Red-Hot Vengeance

  Contents

  Copyright

  Series

  Warning

  The Ruby

  Them

  Her

  Him

  Hide

  Her Place

  His Place

  Seek

  Newsletter

  Copyright © 2015 Sandrine Spycher

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by S. Rubi

  In the same series, already available:

  Red-Hot Ruby

  In the same series, to be released:

  Red-Hot Gaze

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters in this novella are fictitious.

  Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Warning:

  This book contains swearing and explicit sexual content. It is thus not appropriate for very young readers.

  The Ruby

  The auction sale had been advertised for two months through every dubious informant in every part of New York and even beyond. Of course the authorities knew nothing about it. Most of the items on sale had been stolen, so nobody wanted to see any cops around the place. People went there by cab but all of them gave the driver a nearby address. We wouldn’t want to attract attention, would we? Having so many thieves, con-artists, and criminals of different kinds in one place was dangerous enough.

  The place was not really inviting anyway. It was an old rotting storage building in Downtown Brooklyn. It had been specially prepared for the auction sale. That is, once you got inside, you noticed there was actually something going on there on that particular day. From the outside, it was just as gray and ugly as usual.

  For obvious security reasons, people attending the sale were asked to leave their guns at the entrance. Most of them did, but not all. Even among villains, there’s always someone more evil than the devil who’ll try to double-cross the others. Plus, the so-called security agents just piled the guns in a wooden box. Thus if anyone was to trap the crowd, they’d just have to stand by the door and pick a weapon. But that wouldn’t happen of course. Criminals can also be honest sometimes.

  Most of the items for sale were brought by the owners themselves. No one wanted to risk losing the merchandise or have it stolen on the way. There were all sorts of art: beautiful paintings, precious jewelery, rare and ancient books, priceless Swiss watches, and even a unique Chinese saber entirely made of silver. The items were displayed on a long counter which looked expensive, but was actually built with cheap wooden boxes covered by dark red satin drapes.

  The counter was in front of the entrance. Between the door and the precious objects for sale were a great number of chairs. The organizers of the clandestine auction sale were expecting a lot of customers. The animator would stand on a leveled step near the middle of the counter and speak into a microphone. Behind him the objects would appear on a big screen so that everyone could have a good look at them, though buyers already knew which item they were going to fight for.

  It was now ten in the morning and most of the sellers had left their goods on the counter. Each stayed close to their art. A cold atmosphere of distrust reigned in the storage building. Men and women, common thieves and famous con-artists, organizers and guests; all looked at one another suspiciously. Every person entering the hall had to suffer an inspecting eye by the ones already present. Far from being uncomfortable, they usually answered with the same look meaning “Don’t mess with me or you’ll regret it.”

  Among those people was a woman carrying a small metallic box under her arm. Her high-heeled steps sounded loudly in the hall as she walked with a purpose. She barely even paid attention to the different people looking at her. And of course she kept her gun hidden in her left black leather boot. She walked straight to the counter and looked for the number indicating the spot of her art.

  “Hello, may I help you?” the soon to be animator of the sale asked.

  The woman scrutinized him. He seemed honest enough. “I’m looking for number four,” she said.

  “Oh, the ruby,” the animator replied with wide eyes.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “It’s right here, next to my podium,” he indicated. “We were only waiting for you to begin. Your item is certainly one of the most precious here.”

  She smiled. “I know. It is the most precious. And I hope to get a price matching its value,” she answered firmly.

  She took the ruby out of the suitcase and laid it on the little satin cushion provided. The gem was absolutely resplendent. It glowed with a blood red light that attracted every eye until the animator started speaking.

  “Please join your seats,” he announced. “The sale will begin very shortly. Let me first thank all of you for participating in this event. I hope that both sellers and buyers will find the object of their desire.”

  A tall man sat in the fourth row. He was barely listening to the animator who was now presenting lot number one. The man’s cold blue eyes were still attached to the ruby. He knew of its value, but not of its owner, although he might have had a hint when he caught a glimpse of the woman’s face.

  “Lot number four,” the animator said, “is this absolutely magnificent ruby. As you can see, it is not only a precious gem but also very good art. Its flower shape was carved by the famous Monsieur Duval who probably got even more famous for having this beauty stolen.”

  The crowd laughed lightly at the joke while the ruby was displayed on the screen. The red glow soon caught the attention of a warlike customer.

  “That ruby is a fucking fake,” she yelled, standing up from her chair. She had long blond hair tied up in a tight ponytail. Her angry eyes were concealed behind black Ray-Ban glasses. She was pointing at the art with a thin finger over-decorated with gold rings and precious stones. A huge gold necklace rested on her chest. She was dressed in the most expensive way: boots made of forbidden serpent leather and a long fox fur coat.

  Every head turned to see who was thus denouncing the value of the object along with the honesty of its seller. The tall man immediately recognized her. If the authenticity of the ruby was proved, he would be in great trouble. He sank into his chair, waiting for an opportunity to escape this dangerous situation.

