Sophie Oak - One to Keep

Rachel was already moving. “Where is she? Does she know Nate’s been looking for her?”

“No,” Stella replied. “But I sent her to the Sheriff’s Office. Maybe that’s why she’s taking so long.”

Jen scooted out of the bench, following Rachel. It would be such a huge relief to get that damn painting back. Then she could concentrate on convincing Stef. “Thanks, Stella. I’ll send her back as soon as I’m done talking to her.”

“I’m coming with you,” Rachel said, grabbing her purse. “Don’t you leave me behind. You’ll be surprised how fast I can waddle.” Jen took her hand. “No, I wouldn’t. Come on then. Let’s find that stupid painting, and then I can find Stef.” It was a short trip from the diner to the Sheriff’s Office just three buildings in between and a hop over the street. The Sheriff’s Office was housed in a small building just off Main Street. Rachel walked behind Jen, only slowing her down a bit. The air was brisk, and the snow was falling only lightly. Jen could see that the crowds had thinned out. They would be on the mountain where the day’s competition was getting started. It made the streets of Bliss nice and quiet. Only the park would be bustling at this point. The rest of Bliss was a bit of a ghost town. Jen made it to the front of the office first and pulled on the outer door. It was locked. She banged on it.

“Logan, wake up!” Jen yelled as she pounded on the door. Logan was not known for being the most dedicated deputy. He could often be found napping or reading comic books with his earbuds in.

“Logan!”

“Stop that,” Rachel said, frowning. Beside her, Q sat down and stared up at the women. “You’re going to wake the poor boy up. I know where Callie hid a key. Nate throws Max in jail often enough that she let me in on her secret.”

Rachel reached under the sign that proudly proclaimed this place to be the Bliss County Sheriff’s Office and pulled out a small magnetic box.

“Only in Bliss would someone hide the key to the Sheriff’s Office,” Jen said, shaking her head.

Rachel slipped the key into the lock and turned it. She started to open the heavy outer door that led to the swinging doors inside. She stopped suddenly. “Why was the door locked? Didn’t Stella say she sent Holly with breakfast? Logan wouldn’t lock the door after Holly.” Jen paused as she stepped inside, Rachel behind her. “I don’t know. Do you think something’s wrong?” As she got the words out of her mouth the answer became very, very apparent.

“You must to come in now, Miss Jennifer.” Alexei stood in the doorway, his bulky body blocking the entrance, a gun fisted at his side.

Jen watched in horror as he leveled the gun, aiming it straight for her head. Yep, something was very, very wrong.

“It’s a woman.” Alexei’s dark voice was tossed over his shoulder, but his eyes never left her. They were hard as steel. “What should I do with her?”

Utter confusion was making her head spin. Alexei was out of his cage, and he had a gun in his hand. Jen could hear a conversation going on in the office, but she couldn’t see past Alexei. She heard someone speaking, his voice rough, almost guttural. It was a language she didn’t understand. It had to be Russian. Oh, god, Alexei’s mob friends were here. He’d tricked everyone into believing he was on their side, and now he’d taken over the station house.

“It’s just one woman, Nikolai. I think I can handle her.” Rachel took a quick step back.

He was letting Rachel go. He had to know she would go for help.

He looked past Jen at Rachel, and he gave her a barely perceptible nod before reaching out and grabbing Jen’s arm. She turned her head as fast as she could and saw Rachel disappear as the outer door closed.

“You are not Jennifer,” Alexei announced into her ear as he pulled her roughly into the room.

“Jen?” Holly’s voice trembled.

Jen heard Alexei curse under his breath, but it looked like whatever game he was playing, this piece was blown. Jen looked around the room as her pulse threatened to explode. She saw Holly standing by Logan’s desk, her face white as a sheet, but she appeared unharmed.

The shortest of the men stepped forward. He was dressed in a suit and tie, his graying hair slicked back. He was older, but by no means soft. He said something in Russian as he looked her over. Alexei replied, his manner slightly deferential, as though he was speaking to his boss. He finished and nodded slightly.

“Hello,” the boss said. “My name is Dimitri Pushkin. You are Jennifer? Renard’s Jennifer?”

