Gauguin Connection, The (14 page)

I hit, kicked, screamed and scratched until one of the men had me in a grip so tight I couldn’t move. It turned out to be the taller Russian holding me. He was behind me, one arm tight around my throat and the other hooked around the front of my left arm, bending it painfully backwards and gripping my right arm in a bruising fist. My arms were trapped between our bodies. He had one leg around the front of both my legs so that I had zero balance and was being held up by his arm around my neck. Not even in lovemaking had I ever been so taken over by another body. Every inch of me was touching his body.

I immediately brought the serenade back into the forefront of my mind. Colin’s arm through mine was one thing. This kind of physical contact was infinitely more than I could bear. When the Russian spoke again it was filtered by Mozart. And very close to my ear. “Where is the other computer?”

“This is the only one I have.”

“Liar!” His arm around my throat tightened with intent, but the German’s voice stopped him.

“Quiet!”

The sudden silence in my bedroom was broken only by hard breathing. Mine was from the fight for survival, but I suspected theirs was from anger. The three men exhibited body language associated with annoyance and anger. I focussed on that and my breathing calmed.

“Do you hear something?” the short Russian asked.

“I said quiet!” The German was looking towards the front door. Then I also heard it. A man was calling my name in a manner familiar and loving. I had never heard that voice before. I also heard a light scratching noise.

“He’s picking the locks.” The German looked at the Russian holding me. “Did you lock all of them?”

“Yes.” His answer rumbled against my back. I mentally wrote a few more bars of Mozart.

“We have three minutes at most. Are we sure there is nothing else to be found here?”

They all assented that they had searched every inch of my apartment and had found nothing else hidden. I listened to them through the calming sounds of Mozart. Hearing what they were saying was enough. I committed every word to memory, every nuance,
every inflection. I didn’t have the strength, physically or otherwise, to understand or analyse it. That would have to wait for later.

“What are we going to do with her? We can’t take her now. We’ll have to leave through the windows.” The tall Russian was still holding me in a death grip. I was going to be badly bruised.

“Inject her.” The German looked at the Spaniard. “Do you have it ready?”

“Yes, it’s here. Just hold her still.”

“What? What are you going to do?” What were they going to inject into my system? I didn’t want to die. I didn’t deserve to die. Not by the hands of thugs breaking into my apartment.

“Now listen very carefully to me, Doctor Lenard.” The German moved to stand so close that I had to lift my head to see his eyes. “We know who you are; we obviously know where you live. You are to stop putting your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Where is that?” My question brought angry muscle contractions to his eyes.

“If you need me to spell it out for you, then you are not half as clever as I’ve been told.” His tight whisper frightened me even more than his previous threat. “Stay away from this. You are to forget about your investigation. You are to forget about our little visit. Am I clear?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but screamed when a sharp needle entered the triceps of my left arm. I struggled against the Russian’s hold, but he held me firm until the needle pulled out.

“How long?” The German was looking at the Spaniard who was putting the syringe in his backpack. He took out a tablet-looking device and stepped closer to me.

“She should be out in thirty seconds.”

“Good. And she’ll be out until morning?”

“Yes.”

The Russian released his hold on me and I found myself standing on unsteady legs. I lowered myself to the floor and wondered if I looked as disoriented as I felt. Feeling in my lower limbs was slowly disappearing and my hands were tingling. I lifted one hand and stared at it. It was fascinating to be able to move my fingers and not feel it at all.

My hand was roughly taken by the Spaniard. My fingers touched something smooth and cool before my hand was thrown down. I couldn’t lift it again.

I wanted to laugh at the realisation that I was drugged. Genevieve Lenard, renowned expert in non-verbal communication, was high. I frowned with concentration, memorising what I was experiencing. This might be the only time that I would have the opportunity to observe myself drugged. Definitely worth remembering.

My cerebral acuity was not yet as strongly affected and I put all my energy into mentally recording everything. My drugged experience as well as the muted conversation of the intruders as they were set to leave my apartment were carefully filed away. It might have been two minutes or it might have been longer, but I was very pleased with what I had observed. As a deep lethargy took over my body, I didn’t even know that I had collapsed on my bedroom floor. My only concern was whether I would remember everything once I woke up.

