Tinsley shrunk back into the seat and tried to scamper to the other side of the car, but it was no use. The door was opened and she was roughly grabbed and dragged out. Her arms hurt where he’d yanked her out of the backseat and also from where her purse dangled from the handcuffs, causing them to dig into her skin. No matter how scared she was, she had to focus.
Tinsley needed to stay calm so that she could read the room and take in every chance for escape. It was easy to get the tears to roll down her cheeks. She didn’t need to fake the fear she was feeling. She just had to control it so it wouldn’t overtake her.
“Please,” she begged the man pulling her up the stairs behind Mark. “I haven’t done anything wrong. What do you want with me?”
The man ignored her as he roughly hauled her up the stairs. He shoved her through the door and into a giant open area. It looked as if the place had been a biker bar at one point. It was decorated with motorcycle accessories and there was a square bar in the center of the room with at least forty mismatched stools around it. Most of them were occupied by men, including a guy who was behind the bar handing out mugs of beer. Old square tables filled the room. Some had been knocked over and some were filled with more men. Dartboards with unfinished games hung along a wall, unlit neon signs covered some of the windows.
A big-screen television played in the far corner. Chairs had been lined up as men watched a baseball game. She counted at least fifty men in the building. As Tinsley looked around, one of the men stood up. At about six foot three, he was much taller than Mark. There was a giant tattoo of a snake that started with its opened mouth on his neck and coiled down the length of his arm.
“This must be my art dealer,” he said as her captor let go of her arm and headed back downstairs to his post. Mark shoved her into a chair off the side of the table and went to stand by the man who appeared to be Curtis Engle.
Tinsley let the fear show on her face. Tears tracked down her cheeks as she looked up at him with wide eyes. “I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong. Who are you and what do you want with me?”
Curtis grabbed a chair, dragged it close to her, straddled it, and crossed his arms on the chair’s back. He looked at her as if he could read her inner thoughts. “We have a mutual friend, Miss Faulkner. What’s his real name?” Curtis looked to Mark.
“Paxton Kendry,” Mark answered. “FBI Agent Paxton Kendry.”
Tinsley wrinkled her brow. “I don’t know any FBI agents by that name. I know one named Peter. He dates one of my friends, but the only Paxton I know is my art handler. He helps me transport art, hang it, and fixes stuff in my gallery. But his last name is Johnson.”
Tinsley had to think fast. They knew about Paxton and she was afraid she was going to have to give him up. However, she needed to keep her cover. If they knew she’d been helping him, she was dead.
“When did this Paxton Johnson start working for you?” Curtis asked. Now was the time to sell her story. She sniffed and looked as if she were thinking. She was, but not about Curtis’s question. She needed a solid story to sell. “Not long. About a month.” She dropped her voice and leaned forward so her face wasn’t far from Curtis’s face. “I’m sorry, I don’t know the proper terms for any of this, but am I right in thinking you’re a criminal?”
Curtis smiled with amusement and Tinsley knew she had him. “You could say that.”
“Did this FBI agent, Paxton whatever, try to arrest you and now you think it’s the same Paxton who works for me?” Tinsley asked, keeping her voice low so Mark would struggle to hear.
“That’s exactly what I think,” Curtis told her.
“So you sent one of your guys after me, pretending to be an FBI agent, to . . . well, sir, now I’m lost.” Tinsley sighed and looked flustered. “I thought it was to see if it was the same Paxton, but you could have just taken him. What do I have to do with any of this? I’ve never broken the law. I do charity work. I babysit in my free time.” Tinsley let her lips tremble and drew in a shaky breath.
Curtis was clearly amused by her rambling. Good. It was just what she wanted. “You were recently tasked with selling some very valuable art.”
Tinsley nodded. “Yes, I’m selling a private collection.” She wrinkled her brow and really played it up. “You kidnapped me because you want to buy some art?”
Curtis chuckled. “Maurice was right about you.”
Tinsley looked excited. “You know Maurice? So you do want to buy the art. I have a whole day of buyers coming in tomorrow. I can add you to the list.”
“Where is that art collection, Miss Faulkner?” Curtis asked. Behind the amusement was danger.
“I told this guy. It’s in my vault at my gallery.”
Mark shook his head and then struck out. Tinsley hadn’t seen the hit coming. Mark’s fisted hand smashed her cheekbone. Pain exploded and tears streamed from her eyes. She gasped, trying to catch her breath from the pain. No acting was required for this reaction. It had surprised her and hurt like hell.
“I told you it’s not there.”
Tinsley let the tears come. She cried hard now, nearly sobbing. “It has to be there. It was there last night when I got home from researching some of the paintings.”
The men watching baseball were now casting glances at her. Curtis hadn’t reacted to the hit, but Mark looked as if he wanted to hit
