“You’re the best, sis.”

  The phone clicked as her brother disconnected, and Carrie tried to look at the bright side. At least she’d get to admire Jax one more time. Even the shapeless janitorial jumpsuit he wore couldn’t hide those sculpted muscles. Maybe she’d get lucky, and he’d be bending over to empty the trash or something, and she could admire his backside. She grinned as she pressed down on the gas.

  ****

  The bolt on the door slid free after Carrie punched in the seven-digit security code. When she entered, the first thing she noticed was the quiet. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Jax singing at the top of his lungs while whizzing by on a floor waxer? Just the thought made her smile.

  She walked down the dimly lit hall. Paintings lined the walls, leading a path toward the main exhibition gallery in the center of the building. The large room displayed their featured artists. While there was added security around the paintings themselves, she hadn’t acquired any artwork yet that would necessitate the security methods found in larger galleries.

  As she approached the exhibition area, she noticed that the overhead lights were still on. She could have sworn she’d turned them off when she left. Jax must be cleaning in there.

  What she saw when she turned the corner took her breath away. The large frame that had hung in the center of the main wall had been removed. The frame was propped against the wall, and the Berkeley painting that it had encased lay on the floor next to it. A large cardboard-looking tube stood upright with the lid off.

  Carrie inched closer, not believing what she was seeing. It looked as though the Berkeley was lying atop another painting. She could see what immediately looked like an older piece sticking out from beneath the newer abstract on the floor. She started to bend down to move the Berkeley aside so she could see the painting it covered when she heard a distinct click behind her.

  She froze. Maybe it was from binge-watching all those crime shows, but she knew exactly what that click was … the cocking of a gun.

  “Turn around,” said the familiar deep voice behind her. “Slowly.”

  No, please don’t let that be who I think it is. With a shaky breath, Carrie turned slowly and found herself face-to-face with Jax. Only it wasn’t the Jax she was used to seeing. He wasn’t wearing his usual dark green jumpsuit. She’d guessed that he had muscles—had fantasized about his muscles—but her imagination paled in comparison to the reality. His biceps bulged against the black t-shirt he wore, and faded jeans hugged his hips in a way that nicely displayed the large bulge of his crotch. As she stared, she could have sworn she saw it twitch.

  Pay attention, Carrie. The man has a gun on you.

  She forced her gaze up to his hard black eyes, but she was unable to focus on anything except the barrel of the gun he had directly pointed at her forehead.

  “Jax.” Her voice trembled. “I-I don’t know what you’re doing, but y-you don’t have to. The painting … it’s not worth a lot. You wouldn’t get—”

  “Shut up, Carrie.” He cut her off.

  Her mouth snapped shut, and she backed up instinctually.

  “I told you not to move,” he said, stepping closer. “I don’t want to hurt you.” His grip tightened on the gun with one hand. His other hand ran through his short-cropped black hair in a frustrated motion as he muttered a curse under his breath. “Fuck, Carrie, please don’t make me hurt you. Just do what I say, all right?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but then thought better of it and nodded instead.

  “Good. I’m glad we understand each other.” His eyes flicked to some sort of a tool box on the floor and then back to her. “Lie down on the floor.”

  Up until then, she’d felt an odd sense of calm, but at those words, fear sliced through her. “Jax, no. Please, you don’t—”

  “I’m not going to rape you, Carrie.” His mouth twisted in disgust. “Just lie down on your stomach, and put your hands behind your back.

  Her face flamed. She knew she was overweight, but the repugnant look on his face made her want to curl into a ball. I’m upset because he doesn’t find me attractive enough to sexually assault? What’s wrong with me?

  She did as he said, lying on her stomach, and pressing her cheek against the cold marble floor. She heard shuffling of tools and then a ripping sound, as though Jax were tearing duct tape off a role. In moments, he had wound that tape around her wrists so her arms were secured together behind her back, and then he wrapped another long piece tightly around her ankles.

