Highways & Hostages (22 page)

“Derek is a member of the FBI’s Art Crime Team,” he said.

Finn’s mouth dropped open.

“No, he’s not,” Stella said slowly. “He’s a business consultant.”

Julian looked at Derek and sat back in his armchair. Derek carefully removed his glasses and cleaned them with the hem of his shirt. “Actually, Stella, Mr. Beckham is correct. I work for the FBI.”

Finn sank to the couch, mouth still open.

Stella put her hands to her cheeks, eyes wide. “No way! Unless…you’ve been lying to me for the last year and a half?”

“Sorry, but I wasn’t allowed to tell you what my job really entailed. Actually…you shouldn’t even know now, but I had no idea you were mixed up in all of this. Why didn’t you tell me?” Derek asked, his face long.

Finn watched Stella to see how she was taking the news. She looked as if she were about to crumple to the ground. He wanted to go over and give her a hug…and then beat the shit out of Derek.

“But all of the business trips? The working late? And working on weekends?”

Derek shrugged helplessly. “I never lied about any of that stuff…it was just for a different job.”

Finn couldn’t hold in his fury any longer. He stood up and flung his hands into the air. “Can we save this
Maury
relationship bullshit for later? What the hell is this guy doing here?”

“Let’s all just sit down calmly and discuss this,” Julian said, extending his arms in a placating manner.

Finn sat back on the couch and put his head in his hands. He looked up at Julian, who in turn looked at Derek. Derek seated himself in the armchair opposite Julian and cleared his throat. Yvonne reappeared from the kitchen with a glass of water, which he accepted gratefully. He took a sip and began again.

“Like Mr. von Rothschild said before…I’m a member of the FBI’s Art Crime Team. I’m based in the Las Vegas area, but work the larger Southwestern region.”

“So, I repeat,
why
is he sitting here?” Finn asked, focused solely on Julian.

Julian positioned himself regally in his chair and crossed his legs. “Derek approached me about four months ago after I returned from a business trip in Ecuador. His team has had their eyes on our transactions, as well as those of Christoph’s Barony. Derek approached me with a deal, Jacob, and I found it in our best interest to accept.”

Billy bounced his knee up and down before standing and pacing the hardwood floors of von Rothschild’s sitting room. Exasperated, Christoph put down his
Wall Street Journal
and sighed loudly.

“Be still, William!” he said in his upper-crust accent. “The die has been cast.”

Claudia rose from her seat at the antique secretary desk in the corner of the room and stretched. “Telling Billy to stop fidgeting will net you the same result as telling Mother to go easy on the Botox. They stop, then go back at it with a vengeance as soon as you turn your head.”

Billy sat back down on the vintage tufted sofa opposite Christoph and struggled to remain still. He lasted for less than a minute before his knee resumed its frantic bouncing. He’d been dreaming of the day when he could stand up to his father and tell him what he really thought. And he’d finally done it. But his father’s business was almost another child to him, and Billy had admitted to sabotaging it. That was something he didn’t think their relationship could recover from.

“It’s time to call Julian. Keep quiet. I’ll do the talking,” Christoph said. “Marc, please retrieve our guest.”

Claudia came over and perched on the arm of the loveseat next to her father as he dialed Julian’s number. She winked at Billy and he turned away, his face coloring. Christoph placed the ringing phone in the center of the coffee table and readjusted his injured leg.

“Christoph,” Julian answered the phone, his voice devoid of warmth.

Billy swallowed hard and hoped for the fiftieth time today that he’d made the right choice. Marc entered the room holding a struggling Phoebe’s upper arm in a vice-like grip. Her wrists were tied behind her back and there was a strip of duct tape over her mouth.

Thank God
, Billy thought. He really couldn’t wait to be rid of the girl. He rubbed the bare patches above his eyes.

Christoph gestured for Marc to place Phoebe on the sofa next to Billy. She glared at him and continued to struggle.

“Why, Julian,” Christoph said. “How are you faring? The weather these last few days has been sweltering.”

“Let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we, Christoph? We both know this isn’t a social call. Is William with you now?”

“Always straight to business.” Christoph clucked his tongue. “It’s no wonder your clients have been fleeing in droves. But yes, he is.”

“And the girl? Where is she?”

