“I didn’t play you, Georgina, and I’m not a murderer! I told you. I made many friends in prison and it just so happens that one of them is a member of a French mob. He told me the painting was hidden behind a wall somewhere in Abu Dhabi, and that he knew where.”

  “And let me guess. You promised him a cut when I stole it for you, didn’t you?”

  “Five percent. That’s it. The rest is ours.”

  “Are you listening to yourself, Züber?” Ben spoke for the first time since Sokolov left. “You’re talking as if there is still a deal on the table, trusting our lives in the hands of a French mobster’s tip-off. That’s if this mobster friend of yours is, in fact, even telling you the truth. Because, if he really knew where it was, then why not just steal it himself? You were duped, man, and now we’re all going to die because of it.”

  “I wasn’t duped. He had it on good authority. I trust him.”

  “Trust him? You’re insane, Züber. The man’s a gangster who will say anything you want to hear when you share a jail cell,” Ben scoffed.

  “It doesn’t matter now anyway,” Jorja said. “Who cares if your French mobster friend told the truth or not. Sokolov has one up on us. Criminals like him are all in cahoots with one another. Heck, it might even be hidden behind one of his walls for all we know.”

  “The man told me the truth. Once you share a cell with an inmate there’s a bond nothing can break. We stood together, had each other’s backs. He’s good for it.”

  “Like I said, Gustav, it doesn’t matter. Sokolov isn’t interested. We don’t have any bargaining power without a worthwhile trade,” Jorja reasoned.

  “Oh, Artem Sokolov will come around. Just you wait and see. I’ve done enough business with him over the years to know what it looks like when a man has his back against the wall. You were right about one thing, Jorja. The Salvator Mundi was auctioned and bought by proxy, but it left the auction house and never made it to its destination. You, of all people, should know the bounty that would have been placed on that painting. I can think of at least a dozen very influential men who would have paid a small fortune to intercept that transfer. And as it happens, my guy worked for one of them.”

  Their conversation was interrupted when Sokolov re-entered the room. His facial expression looked noticeably different from when he had left earlier and Jorja spotted it immediately as he walked toward them. Under his heavy, dark eyebrows, his eyes took hers prisoner and lingered on her face. She tried to think of something to say but words escaped her. This was it. Their time was now.

  Sensing what was to come, her eyes filled with tears and she looked sideways at Ben.

  Each refusing to give Sokolov the satisfaction of seeing the pain in their eyes, Ben and Jorja held their gaze, resolute to face death’s dark welcome together. In the hollow, cold underground space they heard Sokolov’s finger pull back the hammer of his revolver, waited for the firing pin to slam against the cylinder that would discharge the first bullet, each expecting them to be first.

  Gustav yelled, “No, please, stop!” But the thunderous clapping of the gunshot echoed through the space and instantly silenced Gustav’s pleas.

  Jorja’s body shook uncontrollably when she realized Sokolov had shot and killed Gustav. Tears tightened her throat as she fought back the urge to explode into a sobbing mess. She will not give Sokolov the vengeful satisfaction he had been seeking, even if she choked to death on her fear.

  Resolved in the knowledge that Ben would most probably be next, she shut her eyes and prayed that God forgave her for her part in it all, and that He would meet them both on the other side.

  Chapter Three

  Below her tear-soaked chin, the barrel of Sokolov’s gun tilted Jorja’s head up, forcing her to look at him. The metal was hot as it touched her skin, and even when he had succeeded in raising her head to face him, she kept her eyes shut.

  “Look at me,” Sokolov demanded between gritted teeth. His voice was cold and demanding.

  Unable to defy him she opened her eyes and gasped when her eyes locked with his. In that moment, she knew she was no longer staring into the eyes of a mortal man. His eyes were black, glaring, piercing deep into the very essence of her being as if she had come face-to-face with the devil himself. Fear ran away with her and when she could no longer hold it back, it erupted in a wave of tears that lodged into her throat while he spoke.

  “You have one week to get me that painting or he dies next.”

  The shock of his threat brought her tears to a dead halt. As he turned and barked a command at his men, Jorja yelled,

  “I can’t do it without Ben. I need him.”

  But her words had no effect on Sokolov, who continued walking towards the exit.

  “Artem, please, there’s no way I can pull a heist this big without Ben.“

  “A week, Jorja, or Ben joins your associate,” Sokolov shouted over his shoulder before the door closed behind him.

  * * *

  His evil stare lingered in her memory long after Artem Sokolov left the room and ordered his men to drop Jorja off in the center of town. Bound and blindfolded in the back of their car, she begged his men to persuade Sokolov to let Ben join her, but they ignored her and she eventually gave up asking.

  They soon dumped her on the side of a steep embankment under a bridge, freed her sight and hands, then drove off. The night air was icy and wet against her skin as she lay there in the dark shadows of several tall trees. Her body felt sore and tender, her heart heavy with fear.

  When she finally managed to pull herself up on her feet, she took in her surroundings and instantly recognized her location. Relief washed over her when she saw the Rhône River to her right. She was still in Geneva—the old city, to be precise.

  The pain from her hurt arm was unbearable and she clutched it tightly against her body as she started to move up the small slope.