  “It is not,” the seller said angrily. “I stole it myself from the art gallery hosting it a year ago.”

  “It’s a fake. I bought the real one about eight months ago,” the other one continued.

  “Now please, miss Vaughn, miss Farrell, calm down,” the animator asked, but he had some difficulty in making his voice heard. “We have a specialist with us,” he added, “who will authenticate this piece.”

  “How about the other pieces?” someone cried. “They might be forgeries too”

  “Yeah,” another one said. “What the fuck is this cheap auction sale with fake art?”

  Soon all customers started yelling at the poor animator. He didn’t know what to do or how to handle the situation. He looked at his colleague by the door and made a sign with his head. At that very instant, a gun was fired. The loud noise of the shot made everyone shut up and turn to the door. The tall man who was about to run away swore as he got stopped by the shot.

  “Mister Atwood is your host, you will do as he says and everything will be fine,” the shooter calmly commanded.

  “Thank you,” the animator, Atwood, said. “Now please go back to your seats.” He waited until order had somewhat come back to the hall before continuing. “Now, Douglas, if you could please work your magic and tell us about the authenticity of that ruby.”

  The man called Douglas approached the ruby with a jeweler’s magnifying glass and a notepad. While he was scrutinizing the ruby, the tall man discretely w
alked toward the exit. But Farrell stopped him.

  “Leaving so soon, mister Carter?” she asked.

  He sighed and turned around. “Hello, little girl,” he said. “Is that the real one?” he inquired pointing at the ruby.

  “Of course,” Farrell answered. “Are you telling me you don’t recognize it?” As he didn’t say anything she continued. “Why were you about to leave?”

  “Because I’m in trouble. And that’s thanks to you, I might add,” he grumbled.

  “Hm, I’m flattered. What did I do to get you into trouble?” Carter’s eyes were as blue and cold as she remembered them. She noticed he was closely watching Douglas work on the ruby. Yet, Carter was blinking more rapidly than usual. His lack of eye contact with her wasn’t habitual either. As Farrell remembered, Carter couldn’t keep his eyes off her, particularly when she was wearing a low neckline cut, just like now.

  “If that guy says the ruby is real—” Carter started.

  “He will,” Farrell interrupted him. “I stole it, remember?”

  “With my help. Yes I remember. I also remember us getting caught and losing the ruby.”

  Their private chat was interrupted by Vaughn’s violent yells. Farrell looked at Carter, but he avoided her and went back to his chair. Farrell walked toward her ruby with a victorious smile.

  “Are you still doubting my word, or can we get on with this sale?” she bitterly asked.

  While the sale resumed and the bids for the ruby raised to tremendous heights, Carter observed Farrell and called to mind his adventure with her. Almost exactly a year before, he had attempted to steal the ruby that was now being sold for over four million dollars. Carter had failed; he hadn’t even been able to lay a single finger on the gem.

  Farrell had been faster and—although Carter wouldn’t admit it for the world—smarter than him. Carter had found her along with the ruby at her place, but they were stopped by the police. In a failed attempt (because of Farrell) to escape, they’d both got arrested. Yet Carter wasn’t good at being arrested. Thus he’d escaped and, for a reason even he couldn’t explain, he’d helped Farrell run free as well.

  And now, twelve months later, when he had almost forgotten about the whole story, there she was with the ruby. And he was having such a good day until then. With crossed arms, and his foot tapping the floor, Carter sat back in his chair, waiting for this fucking auction sale to be over so that he could go home.

  All those people were talking too loud. No, actually the only one talking was Atwood. All the others were breathing too loud, and starting to give a headache to Carter. Somewhere deep inside of him, he knew he shouldn’t have come. But that beautiful watch…

  Carter rubbed the back of his neck to try and relax his rigid muscles. He couldn’t help but thinking over and over again about his escape from the police with Farrell. How on Earth did she get the ruby back? She couldn’t have simply walked back, not with all the officers kindly waiting for her. Or perhaps the real ruby had never left her place at all.

  Carter coughed in his sleeve. He felt like shouting, but that would attract too much attention. And he didn’t want that. Especially not coming from Vaughn. It was the second time he saw her in person. She was creepy. With all her dangling jewelery, she looked like a Christmas tree. Carter almost laughed out loud at that thought. Almost.

  Now that she’d discovered the ruby he’d sold her was a forgery, he might be in quite a lot of trouble. Not really because of her, but because of her power and the number of men working for her. She had even more minions than Gru. Carter could have chosen a less dangerous person to con. He probably would have if she hadn’t been the one offering the biggest sum. So he took his chances and sold her a beautiful rose he had carved himself in red glass.

  The sale was slowly coming to an end. There were only five lots left. As he didn’t want to expose himself, Carter hadn’t tried to get the watch. It had gone to a fat guy looking like a Doctor Who nerd. What a waste. Carter was still digesting his frustration when loud noises as of strikes against the metallic door were heard.

  When the doors were crashed open and men and women in uniforms appeared holding guns, the atmosphere went from critical to chaotic. Although the police officers repeatedly shouted “Nobody move,” the criminals ran to the best place to hide. Those who had kept their guns with them soon started shooting back at the police.