“Oh, you mean Phoebe?” Christoph let out a mirthless chuckle. Such a spitfire. She’s being shown the utmost hospitality, even as we speak. You know I always make my guests feel at home.”

Christoph nodded at Marc. He ripped the tape from Phoebe’s mouth.

“Ouch!” she shrieked, giving him a dirty look before shouting toward the phone. “Hello? Hello? Can anybody help me? I’m stuck—”

Christoph made a slashing motion at his throat and Marc replaced the tape. There were raised, muffled voices on the other end of the line. Billy made a point not to look over at Phoebe.

“There better not be a single hair disturbed on her head, Christoph. That child has nothing to do with this.” Julian’s voice was low and deadly. “What game are you playing?”

“I let Gilroy leave town with no issue,” Christoph said. “But I still want justice. My leg is immobilized in plaster for the next several weeks, and my wife has suffered a great deal of distress.”

“Just what did you have in mind?” Julian asked.

“I want the chalice returned to me. You and I both know it’s worth a pretty penny.”

“So you want the chalice that you swept out from under me?”

“And the crown that Gilroy was procuring from Texas.”

“And then we’ll call it even?”

Christoph chuckled. “Oh, Julian, you know it’s not nearly that easy. As I said earlier, my leg is of no use to me for the next several weeks, meaning I cannot conduct business per usual. I’ll make you a deal since you’re an old, dear friend. If you allow me the use of Gilroy in my own enterprise for the next six months, I’ll return the girl to you immediately, and as an act of good will, you can keep the items.”

Billy’s eyes widened.
What the flying fuck?
Christoph hadn’t said anything to him about bringing Finn into the fold.

Julian cleared his throat. “Christoph…I need to think about this.”

“Of course. I forgot that it takes you time to cycle through your decision making process. So I’ll tell you what: I’ll give you until eight o’clock.” Christoph tapped the button to end the call and waved Marc away. Marc hoisted Phoebe up and over his shoulder and took her from the room.

“Do you think he’ll agree?” Claudia asked, pursing her lips.

“Of course he will; Julian’s weak. Dangle a damsel in distress in front of him and he puts on the shining armor and rides into battle at a moment’s notice.”

Claudia nodded and turned to Billy. “You okay?”

Billy’s right hand gripped the arm of the sofa. The tan line on his pinky finger from his father’s signet ring was clearly visible. He dragged his eyes from his hand to Christoph’s face. “You never mentioned anything about Finn working for you.”

Christoph started to rise from his seat, and Claudia rushed to his side. He grabbed his walking stick and shuffled a few steps forward. He stopped next to Billy and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about, William. It’s all business.”

Billy scowled as Christoph shuffled out of the room. You know what? It didn’t matter if Finn was coming to work for Christoph or not. Billy was Christoph’s MVP, and as such, Finn would be the low man on the totem pole here. He’d make sure Finn got his share of the all the grunt work Billy had been subjected to over the years.

Hmm
, Billy thought as he drummed his fingers,
this might not be such a bad setup after all.

Phoebe, 3:47 p.m.

“Mon Dieu,
don’t you ever get tired?” Marc asked as he lifted Phoebe up the stairs of the rotunda.

Phoebe struggled harder. She knew it was futile, but she wanted her resistance known. She couldn’t believe that crusty old man had the nerve to call her a child.
A child!
And that asshole, Will… He didn’t even have the balls to look her in the eye.

Marc deposited Phoebe back on the chair in the middle of the giant windowless bedroom that had served as her prison for the last day and a half. To be honest, being held in the giant house really hadn’t been so bad. She’d been fed well—fancy French stuff she couldn’t even pronounce—and there was a tall tower full of DVDs, but she was tired of being confined to this room and ordered around. Actually, she was just plain tired. She hadn’t slept well in a couple of days because she was scared of what would happen to her. And if pressed to admit it, she missed Stella and her parents. They might ignore her, but they wouldn’t hurt her. She couldn’t be so sure about these people.

Marc secured her to the chair again. Did they buy zip ties in bulk or something? He yanked the tape from her mouth.

“Jesus!” Phoebe cried. “Have you ever considered a job as a waxer? Are you trying to remove all the skin from my face?”

