The Right to Remain Silent (Crescent City Kings #3) - Anya Summers Page 0,1
turned Becca’s life’s work into a mere cog in a criminal enterprise.
Anton was the boss Becca would meet tonight, with a little persuasion from Konrad and his Glock forty-five.
Curiosity and excitement about the latest shipment of art coming into the gallery had driven her into the shop. But Becca’s desire to see the new art Sasha had ordered had set off a chain reaction of unfortunate events.
It was ironic in a way, since Becca normally didn’t work at the gallery. As the owner and artist, she filled in if they were short staffed. Most often, she was in her home studio, painting her latest creation and oblivious to the rest of the world. Becca had opened the gallery two years prior, when the demand for her art had grown beyond just a few showings. Her own artwork that was available to purchase was displayed in one half of the gallery, and she rented out the remaining space to other artists for a nominal fee. It was a system that ended up being highly profitable. Renting space in the French Quarter was monumentally expensive, even despite the constant stream of tourists into the city.
She had never imagined that, when she opened the crate to see the latest pieces, she would find kilos of cocaine bricks in with the artwork.
Horrified beyond measure, Becca had fumbled for her phone to call the police. Except Sasha had stopped her. Becca didn’t think she would ever recover from looking down the barrel of the handgun into Sasha’s cold, dead eyes and seeing her entire life flash before her.
Sasha had promptly organized tonight’s little meet and greet with the prominent crime boss. Konrad had arranged for two more big, burly, armed men to join their party, both men had faces that could have been blocks of granite for all the warmth and expression in them. With their size and physiques, the men could give professional wrestling a try. The trio escorted her inside the mansion while she tried not to think about the amount of firepower each man carried.
Becca searched for a potential exit. Guards were stationed in groups of two at doorways and stairwells, each guy more terrifying than the next, with hard faces that probably wouldn’t blink if she was shot dead where she stood. The further into the mansion she trod, the more Becca felt like she was heading to her own funeral. Bile threatened in the back of her throat. She hated that a part of her was impressed by the interior of the home because of the artwork on display. The paintings and sculptures were museum quality. If she wasn’t mistaken, they passed an original Renoir.
The heels of Becca’s black leather boots clicked against the hardwood flooring. Her heart thumped in time with those clicks, like a ticking clock winding down to zero. Konrad and company ushered her up a grand staircase that made the one in Gone with the Wind look cheap and insignificant. At the top, they steered her to the right, down a wide hall with glossy hardwood floors and high ceilings.
When they reached the end of the hall, the two henchmen who had joined them opened a pair of double doors that must have belonged to a Buddhist temple at one time. Becca’s clasped hands shook as she entered what amounted to a sitting room parlor with an enormous ivory marble hearth. The fire inside intended to ward off the chilly night couldn’t make the cold terror in her bones dissipate. Every piece of furniture and décor in the parlor spoke of wealth. There was a Louis XIV desk in one corner. But the room held all the warmth of a mausoleum.
“Have a seat. The boss will be with you shortly,” Konrad indicated in a bullish tone and pointed toward the chocolate Chesterfield sofas while his buddies shut the doors with a resounding thud and sealed them all inside. Sealed Becca inside. She assessed the room. Floor-to-ceiling inlaid shelves held first editions behind panes of glass. There was a vase on a pedestal that looked to be from the Ming Dynasty, or was at least an excellent reproduction. She studied her surroundings for a potential avenue of escape. The only way out would be to jump from the large crenelated windows. Two stories up, she could break something—like her neck. Only three guards were present in the room, odds that weren’t great, but left her a fighting chance.