Jen was somewhat startled at the sound of Renard’s name. She knew she shouldn’t have been, chided herself for it. He was the asshole who had gotten her into this situation in the first place. “I worked for him.”

Jen watched Alexei as he moved to Holly’s side. His arm slid around her shoulder, hauling her close. All the while, he held the weapon casually at his side, yet his eyes never left the other two men in the room. It seemed to Jen that Alexei was watching two snakes, waiting to see which would strike first.

“Yes, and it seems you worked against him, too.” Pushkin walked up to her, his finger lifting to her chin. Jen forced herself to stay still under his scrutiny. The Sheriff’s Office wasn’t exactly the biggest building in town. She found herself against the reception desk with no real place to run now that the doors were locked again. Her only hope was that Rachel still had the key. She glanced at the clock. 10:23 a.m.

The streets were deserted, but Zane was still at Stella’s. All Rachel had to do was get back there and get Zane. Zane would bring everyone else. She just had to hold on.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, mister.” Ignorance might buy her a few minutes.

“I am talking about the painting I purchased. I would like it back.”

“I don’t know where the Picasso is.” It was the truth. She had no idea, and it was apparent that Alexei didn’t want Holly to talk. The minute Pushkin had started toward Jen, his hand had tightened on her shoulders as though in warning.

Pushkin’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t give a shit about the Picasso, and you know it. I want the painting I purchased from Renard. Your painting.”

“My painting? But my painting is the one that Renard hid the Picasso behind.”

“Silly girl. That’s what I told my employees. Trust me, what is hidden behind your work is much more valuable than any painting to me. Now, you can tell me where it is, or you can join the deputy.” That was when she heard it, a low moan coming from Nate’s office. It sounded like an animal in pain. She tried to dismiss the notion that the person who made that low, utterly hopeless sound could possibly be happy-go-lucky Logan.

There was a humorless chuckle from Pushkin. “Americans. I see you are shocked. This is because you are the world’s children, every one of you. You believe that life is innately fair when the rest of the world knows that it is not. You tell yourself that pain and horror, these are things that happen to other people. Certainly not to someone as privileged as yourself.” He leaned in. She could feel the heat of his breath snaking over her skin, smell the stink of cigars on him. “But I am your teacher. The world is not fair, little girl. It is not some amusement park.”

There was the sound of something thudding and then that long, low moan that ate at Jen’s soul. She felt her jaw clench and angry tears prick at her eyes. “You’re a monster.” The door to Nate’s office opened, and a man stepped out. He looked something like the man backing up Pushkin. He was dark and nasty looking. He had taken off his coat and jacket at some point in time. Jen could see he had laid them over a chair. He was stripped down to a white T-shirt that was now splattered with blood. Jen’s mind tried to grasp the implications of that bright red blood. He said something in Russian and shook his head.

Pushkin grunted his reply before slipping back into English. His lips curled up in a satisfied smile. “You call me a monster? I am. Do you know anything about history, little girl? I find so few Americans do. Back in Rome when the gladiators would fight, the patron of the games would stand at the end of the fight, and he would decide the fate of the loser. If he gave a thumbs-up, the man would live. But that did not happen often. He would more likely give the thumbs-down, and the loser would fall. So much life lost on the simple placement of a thumb. But the Romans understood. There are only a few people in the world who truly matter. The powerful people of this world are the important ones. The rest are all slaves who have forgotten their places. Your deputy is learning this lesson right now. He learns that his control was an illusion. His life is not his own, and it never was.

He was merely waiting for someone important to show him his place.”

Impotent rage choked her. “You let him go.”

“Now, why would I do that? He has offended me. He arrested my man, kept him from doing a very important job for me. More importantly, I don’t care. He is nothing, a bug that I squash beneath my feet.”

Logan, sweet, funny Logan, was at this man’s mercy, and he had none. She couldn’t help it. Her hand came out, and she slapped him for all she was worth. Flesh met flesh in a satisfying smack. The man who had been standing by the door was suddenly at her side, his thick, meaty hand tight around the arm she’d hit Pushkin with.

“Don’t break the girl.” Pushkin barked the order. He gave no indication that he was at all affected by her small act of violence.

“Yet. The little girl has claws. I believe you will discover mine are longer and sharper than yours. You will tell me where the painting is, and I will give you a quick death.”