  Yanking her to a sitting position, Jax propped her against the nearest wall. “Keep your back against the wall. Don’t move. And don’t speak, or I’ll have to gag you. Do you understand, Carrie?”

  She nodded. Speak? She could scream. She hadn’t even thought to scream. But it’s not like anyone was around to hear her. Even if her voice could be heard outside the building, it was located on a hill on the edge of town with no other buildings around it. No one would be able to hear her. No, she needed to use her energy to figure out the best way to get away from Jax.

  Chapter Three

  Jax

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. Jax threw the tape back into his toolbox as Carrie watched him with wide blue eyes. What the fuck was he supposed to do with her now? If Ben had been here, he would have suggested killing her. Again. But Jax couldn’t do it. He couldn’t fucking do it. This was a really bad time for him to have a sudden attack of morality.

  He snatched the Berkeley painting up and began putting it back in the frame when Carrie’s startled gasp stopped him.

  He looked up to see her staring at the painting on the floor, the one that was underneath the Berkeley, with her mouth open in shock. Fuck.

  “Is that what I think it is?” She almost whispered the question.

  Of course she would know what the painting was. She’d studied art history, for crissake. He sighed. “What do you think it is?”

  “The Concert.” Her eyes flicked to him and then back to the painting laying on the floor. “The Concert by Johannes Vermeer, painted in 1664. It was stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston in 1990.”

  She looked him in the eye. “It’s thought to be the most valuable unrecovered painting in existence. It’s estimated to be worth over”— she swallowed—“over two hundred million dollars. My God, Jax, where did you get this? We have to call the police. We have to—”

  “No.” Jax ran a hand over his face. “I’m not a Boy Scout, Carrie. Do you think I just ran across this painting by accident?”

  “But, where did you…?” She looked at him and then looked again at The Concert, then at the Berkeley he was quickly putting back into its original frame. As he snapped the last piece of the frame back in place, he watched as Carrie’s eyes flicked faster and faster between the two paintings. He was sure she was assessing the situation and putting two and two together.

  “We just got the Berkeley in yesterday,” she finally said. “Was it … was The Concert…”

  “Behind the Berkeley painting,” he finished. “Yes.” He hung the Berkeley back in its original spot. “Give the lady a prize.”

  “You’re smuggling stolen artwork through my gallery?”

  He didn’t answer her, but began deftly rolling up The Concert and putting it in the tube. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her face go through a wide range of emotions, but she seemed to settle on anger. “You are smuggling stolen artwork through my gallery!” It wasn’t a question this time. “You son of a bitch!”

  When he didn’t respond, she continued. “So, you’re going to what? Just leave me here then disappear into the night with a two-hundred-million-dollar painting? Are you going to sell it and buy an island somewhere to live out the rest of your days, you bastard?”

  “Language, love.” He walked out of the room and dumped his tools back in the supply closet before coming back and assessing Carrie who had come out of her shock enough to begin struggling at the tape that bound her hands. “And you almost have my plan figured out except for one thing.”

  Her eyes shot fire as she looked up at him. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “I’m not leaving you here.” He reached down to yank her up. Her face registered fear for one quick moment before Jax swung her over his shoulder as if she were a sack of potatoes. “You’re coming with me.”

  ****

  The crunch of gravel as Jax turned off the main road signaled that they were getting closer to his house. Carrie seemed to sense it too as he heard the “Mmmmm!” sounds she was making get louder. He hadn’t had a choice but to tape her mouth before putting her in the back of his SUV.

  But now that they were drawing closer to home, he had to figure out what the hell to do with her. He was no closer to figuring out that problem than he’d been when he left the gallery.

  He drove down his long, winding driveway, and thanked his lucky stars that he’d decided to pay and have the drive heated. With his house halfway up the damn mountain, he got a ton of snowfall, and he really hated shoveling. When he neared the end of the drive, the trees opened up, and the three-story brick mansion loomed in front of him. His housekeeper had left it lit up, just as he preferred. He’d spent so much of his life in the dark, on the streets, that now he wanted everything bright.