  She’d need to find a place to stay, at least for the night, until she knew what to do next.

  Exhausted, she shuffled across the cobbles of a nearby street as she followed the quiet road toward one of the smaller hotels she knew of. When she finally reached the unassuming boutique hotel, she stopped just outside the entrance, bending down on one knee as she buried her hand inside her sock. Moments later she retrieved a small bundle of cash, grateful that she’d kept up with the habit all these years.

  ‘Always come prepared’. Ben’s words echoed in her mind. It was one of the primary lessons he’d taught her back when they first started out together. She thumbed through the small wad of Sterling in her hand, counting out enough to pay for one or two nights’ stay, and a little extra to motivate the clerk should he not accept foreign currency. Tucking the remainder back inside her sock, she rose to her feet and entered the building.

  * * *

  The young man behind the front desk jumped to attention the moment the door chimes alerted him to her arrival.

  “Bonsoir, Madame,” he greeted.

  “I need a room, please.”

  “But, of course, Madame. How many nights?”

  “Two, for now, and it’s not madame.”

  “Forgive me, Mademoiselle.”

  He continued with the reservation glancing suspiciously at the blood stains on her face and clothing.

  “I had a car accident,” she lied quickly, sliding several large notes across the desk.

  The young desk clerk’s eyes fixed on the cash which he quickly transferred to his pocket, aborting the formal reservation immediately after.

  “I know a doctor if you need one.”

  “Thanks, but I just need a hot shower and a bed, and perhaps a bucket of ice, if possible,” she added.

  “Of course,” he whispered as he pushed a room key across the counter and directed his eyes toward the stairwell.

  “Second floor, turn right. It’s the room at the end of the passage, nearest to the fire escape. I’ll leave the ice and a few refreshments outside your door. Anything else, just dial nine from the room telephone. I’ll be here all night.” He finished with a polite smile.

  She thanked the insightful clerk and made her way up the stairs and to her room.

  Leaving the lights off, she drew open the heavy sunshine-yellow curtains just enough to allow the soft glow of the full moon in to partially light up the small room. Flinching in pain, she took off her leather jacket and tossed it onto the bed before she dropped down onto the edge of the bed next to it. For the first time in days, she was alone and out of danger, at least for the time being. It wasn’t going to be easy, but she’d have to try and get a few hours of sleep. She was going to need it.

  But, as her mind replayed the events that led up to that moment, alone in the dark hotel room, her emotions overwhelmed her.

  Fear sat dormant inside the pit of her stomach, threatening to engulf her insides at any moment. For the first time in years, she felt completely helpless. In a brief moment of insanity, she thought of turning herself in to the police, seeking their help in finding Ben, telling them everything and bearing whatever dire consequences she had to face. But the thought quickly dissipated when Gustav’s pleas rang in her head. Gustav was dead, killed in cold blood. If Sokolov could do that to him without as much as batting an eye, he would certainly kill Ben too.

  Unless she gave him what he wanted.

  But with Gustav now dead along with the name of the only lead she had to go on, it will be impossible to find the painting.

  Her mind was frantic as she searched for a way out of the predicament she bluffed her way into. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. Gustav wasn’t meant to die. No one was supposed to die.

  From the corner of her eye she glimpsed the red pocket-sized Bible on the nightstand and found herself leaning over to pick it up. The gold letters on the cover read, Psalms and New Testament, and she caught her heart flickering with sadness, as she recalled that the verse on the fridge magnet at home was from Psalms. Her fingers turned the flimsy pages to where she stopped at Psalm 23 before she read all six verses. By the time she neared the end she was sobbing uncontrollably. Just a short time ago she had finally yielded to God, confessed her sins, and asked Him to forgive her. Why did He not save her then, stopped all this from happening? Where were the green pastures and still waters He promised in these verses? Her eyes lingered on one particular verse, which she read over and over.

  Even though I walk through the darkest valley,

  I will fear no evil, for you are with me.

  * * *

  Pushed to her feet by the insatiable turmoil that raged inside her soul, she walked over to the small en suite bathroom. The bright overhead light flickered on automatically as she entered, blinding her for a few quick moments. Once her eyes adjusted, she caught her reflection in the large mirror that stretched across the entire wall along the vanity. Her eyes were swollen from all the crying and her jawline bore a large purple bruise. And, as her gaze settled on the two-inch gash above her brow, she concluded that she was indeed in a valley. A deep, dark valley she had no idea how to get out of.

  She freed a wayward strand of hair where it had gotten glued to the patch of dried blood around the wound. She looked a mess.

  Questions flooded her mind as she tried to reason how it had come to this. Everything was fine until they had found her. How was it even possible that both Züber and Sokolov found her so easily? For two decades, she had kept a low profile and it had worked. She had been so careful, so where did she go wrong?

  She stared at herself in the mirror for what seemed like hours, allowing her thoughts to run freely. A heavy blanket of guilt suddenly smothered her heart. Ewan would still be alive if she’d only trusted him. He had tried for years to get her to let him in. If only she’d let him. He would have found a way to protect her, to prevent all of this. What if she had let God in sooner too? Had she made her choice too late?