The last thing I saw, and filed away, was a giant storming into my bedroom and kneeling next to me. He was calling my name, but I couldn’t respond. Awareness slipped away from me just as he placed a gentle hand on my tender cheek and swore.

Consciousness came to me slowly. First, I became aware of the pain in my face. My cheek was throbbing and the cut on my eyebrow stung. My eyelids were too heavy to lift. I assumed the drug had not yet fully worked its way out of my system. Fortunately, I had four more senses with which to assess my current situation.

An attempt to lift my hand so I could inspect my injuries came to nothing. Even though I was awake, I was not able to move. I did not know where I was, but someone close to me was moaning pitifully. After a few seconds, I realised that I was the one moaning.

“Colin,” an unknown male voice very close to me called out, “she’s waking up.”

My entire body jerked. Not another attack. Please. My panicked breathing sounded loud in my ears and did nothing for the pain in my face. I forced Mozart past the panic and felt its soothing effects within seconds. Then I started doing what I did best. Reading and analysing.

It took me only a few moments to register that the deep, hoarse voice next to me had sounded concerned. And he had called for Colin. I opened my eyes with Herculean effort and was relieved to be looking at the walls of my own bedroom. My head felt like it was split open, but I forced myself to look around. I frowned slightly as I tried to remember whether there hadn’t been more devastation in my bedroom. It seemed as if someone had cleaned up. The last I remembered I had been on the bedroom floor. Now I was lying on my bed.

I took a bracing breath and turned my head to the left, towards the window. Next to my bed, on one of my dining-room chairs, was a man large enough to cause concern for the legs of the chair. So this was the giant whose presence had chased away those thugs. His feet were firmly planted on the floor and he was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. My eyes roamed over his canvas pants, his loose-fitting cotton shirt, all the way up to his face. An ugly scar starting from his left temple and zigzagging to his jaw marred his strong features. His
orbicularis oculi
contracted, muscles causing him to squint. He was looking at me as if I were an unknown specimen in a Petri dish.

My eyes were now wide open in a combination of surprise and interest. I was in an absurd scenario, lying half-paralysed in bed and scrutinising the man just as he was scrutinising me. He seemed to be one solid bulk of muscle. Combined with his shaved head, the ugly scar and his scarred hands, he made a very intimidating picture. Yet his upturned palms, relaxed shoulders and the concern in his eyes did not induce panic. This fear-inspiring man staring intently at me did not project a single non-verbal cue leading me to think that he was aggressive.

“Colin?” I managed to squeeze the word through my vocal cords. It came out scratchy and for some reason caused more pain in my bruised cheek. My mind was starting to function at its usual speed and numerous questions were nagging at me. Who was this hulking man? Why had he called Colin? Was the thief here? If so, where was he and why was he here?

“I’m here, Jenny.” Colin’s deep voice spoke from the doorway. I heard him walk in before I managed to turn my head. He stood by the side of the bed for a moment before he lowered himself gently onto the mattress next to me. “How’re you feeling?”

“Lame.”

“Did you say lame or pain?”

“Both.” I only mouthed the word. Nausea was the latest addition to the physical ailments pulling at me. I took four shallow breaths to keep the pain and nausea at bay.

“I’m not surprised. It looks like you had quite the battle in here, young lady.” He smiled when I rolled my eyes at him. Since talking was proving to be too big a challenge at that moment, I looked pointedly at the large man silently watching me before I looked questioningly at Colin.

“She was shooting the breeze with her eyes, dude. That’s sick.” I had no idea what the man had just said, but I did take note of his voice. It was raspy, as if he had damaged it from overuse. That, and his unidentifiable accent, added even more to his intimidating image. He did, however, sound amused.

“Jenny, I would like for you to meet Vinnie. Vinnie, Jenny.” Colin gave Vinnie a warning look. “Vinnie is here to help us.”

“Genevieve.” I was fighting a losing battle.

