Rose Quartz by Sandra Cox Page B

psychopath, sugar.”
    Johnny blinked and shook his head as if trying to clear it. “I have a proposition.”
    “Let’s hear it.” Hank’s voice was hard, his gray eyes, like chips of ice, drilled into Morelly.
    Johnny turned to Hank. “You’ve drawn too much attention to me and my men. If anything happens to Ms. Tremaine the cops are going to be all over me. On the other hand I have my reputation to uphold. Without it I lose respect. I lose face.”
    Hank leaned forward and said softly, “I’m all for rearranging your face.”
    “Sugar.” Bella’s voice held a world of warning.
    Hank leaned back an inch, his expression dangerous.
    “Let’s just hear what Mr. Morelly has to say.”
    “You leave town.” Johnny leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands over his flat stomach.
    Bella blinked. “Excuse me?”
    “You leave town. No one can expect me to waste you and steal your baubles if you aren’t here. My turf is Atlanta. Go back with your Yankee cowboy. I don’t operate up north.”
    “I can’t do that. I have a show in three days.”
    Johnny deliberated then stood. “Three days. Leave after the show.” He studied her amulet for a moment as if weighing his odds.
    Hank’s hand dropped to the gun at his waist and Puss–Puss began to growl.
    With a shrug, Johnny turned. “I’ll see myself out.” The door shut with a soft thump behind him.
    Bella and Hank looked at each other as tense silence built between them. It was Bella who broke it. “I’m not leaving town with my tail between my legs.”
    “It certainly won’t be with your tail between your legs but you are leaving town as soon as the show is over. Don’t fight me on this, Bella.”
    “And if I do?”
    “I’ll hog-tie you and toss you in the back of the truck like a calf at a rodeo.”
    There was just something about his implacable expression that made her uneasy. She had always been able to get around men. Well, with the exception of cold-blooded killers like Johnny Morelly and psychopaths like Victor Price, she amended silently but something told her Hank McHenry was the exception to the rule. A maverick who’d never run with the herd.
    She sighed in defeat. It was going to be a damn long three days.
    * * * * *
     
    Victor grabbed the bars of his cell and shoved against them. He threw back his head and howled out his fury, spittle forming at the corner of his mouth and dripping down his chin. Morelly had failed and he, Victor, was still in this dank, lightless gray cubicle.
    He paused, arrested. His eyes lit with madness. Of course, Victoria!

Chapter Five
     
    A string quartet, dressed in black, plucked their instruments in the corner of a large well-lit room. White-shirted waiters zigzagged between men in tuxedos and women dressed in long sleek dresses and wearing sparkling diamonds. They stood in groups studying Bella’s paintings. A mix of perfumes hung in the still air, some light and fruity, some heavy and overpowering.
    It was the first night of her showing and the premier event of the season, held at the most prestigious gallery in Atlanta. In the beginning of her career, she had found the excitement overwhelming. Now all she could think about was getting home and out of her three-inch spike heels.
    Bella glanced at Hank from under her lashes and bit down on her lips to keep from smiling. The man standing next to her looked as handsome as sin. Feet splayed, arms rigid and hands locked in front of him, he looked more like Secret Service than an art lover. He even wore dark glasses to hide his magnificent shiners. A close-clipped, partial beard camouflaged the bruises on his face.
    A young woman in a fitted burgundy dress stepped out of the crowd and walked up to Bella. She pointed at the picture of Hank—now minus the green mustache—that hung in solitary splendor on the west wall. “I’d love to have that painting and the man in it.”
    Bella narrowed her eyes, trying to place the young woman. Enlightenment dawned.