  Her attention turned to Ben. He didn’t deserve any of this either. None of this would have happened had she not contacted him. Now his life hung in the balance too.

  She ran water over her face and hands before she stepped into the shower where she curled into a ball on the shower floor, desperate for the hot water to erase all that had happened.

  Chapter Four

  She’d fallen asleep with make-shift ice packs, made from the bucket of ice the desk clerk had left outside her door as promised the night before. She had wrapped it around her sore arm and it had melted, leaving the bedsheets soaked beneath her. The soothing moonlight had made way for a bright beam of sunshine that scattered the sense of new beginnings throughout the room. She jumped to her feet, putting her pants on in a hurry. Time was of the essence and she couldn’t afford to waste any more. A heist of this nature would ordinarily take months of careful planning—with a skilled team. Instead, she had a week to pull it off entirely on her own.

  As she put on her shoes, fear exploded into her heart once more. This time, however, her heart fought back.

  “I will fear no evil, I will fear no evil,” she repeated out loud.

  She’d prayed herself to sleep the night before and decided to place her faith in God, even though she didn’t fully know what that looked like yet. It was something she’d read on the cover of a book she’d recalled seeing on Ewan’s kitchen table when she went over for tea once. Thinking back now, she wondered if that was one of the ways God had tried to get her attention.

  Struggling to quiet the questions in her mind, she shoved them aside, hoping that the answers would soon become known to her. She needed to focus on the present.

  Her fingers flipped through the few notes she had left. It wasn’t nearly enough money for her to get the job done, and without her passport that Sokolov had held back, she had no access to her Swiss bank account either. Sticking the cash inside her pocket, she snatched her leather jacket off the bed next to her and slipped it on.

  As she pushed herself up off the bed, a bright ray of sunshine hit her face and she found herself pausing to take it in, drawing a deep breath as if she wanted to inhale the unexpected lightness it brought to her soul. It was as if God Himself was holding her captive with the single beam of light that broke through the now cloudy sky outside her window. And in that moment, although her insides were tense with fear, her senses told her that she needed to do what she knew best and let God do what He did best.

  The slightest of smiles curled from the corners of her mouth as she recalled a memory with Ewan. She had asked how he managed to stay true to his faith when he was forced to face evil people every day. He had answered that God always came through for him in every situation and that He’d never once let him down. That it was God’s grace that allowed him to live in a world where evil drove people to do the things they didn’t have the strength to deny. Through being given grace, he could in turn show grace.

  “Show me grace, God, so I can show Sokolov grace too,” she spoke into the beam of light.

  * * *

  The obliging clerk from the night before had been replaced by a more mature woman who glared sideways at her when she passed the front desk. There was no doubt in Jorja’s mind that the woman would scan the previous night’s check-in list in search of her booking which, of course, didn’t exist.

  So, she ignored the woman, avoiding eye contact at all cost as she quickly slipped out the hotel’s front door.

  A bit further down on the opposite side of the street, she went inside a corner shop and bought a disposable cellphone, a takeaway coffee, and a kids pirate play set. Tucking the toy under one arm, her fingers dialed the number as soon as she stepped outside. Andre ‘Mad Dog’ Williams answered after just three rings.

  “Yo.”

  “Andre, it’s me.”

  “Gigi? Dang girl, what you go doing that for, huh? Twice now you go ripping my heart out my chest. I thought you were dead for real this time.”

  His voice instantly lifted her spirits. To his cronies, he was simply Andre ‘Mad Dog’ Williams, the gangster in charge. But to her, he was the loyal friend she knew she could always rely on.

  “I came close, but I’m okay. Sokolov got Züber though. He killed him.”

  Andre let out a gruff noise.

  “Didn’t I tell you not to mess with that man, huh? He’s a level up on the danger scale, and it wouldn’t surprise me if—”

  “He has Ben,” she cut in before he could rant about Sokolov being in the Russian mafia.

  She could hear Andre punch into something as he groaned again.

  “He’s making you do something, ain’t he?”

  “I have one week to get him the Salvator Mundi or he kills Ben too.”

  Panic rang in Andre’s voice when he spoke again.

  “That’s crazy, Gigi! A week isn’t enough time to rob a small bank, never mind steal a famous painting, and that’s if that dang thing even exists. If I remember correctly, it’s been missing for years.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m calling. I need your help, Andre.”

  “Wait! You mean you’re actually going to do what he wants. Steal the painting. That’s insane, Gigi! Even for you!”

  “I don’t have much choice, do I? Enough blood’s been shed and I’m not going to let Ben die too because of me. I have to do whatever it takes to get him out.”

  “And if you get caught? What good will it do then if you end up behind bars? Who’s going to save Ben then, huh?”

  “I have a plan. Besides, I can’t think of that now. I have to at least try. I’m all he’s got, Andre. Ben’s life depends on me pulling this off.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Gigi. The man is evil. Sokolov’s not gonna let you or Ben go free once you get him what he wants. He’ll kill you to protect himself and you know it.”

  Jorja had no words to refute him. She knew he was right. But then, she also knew she’d changed since they’d last seen each other.