“Yeah?” Rhys sipped his coffee.
“I don’t think Haven is resting.”
“Come again?” He lowered the coffee mug.
“Just got off the phone with a dealer. She’d been to see him.”
Rhys stiffened.
“And another dealer said she was due to visit him at eleven.”
He glanced at his watch. It was already after eleven.
He cursed. Rhys poured his coffee in the sink and set the mug down, then strode for the stairs.
“Good luck.” Saxon sounded far too amused.
Haven stepped into the elegant gallery in SoMa. South of Market was home to many of San Francisco’s museums and galleries.
She loved her friend Harry’s gallery. It reminded her of the gallery she’d worked at in Miami. The lighting was warm, complementing pale walls, and right up front was a modern painting—garish, with bold, neon colors.
But with all art, beauty was in the eye of the beholder. It wasn’t her particular style, but she could still appreciate it and know that someone else might love it.
“Haven!”
She turned.
Harry Temple, her dealer friend and the gallery owner, strode toward her. He was a handsome, trim, well-dressed man with a dash of silver at his temples. Haven had shared several great dinners with Harry and his husband, Trent. They were both fun and entertaining.
When Harry saw her face, he jerked to a halt. His horrified gaze moved over her cheek and eye. “Darling girl, what happened?”
“You haven’t heard?”
He touched her arms. “No. Tell me who he is and I’ll send Trent to teach him a lesson.”
Trent was a personal trainer and owner of a local gym.
“Harry, we had a theft at the Hutton. They did this—” Haven waved at her face “—and stole the Water Lilies.”
Harry gasped. “Okay, totally cannot process the multi-million-dollar painting theft, but they hit you?”
“I’m fine,” she assured him.
Harry hugged her and she let herself lean on him for a second.
“Tell me Easton is tearing through San Francisco looking for this scum?”
“Well, he has his brother’s security firm looking into it.”
Harry shivered. “I’d let Vander Norcross look into me any day, if he didn’t scare the spit out of me.” He patted her shoulder. “Darling girl, Easton may own most of San Francisco, but Vander runs it. He’ll find them.”
“The painting’s gone, Harry. I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault. I need to find it.”
Her friend frowned. “I haven’t heard a peep. Something that big would make a lot of noise.”
She sighed. “Will you keep your ear to the ground?”
“You know I will.”
“Any whisper, any rumor, you call me.”
“Absolutely. Now—” Harry slipped an arm through hers. “Come and sit. I’ll have Tory make us some frothy lattes, and I’ll show you the latest piece I got in from a local artist I think is going to be huge.”
Haven let Harry fuss over her for a while.
When she stepped out of his gallery, she felt a little better, but the missing painting felt like a weight pressing down on her.
God, it was so damn unfair that she’d just gotten her life back on an even keel, was loving her work, had a good boss in Easton and a great friend in Gia, and then this happened.
Haven headed down the street. Feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t help. She knew that from experience. The weather was lovely and good for a walk. It was a beautiful fall day, not hot, not cold. Whatever it took, she was getting that painting back, and getting her damn life calm and stable again.
She almost ran into a bulky man in a suit in the middle of the sidewalk. “Sorry.”
She darted around him, her heels clicking on the pavement. She wasn’t sure what she could do next to find the painting. But she set her shoulders back. She wasn’t giving up. The Hutton was only a few blocks away. She’d sneak into her office and make a few more calls.
Leo had screwed up her life, and for a while, she’d let him. Not anymore. Haven was in charge, and she wasn’t letting anyone, especially some thieves, get her down.
But, millions of dollars, the voice in her head pointed out. Her stomach turned.
She paused, and practiced some breathing exercises from the yoga classes Gia sometimes dragged her to. No, she still felt stressed, and her face throbbed. Her painkillers were wearing off.
Then she felt a tickle of something on the back of her neck. That feeling any woman walking alone sometimes felt. Was someone watching her?
She heard heavy footsteps behind her and glanced back. There weren’t many people around, just a stocky man in the suit heading in her direction. She frowned.
Wait, wasn’t he the guy she’d bumped into before? He’d been going in the other direction.
He lifted his head—he had a buzzcut, no neck, and a really ill-fitting suit.
His gaze locked with hers.
Sucking in a breath, Haven turned and took off down the street as fast as she could without running. She fumbled for her phone. There was probably nothing wrong—
Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, yanking her backward.
“Hey!” she cried.
The man didn’t say a word, and panic shot through Haven. He dragged her down the sidewalk.
Dammit, she wasn’t getting snatched off the street in broad daylight. Could she have any shittier luck? Surely, she’d had her fair share already?
“Let me go!”
She was not going to let this no-neck jerk abduct her. She kicked him in the shin.
She felt her heel hit bone and he grunted, then he followed it up with a curse. He shook her.
Haven’s shoe fell off, and her phone slipped from her fingers to the sidewalk. She heard locks bleep on a car nearby and fear shot through her. He was dragging her to a car. If he got her inside…
No. No.
Haven twisted and struggled. She screamed, but he stuck a beefy hand over her mouth. Why was no one around?
She let her body weight drop, but Mr. No-Neck just dragged her.
Oh, God. She could be taken anywhere. She’d seen those Liam Neeson movies. She’d be sex-trafficked, fed drugs, raped—
Then suddenly, the goon let her go.
Haven staggered, and fell to her hands and knees. Her ribs ached and her palms stung. Crap, she’d lost some skin.
She heard a thud and spun, her pulse racing.
Then she sucked in a breath and watched Rhys slam a brutal punch into her abductor’s face.
Mr. No-Neck flew back, and Rhys—wearing a charcoal suit and white shirt that fit him in a mouthwatering way that only a woman would notice—advanced.
Two more punches and her abductor went down. Rhys straightened. He didn’t look like he’d even worked up a sweat.
Boiling, pissed-off, brown eyes locked on her.
Chapter Four
Rhys fought back his rage and scanned Haven.
She looked shaken, but had no new injuries that he could see.
The man on the ground groaned, and Rhys took out some zip ties and tied the man’s wrists and feet.
“You okay?” he asked Haven.
“God, no. He… He…” She looked on the verge of tears, but pulled it back. There was that spine of steel.