Marc smiled, revealing the ugly gold tooth. Phoebe wished she could pull it from his mouth and flush it down the toilet. “You removed Beckham’s eyebrows. Maybe
you
should be the waxer.”

Phoebe rolled her eyes. “Give me a break. That was out of desperation. You seem to get your jollies from this.”

Marc shrugged, turned to the DVD tower, and gave it a spin. “What do you want to watch now? We still have a couple more Tarantino films.” Marc turned to Phoebe and grinned. “He is a master.”

Phoebe groaned. “Why the hell do you even ask me when you end up putting on whatever you want?
Harold and Maude
was weird as
shit.
Who would even want to own that on DVD? And then you made me watch all those Hugh Jackman movies. I get it, you look like him.”

Marc’s face morphed into a scowl as he crossed the room. He planted his hands on either side of Phoebe’s chair and bent down so his face was level with hers. “You are visiting a beautiful place, you are receiving delicious food, and you are watching some of the greatest cinematic works of all time. Why are you so ungrateful?”

“Visiting?
Visiting?
You bastards kidnapped me!”

“Kidnapping is such a dirty word,” Marc said. He placed a hand over his heart and grimaced as if she had hurt him. “I have been nothing but nice to you. Have I not? Let’s be friends.”

Phoebe narrowed her eyes.
This man is
not
serious
…
but if he is, this could work to my advantage
.
Time to put those drama club skills to the test.

Phoebe let her face dissolve into a rueful grin. “You want to be my friend? Let me out of here. Let me go home to my family. I promise I won’t tell anybody what happened or where I was. I’ll say I ran away—I’ll say anything you want. Just get me out of here.”

Marc studied her thoughtfully for a moment, mulling over her offer. Then he erupted into laughter. “I’m not sharpest tool in the shed, but I can see right through that. Nice try.”

If there was one thing Phoebe hated most of all, it was being laughed at. She cleared her throat, hocked a loogie, and spat it in Marc’s face. She leaned back with a smug smile.

Marc turned beet red, the glob of spit tracking its way down his cheek. “Fine. No movie for you.”

He pulled a new piece of duct tape from the roll and clamped it over her mouth, then stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Well, shit
.

Stella glanced around the room. Everyone was silent, lost in their own thoughts. Julian stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, arms folded, chin resting in one hand. Finn sat, rhythmically tapping his foot on the floor. Stella knew her face must have been mirroring Derek’s fear; as soon as she’d heard Phoebe’s fast-paced speech fill the air, her heart had dropped to her feet.

Derek met her gaze with a pained look. “Why didn’t you tell me about Phoebe?”

Stella couldn’t deal with Derek’s hurt feelings right now, not after hearing Phoebe’s scream. Phoebe might be a brat, but she was
Stella’s
brat. And beyond that, she was still just a kid—she hadn’t asked to get caught up in any of this crap.

Stella shot up from her seat on the sofa. “Obviously, Finn needs to agree to work for this Christoph guy so we can get Phoebe back.” Finn glared at her out of the corner of narrowed eyes.

“Stella, getting Phoebe back home safe and sound is my first priority,” Derek said, quiet but intense.

“What is this so-called deal you mentioned before?” Finn asked. His hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists.

Derek tore his gaze from Stella, took off his glasses, and rubbed an eye. “Well, originally we wanted your organization’s assistance in trapping von Rothschild, bringing him under arrest, and consulting with our team on two other cases, in exchange for your continued freedom.”

Finn jumped up. “We’re snitches? No way.”

Stella raised herself to her full height to address Finn. “When you pulled off the road before we got to the flea market and admitted you didn’t know where Phoebe was, you said
you
and
him
”—she pointed at Julian—“would do
whatever
it took to get my sister back. After all, this is your fault in the first place.” She jabbed her finger hard into Finn’s chest.

Finn swallowed and started to speak, but Derek stepped forward and put a tentative hand on Stella’s shoulder. “Can I speak to you privately for a minute?” Derek asked her, gently pulling her away.

“Yes,” Stella said heatedly. Her eyes narrowed as she looked from Finn to Derek. “We have some things we need to discuss.”

Derek shot Julian a questioning glance as he steered Stella around the couch. “You can use the bedroom,” Julian said. “Second door on the left.”