“Nah, you’re a Jen.” Vinnie turned his attention to Colin. “She’s too small to be a Genevieve. Definitely a Jen.”

“I’m not small.” Not only did I have more uninvited guests, they also insisted on insulting me. The annoyance with them gave me enough strength to try and lift myself onto my elbows. “What’s the time?”

“Don’t get up. Just lie there for a moment.” Colin glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s just past six.”

“In the morning?”

“Yup,” Vinnie said. “You’ve been out cold the whole evening.
Ol’ Colin and I housewifed a bit while you were catching your zees.”

I stared at the man sitting next to my bed. There was an uncomfortable silence and I turned to Colin. “I don’t understand a word he just said.”

“Don’t mind Vinnie. He’s harmless.” Colin chuckled again when Vinnie snorted and I looked at him with obvious disbelief. “Vinnie here spent a few years with his family in America and he fell in love with the slang they use over there. He’s also created a few of his own special words.”

“Why is he here?” I was feeling stronger by the minute and also increasingly annoyed. “No, why are
you
here?”

“Like I said,” Colin said slowly as if talking to a child. “Vinnie is here to help us. I came as soon as I realised something was wrong. I phoned Vinnie and he managed to get here before me.”

“Yes, I found you on the floor, out for the count,” Vinnie said. “The place was trashed and at first I thought you were pushing up daisies, but then I saw you oxygenating.”

I looked at Colin.

“He said he found you unconscious on the floor. Your apartment was destroyed and he thought you were dead, but then he saw you breathing.” His eyes narrowed. “Who was here, Jenny?”

I lifted myself higher against the pillows. A big mistake. The room started to spin and the nausea returned in full force. It took me a full minute of working on a Mozart minuet to regain some level of normalcy. I opened my eyes to see Vinnie striding toward me. In his hands were a few empty music staff sheets and a pencil. He handed them to Colin and stood back, looking unsure.

“You told him?” My voice shook with fury and my eyebrow stung when I frowned. Writing Mozart as a way to cope was private. Only a handful of people knew about this and I resented anyone knowing unless I chose to tell them. I would never have told Colin, but he had witnessed it. But this giant knowing? It was unacceptable.

“Jenny, please don’t get angry. You’re still recovering. I’m just trying to help.” Concern and guilt strained Colin’s voice. “I should never have dragged you into this case.”

“You didn’t ask me to help. Manny and Phillip asked me to work on this case.” I looked uncomfortably at Vinnie, who was leaning casually against the wall. This was not a topic for open conversation. “What you did was insert yourself into my life and into this case without giving me much of a choice. You did not drag me into this case, you cretin.”

A muffled cough drew my eyes to Vinnie, but he had recovered from whatever caused his discomfort. I did, however, notice the relaxed lines around his eyes and the slight lift of the corners of his mouth. He thought this was funny. That annoyed me even more.

“Jenny.” Colin held both his hands up, palms out. “Before you get very angry and chase me out of your apartment again, we need to talk about this.”

“What is there to talk about? You’ve once again broken into my apartment.”

“I didn’t technically break in this time. Vinnie opened the door for me.”

“That’s even worse! You brought another criminal”—I quickly glanced at Vinnie—“no offence, into my home.”

“She knows I’m a criminal?” Vinnie’s raspy voice was low in its threat towards Colin.

“She guessed, but you’ve just confirmed it.”

“Oh.” A warm smile transformed his face. “You’re good, Jen-girl. Colin told me you were a whiz, but I thought he was blowing smoke.”

I didn’t even try to understand or respond to what Vinnie had said. I knew that aiming my anger at Colin and his friend was irrational, but I hadn’t had enough time yet to deal with the remnants of the panic from the night before. And I ached all over. “I need to be alone.”

“No.” Colin’s immediate answer surprised me in its vehemence. “You’re not going to be alone. I would love to talk you out of working on this case, but somehow I know that won’t be possible. Since neither Phillip nor Millard seem to realise how dangerous it is for you, I’ll take your safety into my hands. No, don’t you dare argue with me, Genevieve Lenard. Until we have closed this case nice and tight, you will not be alone for one second.”

