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As she looked around, she realized she was in a warehouse. In front of her was a corridor with an open rail looking out over the main floor of the building. At the end of the hall was another stairway. She wondered if the building was in use. The floors were thick with dust. There was loose plaster and sheets of drywall stacked against the wall a short distance from her. There were more empty crates and a couple of folding chairs farther down the corridor, near what appeared to be an office door.
What she didn't see was an exit.
Turning around, she saw a water fountain, another door—which she suspected might lead to the storage room she'd just been in—and at that end of the hall was another stairwell. She needed to get down to the ground level.
Before she could move, she heard voices coming from the floor below. She ducked behind the two large canvases, hoping no one was coming up the stairs.
"What the hell are you doing here?" a man asked, not just anger in his voice, but also shock.
Callie stiffened at his words, realizing someone was standing on the first floor, very near to where she was. But whatever was happening now was not part of this man's plan. Maybe Flynn had found her. But the voice that followed was female.
"I knew you were going to do something stupid," she replied. "It's been one mistake after another. You're not only going to destroy yourself; you're going to take me down with you, and I can't allow that."
Callie's heart leapt into her throat. She knew that voice. It belonged to Victoria Waltham.Was she in on this?It seemed unimaginable.
"How did you find me?" the man asked.
"After security reported that Flynn and Callie were almost run off the road yesterday by a museum van, I realized your desperation was getting the better of you. I didn't call you to tell you about their visit so you could do something stupid. But you got on the phone ten seconds later and got your pal Greg involved. Now this? I can't believe you've kidnapped Callie. Are you crazy? Where is she?"
"She's locked away. She's fine. I'm going to use her to get the painting back."
"You never should have lost my painting in the first place," Victoria said sharply.
Callie took in a breath at her words.Victoria was the artist and the serial killer?But she was a museum director. She was beautiful and successful. She had everything.Why would she have done any of it?
"You've made a mess of everything, Marcus," Victoria continued. "I never should have told you about the painting. I never should have trusted you. And how you could believe that you could be me is unimaginable."
"Is it unimaginable—Mother? You don't think I inherited anything from you?"
Her heart skipped a beat, and she had to bite back a gasp.Marcus was Victoria's son?
But Victoria had told her mother several times how she'd missed having children, but she'd always put her career first. Apparently, not always. She'd had a son. A son who was now in his twenties. And Victoria had celebrated her fortieth birthday a few months ago. She had to have been a teenager at the time of his birth.
"I've got this under control," Marcus continued. "MacKenzie will trade the painting for Callie's life. You said yourself that he clearly has feelings for her. In a few hours, the painting will be back in your control."
"They could have already used the painting to figure out my identity, you idiot. They'll be able to pin all the murders on me. Or maybe that's what you want. You want me to go down for Arthur's death, too."
It didn't sound like Victoria had killed Arthur, which meant Marcus had done it.But why had Marcus wanted to kill his benefactor?
Callie crept forward, peeking through the rail.
Marcus and Victoria were standing in the middle of a large open space, surrounded by tables and chairs, easels and canvases, shelves of paints and materials. It looked like it had once been used for art classes. But like everything else in the building, the space had the air of abandonment and disrepair.
"We're both going free, Mother," Marcus said. "I have it all planned out." He lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, giving his mother a cocky look.
They didn't appear to be related in any way. Marcus was dark and handsome. Victoria was blonde and beautiful and didn't look anywhere near old enough to be this man's mother.
"Even if Flynn gives you the painting, he's had it long enough to have it examined," Victoria said. "He'll be able to find my initials through an x-ray. He'll believe I killed Arthur. And he'll hunt me to the ends of the earth."
"He might not have had time to x-ray it."
"What about Callie?"
"She hasn't seen me. She knows nothing. We'll drop her off somewhere."
"She'll be a loose end. I don't like loose ends, Marcus. I also don't like people who betray me. I shared the painting with you because you're my son. I wanted us to have a relationship. But you used me to cover your ass, to kill Arthur and pin it on me. At first, I thought I could help you, but you're out of control. You won't listen. You won't learn. I'm done."
Callie was stunned once more when Victoria pulled out a small black revolver, aiming it at her son.