God, she loved her job. Not many people would get excited about digging around in dusty storage rooms, but Haven couldn’t wait.
She made sure her laptop was off and grabbed her handbag. She slipped her lanyard off and stuffed her phone in her bag.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard a strange noise from the gallery. A muffled pop, then a thump.
Frowning, she took one step toward the gallery.
Suddenly, David staggered through the doorway, a splotch of red on his shirt.
Haven’s pulse spiked. Oh God, was that blood? “David—”
“Run.” He collapsed to the floor.
Fear choking her, she kicked off her heels and spun. She had to get help.
But she’d only taken two steps when a hand sank into her hair, pulling her neat twist loose, and sending her brown hair cascading over her shoulders.
“Let me go!”
She was dragged into the main gallery, and when she lifted her head, her gut churned.
Five men dressed in black, all wearing balaclavas, stood in a small group.
No…oh, no.
Their other guard, Gus, stood with his hands in the air. He was older, former military. She was shoved closer toward him.
“Ms. McKinney, you okay?” Gus asked.
She managed a nod. “They shot David.”
“I kn—”
“No talking,” one man growled.
Haven lifted her chin. “What do you want?” There was a slight quaver in her voice.
The man who’d grabbed her glared. His cold, blue eyes glittered through the slits in his balaclava. Then he ignored her, and with the others, they turned to face the Water Lilies.
Haven’s stomach dropped. No. This couldn’t be happening.
A thin man moved forward, studying the painting’s gilt frame with gloved hands. “It’s wired to an alarm.”
Blue Eyes, clearly the group’s leader, turned and aimed the gun at Gus’ barrel chest. “Disconnect it.”
“No,” the guard said belligerently.
“I’m not asking.”
Haven held up her hands. “Please—”
The gun fired. Gus dropped to one knee, pressing a hand to his shoulder.
“No!” she cried.
The leader stepped forward and pressed the gun to the older man’s head.
“No.” Haven fought back her fear and panic. “Don’t hurt him. I’ll disconnect it.”
Slowly, she inched toward the painting, carefully avoiding the thin man still standing close to it. She touched the security panel built in beside the frame, pressing her palm to the small pad.
A second later, there was a discreet beep.
Two other men came forward and grabbed the frame.
She glanced around at them. “You’re making a mistake. If you know who owns this museum, then you know you won’t get away with this.” Who would go up against the Norcross family? Easton, rich as sin, had a lot of connections, but his brother, Vander… Haven suppressed a shiver. Gia’s middle brother might be hot, but he scared the bejesus out of Haven.
Vander Norcross, former military badass, owned Norcross Security and Investigations. His team had put in the high-tech security for the museum.
No one in their right mind wanted to go up against Vander, or the third Norcross brother who also worked with Vander, or the rest of Vander’s team of badasses.
“Look, if you just—”
The blow to her head made her stagger. She blinked, pain radiating through her face. Blue Eyes had backhanded her.
He moved in and hit her again, and Haven cried out, clutching her face. It wasn’t the first time she’d been hit. Her douchebag ex had hit her once. That was the day she’d left him for good.
But this was worse. Way worse.
“Shut up, you stupid bitch.”
The next blow sent her to the floor. She thought she heard someone chuckle. He followed with a kick to her ribs, and Haven curled into a ball, a sob in her throat.
Her vision wavered and she blinked. Blue Eyes crouched down, putting his hand to the tiles right in front of her. Dizziness hit her, and she vaguely took in the freckles on the man’s hand. They formed a spiral pattern.
“No one talks back to me,” the man growled. “Especially a woman.” He moved away.
She saw the men were busy maneuvering the painting off the wall. It was easy for two people to move. She knew its exact dimensions—eighty by one hundred centimeters.
No one was paying any attention to her. Fighting through the nausea and dizziness, she dragged herself a few inches across the floor, closer to the nearby pillar. A pillar that had one of several hidden, high-tech panic buttons built into it.
When the men were turned away, she reached up and pressed the button.
Then blackness sucked her under.
Haven sat on one of the lovely wooden benches she’d had installed around the museum. She’d wanted somewhere for guests to sit and take in the art.
She’d never expected to be sitting on one, holding a melting ice pack to her throbbing face, and staring at the empty wall where a multi-million-dollar masterpiece should be hanging. And she definitely didn’t expect to be doing it with police dusting black powder all over the museum’s walls.
Tears pricked her eyes. She was alive, her guards were hurt but alive, and that was what mattered. The police had questioned her and she’d told them everything she could remember. The paramedics had checked her over and given her the ice pack. Nothing was broken, but she’d been told to expect swelling and bruising.
David and Gus had been taken to the hospital. She’d been assured the men would be okay. Last she’d heard, David was in surgery. Her throat tightened. Oh, God.
What was she going to tell Easton?
Haven bit her lip and a tear fell down her cheek. She hadn’t cried in months. She’d shed more than enough tears over Leo after he’d gone crazy and hit her. She’d left Miami the next day. She’d needed to get away from her ex and, unfortunately, despite loving her job at a classy Miami art gallery, Leo’s cousin had owned it. Alyssa had been the one who had introduced them.
Haven had learned a painful lesson to not mix business and pleasure.
She’d been done with Leo’s growing moodiness, outbursts, and cheating on her and hitting her had been the last straw. Asshole.
She wiped the tear away. San Francisco was as far from Miami as she could get and still be in the continental US. This was supposed to be her fresh new start.
She heard footsteps—solid, quick, and purposeful. Easton strode in.
He was a tall man, with dark hair that curled at the collar of his perfectly fitted suit. Haven had sworn off men, but she was still woman enough to appreciate her boss’ good looks. His mother was Italian-American, and she’d passed down her very good genes to her children.
Like his brothers, Easton had been in the military, too, although he’d joined the Army Rangers. It showed in his muscled body. Once, she’d seen his shirt sleeves rolled up when they’d had a late meeting. He had some interesting ink that was totally at odds with his sophisticated-businessman persona.
His gaze swept the room, his jaw tight. It settled on her and he strode over.
“Haven—”
“Oh God, Easton. I’m so sorry.”
He sat beside her and took her free hand. He squeezed her cold fingers, then he looked at her face and cursed.