  Farrell hid behind the counter. The money had only just been transfered to her account when the police arrived. Good timing. But now she was crouching at what felt like miles away from the exit. She raised her head above the counter and peered across the enemy lines. A shot whistled past her ears.

  Farrell quickly hid again. A rush of adrenaline made her pulse race. She swallowed with difficulty, but a sour taste remained on her tongue. That shot was meant to kill her. In all probability, it hadn’t been fired by the police. Farrell remembered that she was in a hall full of relatively dishonest criminals.

  She glanced to her left and saw Carter, gun in hand, eyes fixed on a remote place in the dark that Farrell couldn’t quite make out. Suddenly he got up and ran to the dark corner. At that moment, Farrell noticed the back door. She shot at him to make him aware of her situation. He jumped back with an angry growl. Carter took his aim, but soon lowered his gun when he noticed Farrell. He knew that if she stayed there, she would get caught in no time.

  Carter looked behind him. Apparently the police hadn’t discovered the back door yet. They soon would. Carter had little time left if he was to escape through there—which seemed to be the only escape option at all.

  He thought of leaving Farrell to her fate, but somehow that just felt wrong. He made a sign for her to run to him. As soon as she moved, Vaughn aimed at her. Carter shot at Vaughn, forcing her to stay hidden behind the pile of unused chairs. Farrell reached him. She was about to talk but he didn’t give her time.

  “Go, go,” he shouted, pushing her to the door.

  In this chaos of gunshots, wounded people lying helpless on the ground, and policemen yelling orders, Vaughn had recognized Carter’s blue eyes. She wasn’t thinking about Farrell anymore, and not even about how she’d humiliated her by proving the real ruby was not hers but on the table there. No, now she was furious at Carter for daring to appear at this event after having sold her a fake ruby. Her protruding eyes were fixed on her prey. She wouldn’t let him leave the building alive.

  “Get him!” she roared at her minions.

  “But, ma’am, the police are closing on us,” one of them tried.

  “Get him, or I’ll use you as a shield,” she threatened.

  Carter observed the scene. Vaughn was taking inconsiderate risks just for him. How flattering. But dangerous too. Carter considered his options once more. The field to which the back door led was now infested with police uniforms; it would be impossible to get out on that side.

  There were still a few criminals in the hall but most were wounded, thus not much trouble anymore. The main door was wide open, yet barred by a line of police. And, worst of all, Vaughn’s men were advancing on him. Carter chose the safest option. He ran to the back door. Once out he threw his weapon on the ground and lifted his hands in the air. A minute later, he was being handled by officer Cowley.

  “Hello again,” she said.

  Carter internally smiled. It wouldn’t be hard to get rid of her. He let himself be guided to the closest car. The handcuffs didn’t stay long on his wrists, but Cowley didn’t notice anything. When she opened the door of the car, Carter pretended to faint. Cowley was so surprised that she let twenty seconds pass before she reacted. That was enough for Carter to knock her out and run.

  Them

  Carter lived in Manhattan again. He had left New York for no more than two months after his escape from officer Williams and Co. It was not usual for him to go back to a place where police might be waiting for him. But this time it was New York; did he need any further justification? With the help of a former partner in crime—the only
one Carter had ever had—he’d found a flat in a short time.

  As always, Carter didn’t own a lot of furniture. He didn’t need it, and he preferred to travel light in case he would have to make for a quick escape. He had recuperated his four books: two novels, a collection of reproductions of famous paintings, and a book with no pages but containing a priceless treasure. Carter also had a wooden box with a secret opening where some of his money was hidden, tied in regular rolls.

  From his bedroom window, Carter had a magnificent view on the city. Although he wasn’t actually in great heights—because he lived only on the eighth floor—he could easily watch people walk around in the street. Carter disliked people. He only spied on those he thought wealthy. Wealthy, thus potentially interesting. Especially if they were women.

  Carter visualized Farrell in her tight tank tops and tighter blue jeans. He wondered if he’d ever see her again. Yesterday was just a meeting out of chance. But perhaps López knew what she was up to. Or if she even lived in New York. With this thought in mind, Carter grabbed his jacket and went out.

  **

  Farrell pushed the door of the pub. She sat at the bar and ordered a Cuba Libre. López looked astonished to see her. He served her the drink without losing his look of surprise. Farrell didn’t say anything for a while. She hadn’t been very nice to him last time they’d met. But López seemed to be waiting for her to talk first.

  “How are you?” she eventually asked.

  López laughed heartily. “I’m great,” he said. “You are the last person I would have expected to see.”

  “Well, I…” Farrell didn’t know what to say.

  “Apology accepted,” López helped her with a wide smile across his face.

  Farrell sipped on her drink. “Do you have any news from Reese Carter?” she casually inquired.

  “Oh, so that’s why you’re here,” the bartender noted. “I thought you actually wanted to see me, but no, there’s always a particular reason with you guys,” he complained.