“Colin, I cannot.” The idea of constant company brought the suppressed panic to the fore. “You’re not even supposed to be on this case. And now this man also knows things no one else is supposed to know. This won’t work.”

“Jen, hon.” Vinnie moved away from the wall, but didn’t crowd in on me. “My aunt Theresa is my father’s youngest sister. He has three sisters and two brothers, you know. Ah, his middle sister really makes a mean chilli con carne. Anyhoo, Theresa is agoraphobic. I have seen what it is like for people who are special like that when things get too much. I used to stay with her some holidays, so I know what to do and what not to do. I promise you won’t even know I’m here.”

“He?” I was relieved that the large man had spoken normal English, but I didn’t want him in my space all the time. I didn’t want him in my space at all. “You’re leaving me with him?”

“Hey. I’m not that bad. I can even cook.” Vinnie didn’t look in the least offended.

“It’s true, Jenny. Vinnie is a killer-cook.”

“A killer-cook?”

“Just a manner of speaking.” The look that Colin gave Vinnie was one of apology and guilt. By using a euphemism, Colin had just unwittingly given a secret of Vinnie’s away. “He will be here when I can’t. He will make sure that nothing like this happens again.”

There was no going back on my agreement to let Colin work with me on this case. I wouldn’t dream of breaking my word, even though I had regretted it a few times before and at least a dozen times in the last five minutes. What I didn’t want was a very large man in my apartment, messing up my kitchen, my neat world. That would distract me immensely. After last night I needed to focus on making connections. I wanted to hand Manny his case back as soon as possible. That would rid me of all these new complications in my life.

My thoughts of how to avoid change were interrupted by Vinnie quite loudly clearing his throat. “I think I’ll go fix us all breakfast. What chow do you fancy, Jen?”

“English?” I understood each individual word, but had no idea what Vinnie tried to communicate.

“Will scrambled eggs and toast be okay for you?” Colin asked.

“I don’t want breakfast.”

“She’ll have scrambled eggs and toast. Thanks, Vin.”

“No problemo, dude.” Vinnie was already halfway to the kitchen, no doubt going to mess up any surface that the thugs last night hadn’t already spoiled.

My thoughts returned to the previous night’s events and another question turned up. “Colin, how did you know that something was wrong last night?”

“I’m psychic?” he offered, but grimaced when I glowered at him. He looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“Just tell me. I know I’m not going to like the answer, but you knew to come and I am glad that you are here.”

Colin’s eyebrows raised at my admission. Then he closed his eyes and sighed. “I planted a bug.”

“A bug? What does an insect have to do with this?”

Colin let out a long groan. “It’s a colloquialism for a small electronic listening device.”

“A what?” I was horrified. “You’ve been listening in on me? That’s perverse. When did you put that device in my apartment?”

“The first day when you were writing music”—he pointed to the music sheets between us on the bed—“I kept myself busy. Please don’t get up. You’re still too pale, Jenny. Just lie back against the pillows and I’ll tell you everything.”

I glared at him, but dizziness combined with the nausea left me with little choice. I settled back stiffly and waited for him to continue. If that heinous invasion of privacy had not been the reason that Vinnie had chased off the thugs, I would never have forgiven him for it.

“While you were writing music I started looking around. At that time I only knew the basics about you and was curious. And I didn’t know if you could be trusted. I wanted to find out who this woman was who figured my poets out when no one else had managed to do so. You were writing for a very long time. Do you know how much you can tell about a person by the books on their shelves and the art on the walls?”

I didn’t answer this question, by now familiar with his technique to derail conversations. Of course he was right and I wondered what impression he had formed about me from my books and art. But I was too angry with him to say anything. I just pursed my lips tighter and continued glaring at him.

“I suppose you do know.” He sighed. “Your books and art intrigued me. It showed a highly intelligent woman with varied interests. When I first came here, I had a whole plan to send you into a different direction. But your apartment, your music selection and especially your books convinced me that you might just be the one. No one else had been willing to listen to me before and I had no solid proof that I could convince them to take a closer look. But I knew that you would.”