  “Mmmmm!” Unfortunately, the person whose light shone the brightest was screaming in his backseat.

  As he pulled into the south garage that was connected to the house, his phone buzzed.

  “What!” He answered.

  “Do you fucking have it or not?” Ben barked back at him.

  “Yes, I have it, so stop bothering me. I’ll get it prepared for the client tonight, and we’ll drop it off tomorrow. Then we’ll both have our money, and you can disappear.”

  “I’m hurt, Jax. You don’t want me to stick around?”

  “Fuck you, Ben. It’s bad enough that we had to pull a job in my own backyard.”

  “What are you complaining about? You get twenty million out of this.” Ben’s voice got serious. “So what about the girl?”

  “What about the girl?” Jax replied.

  “Did you have to take care of her, or did she go home?”

  Jax looked in the back seat, where Carrie was struggling. “She left.” It wasn’t really a lie. She had left. She’d just come back.

  “Good. Look, I’ll be over later. We can prep and finalize everything.”

  “No! Ben, you don’t—”

  But he’d already hung up.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the hell was he supposed to do with Carrie?

  Chapter Four

  Carrie

  “Help!” Carrie screamed as Jax gently peeled the tape from her mouth. She kicked out as hard as she could with her bound ankles and caught him square in the knee.

  “Fuck, Carrie.” He backed up rubbing his sore knee as she continued to scream.

  Jax had carried her into a room that looked like a library. Two of the walls were lined with bookshelves, and a large oak desk stood in the center of the room. A cushiony, overstuffed red couch sat against one wall, and that was where Jax had deposited her.

  Under different circumstances, she would have admired the room. But right now, she was intent on screaming her head off. Maybe she could alert the owner of this mansion, and someone would come and help her.

  Unfortunately, Jax didn’t seem very concerned.

  Carrie screamed and screamed and screamed. “Help! I’ve been kidnapped! I’m being held hostage! Call 911! Help me! Call the police!”

  Jax leaned against the wall near the large oak desk and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

  After becoming convinced that no one was rushing to her rescue, Carrie began struggling to get the tape off of her wrists. She vaguely remembered a story on Dateline that talked about how to get away if you were ever duct taped. What the hell had they said?

  A good five minutes passed before she finally ran out of energy. Panting heavily, she eventually stopped struggling, trying to wipe her forehead with a shoulder because she could feel a bead of sweat trickling down her face.

  She looked up at Jax, still leaning against the wall, and damned if the bastard didn’t look amused. His eyes sparkled with mirth, and the corner of his mouth tipped up in the closest thing she’d ever seen to a smile from him. One dark eyebrow slowly arched. “Done?” he asked.

  She took a few more deep breaths. “Fuck you.”

  This time, he didn’t try to hide a grin, but his face broke into a wide smile, revealing perfect white teeth and a dimple—a fucking dimple—in his left cheek. Dammit if her heart didn’t skip a beat.

  Pushing off the wall, he walked toward where she sat on the couch. When he reached her, he bent down as if he were going to tie his shoe. Instead, he lifted the pant leg of his jeans, and Carrie looked down to see a holster of sorts at his ankle.

  With a schwing, Jax pulled out a knife. It wasn’t a huge knife, but it looked very sharp and very pointy.

  Carrie felt that prickle of fear again at the back of her neck. “What are you going to do with that?”

  Jax rested the point of the knife against the hollow spot at the base of her throat and bent his head until his face was mere centimeters from her own. Carrie drew her tongue across her lips, and she could have sworn Jax’s eyes darkened as he let out a little groan.

  He trailed the point of the knife lightly along the side of her neck and down her throat, lower between her breasts. She knew she should be afraid, and deep down, there was a part of her that was, but anxiety seemed to dissipate into an emanating heat at the center of her very being, as something told her he wouldn’t hurt her. She didn’t know why, didn’t know what it was, but she knew he wouldn’t hurt her.

