifer nodded his way. “See, big guy, there’s no reason to go all Godfather on us—or whatever the Russian equivalent is. I can get you your painting, and you can go on your happy way.” But it wouldn’t be like that, and Alexei knew it. They couldn’t afford to leave these women alive. They would need to kill them, stash the bodies, and get out. There was far too much at stake, and this wasn’t some piss-poor, mob-run rural town in Russia where they could bribe their way out of anything. Pushkin’s name didn’t mean anything here.

An image of his brother flashed across his brain. Mikhail had been a handsome, smiling young man who had never been impatient with his brother. He’d taught Alexei with a gentle smile. What would his brother think about him killing this woman?