  She focused on his full lips, loving how they parted slightly. The heat from his body seared her, and he wasn’t even touching her. And his scent … warm, musky, and deliciously male. Searching his face, she locked eyes with him and held his gaze for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only mere seconds.

  “Hold still, love,” he finally said. Trailing the knife down her legs, he kept his eyes on hers. She shivered at the sensation of the cool metal … or was she shivering because of his nearness? When he reached her ankles, he sliced through the tape in one quick jerk of the knife.

  He ripped the remnants of tape off, and Carrie breathed a sigh of relief since she was able to separate her ankles. With the tape off, she could keep her balance so much easier. When Jax stood up, she asked, “Aren’t you going to do my wrists?”

  With a quick headshake, Jax slid the knife back into his ankle holster and stood up. “Not quite yet. We need to talk first.”

  He looked so somber, but then again, this was a serious situation. Carrie watched him stalk over to one of the two leather chairs across from the oak desk. Even though they looked heavy, Jax lifted one as if it were light as a feather and flipped it around to face her. He sat in it and crossed one ankle over his knee.

  “Okay.” She took a shaky breath. “Talk. Tell me what’s going on. How did you end up with a two-hundred-million-dollar painting? What was it doing in my gallery? Whose house is this? And what … what are you going to do with me? Are you going to uh…” she gave a tug at the tape on her wrists. “Are you going to kill me?”

  “Carrie.” Jax said her name softly as he ran a hand over his dark stubble. Even though he came to work each day cleanly shaven, it seemed as though he usually had a five o’clock shadow by about two each afternoon.

  “First things first,” he finally said. “This is my house.”

  “Your house?” She looked around at the elaborate furnishings. “How could you afford this on a janitor’s sal—oh, right.” If she’d had a free hand, she would have smacked herself in the forehead. “Your parents must be so proud,” she said sarcastically.

  The laugh that Jax gave held no humor. “Yeah, well, if I had any parents, maybe I wouldn’t have become a thief.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “You don’t have any parents?”

  “Not everyone grows up as lucky as you, princess. With money and cars and clothes. Private schools, universities.” He jerked his eyes away as if he couldn’t stand to look at her anymore.

  She felt her anger rise. He’d stolen, he’d abducted her, and now he was trying to make her feel guilty? “You don’t know anything about me.”

  When Jax turned back to look at her, his eyes were cold. “I know enough. I’ve had to work for everything I have, Carrie. Can you say the same?”

  “Work? Work!” She looked at him in disbelief. “Being a thief is not work, Jax. And for your information, life hasn’t been as easy for me as you might think.”

  He shook his head and rose from the chair. “I highly doubt that.”

  “Don’t be so sure. Maybe you didn’t have parents, but that can’t be any worse than having parents who didn’t even want you.”

  He looked at her long and hard. “What are you talking about?”

  She straightened her spine. “You think I went to all those fancy boarding schools because my parents loved me? Hardly. My dad wanted a son—an heir. He didn’t have much use for a girl, at least not until I was old enough for him to marry me off.” She looked away. “He groomed Tate, and he shipped me off somewhere, to a girls school, where I wouldn’t be tainted.”

  “Tainted?”

  She looked back at him, ignoring the question. “Thank God for Tate. He could have turned out like my dad, but he was the only one who showed me any compassion.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “My mom? If my mom was awake, she was drunk. I used to hate her for it, but now?” She shook her head. “Honestly, I can’t say I blame her. She coped the only way she knew how. They think the car accident was her fault. Their car drove over a cliff, you know.”

  “So I read. That was your mom’s fault?”

  “Well, the car exploded on impact, so they can’t really prove anything, but they do know my mom was in the driver’s seat. Drunk driving was the only thing that made sense.” She looked up to see sympathy on Jax’s face. “Forget it. I don’t know why I just spilled all that to you. Maybe I just wanted you to see that we’re not so different.”