Page 8 of Edge of Ruin (The Edge Trilogy #3)

Chapter Six

Jack

I paced the length of my living room, hands clenched, stopping at each end like a caged beast.

I’d just spent hours on the Internet, researching Vivi D’Onofrio.

I’d browsed around on her commercial website, looking at her jewelry designs.

It was a kind of rabbit hole I’d never fallen down before.

Necklaces, rings, brooches, earrings, nose rings, bracelets, anklets, toe rings, piercings.

Little twisted metal frames to decorate perfume bottles, Christmas tree ornaments, mobiles, jewelry boxes.

All made of glass, beads, metal, wood, homemade paper, found materials.

The stuff was weirdly beautiful. Unusual. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was exactly that I liked about it. I wasn’t a jewelry-wearing sort of guy myself, but I liked her prehistoric-meets-steam punk-meets-futuristic vibe. Weird, earthy, ethereal, all at the same time.

I wondered how she dealt with her mail-order business. If I were one of the bad guys, the first thing I would do would be to order a pair of earrings from her site, go to the address they were sent from, and start pushing whoever I found there. Dangerous for everyone involved.

There were also a lot of references regarding a big-shot art gallery in New York City, run by a guy named Brian Wilder.

There was a picture of this Brian, one of those stiff, mannered shots, where the subject tries to look smart and deep and thoughtful by holding on to his chin with a hooked finger, as if hiding a zit.

The guy’s photo made my prick-o-meter shoot way off the chart.

I had also studied shots of Vivi’s artwork from the archived catalogs of the Wilder Gallery, from five or six years ago.

They had much the same vibe as the smaller jewelry pieces on her website, but they were much bigger, much bolder and more ambitious, and the prices staggered me.

Jesus wept. Even if the gallery took a huge cut, she could have gotten rich, if she’d stayed with it.

But hey. For some people, freedom was more important than wealth. No one knew that better than me. That was the thought that had propelled me into frantic pacing.

The situation was so fucked. I could hardly breathe.

Wound up, turned on. The way things were going, I wasn’t going to be able to stop myself from tossing her down and having at her like a wild animal.

And my instincts whispered the thought to me like a seductive siren song.

Angry and proud as she was, I had a feeling that she wouldn’t stop me.

There were no checks or balances here. There was nothing to hold me back from this disaster but my own fast eroding self-control.

Everything about her pulled me. I was strung out on the fruity, sweet smell of her hair.

The outrageous vivid color of it. I couldn’t get over those big, brilliant eyes, the exotic shape of them.

Her delicate, pointed chin. Her pink, full mouth.

I wondered, uncomfortably, who the friend was, the one she’d gotten the memorial tattoo for. I wondered if this person was a lover who had died. Wondered if she still missed the guy. Or grieved for him. He must have been important, to get his own commemorative tattoo.

Big can of worms. None of my goddamn business.

Her shoulder was so thin and delicate, decorated with that tiny, stylized sun image. Her skin so smooth, her muscles sinuous and strong, despite how slender her small frame was. Small and lithe and well-knit and perfect.

I looked up at the clock and did the math.

It was six-thirty AM in Italy, where Duncan was currently wallowing in romantic bliss, in some picturesque B&B in Tuscany.

He would be unthrilled to be dragged out of the clasp of his new lady’s silken limbs.

Good. It served the bastard right for getting me into this.

Duncan’s satellite phone rang and rang. Eight times, nine, ten, eleven. I just sat there and waited, grim and relentless.

Duncan finally picked up. “Jack? What the fuck?” His voice was thick with sleep.

“I think that’s my line,” I said.

“Is Vivi okay?” My friend’s voice sharpened.

“She’s fine,” I said.

“So? What’s the problem? Why are you calling me at ass-crack thirty?”

“Think about it,” Jack snarled. “Figure it out, Dunc.”

A soft, feminine murmur in the background. A questioning tone. “Nah, just Jack,” Duncan replied. Another questioning murmur. “He says Vivi’s fine. I’ll go talk in the other room. Go on back to sleep.”

I heard a door click shut, and Duncan’s voice got harder. “You woke Nell up. She needs her sleep. She’s been through hell lately. Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“You never hesitate to call in the middle of the night when the urge takes you,” I reminded him. “Besides, the sun should be up where you are in the world. Why didn’t you tell me what to expect?”

Duncan paused, baffled. “I did,” he said, his voice blank. “I told you all about those sadistic motherfuckers who are after my fiancée and my soon-to-be sisters-in-law. What else do you need to know about the?—”

“No. Not about them. I mean about her.”

“Ah ... her? You mean … Vivi?” he said, in a tone of discovery. “I see. You mean, why didn’t I warn you about how cute she was? You’re all mad because I didn’t fill you in about the long red hair, the big gray eyes, the slender limbs, the rosy lips? Is that what’s going on here?”

“Goddamn it, Dunc?—”

“You’re a sad case, buddy, when you need to be warned about a thing like that. So, did she knock you back a couple of paces? Figured she might. Nice.”

“You didn’t tell me she was a bouncing tattooed flower child with a fucking dragon painted on her camper van.” I felt frustrated, and stupid. I was unable to express exactly why I felt so misled and jerked around. Like I was being set up to be the asshole.

“What the fuck? Her tattoos bug you, huh? Jesus, man, I had no idea your ass was so tight.” Duncan clucked his tongue. “Did you see the one over the crack of her ass?”

I jolted upright, as if I’d been stung by a bee. “How the fuck do you know that?”

“Saw her in low-rise jeans once,” Dunc said laconically. “Nice ink. Looks great.”

“You bucket of slime! Aren’t you supposed to be in love with her sister?”

“Whoa, aren’t we passionate,” Duncan observed.

“I am in love with the sister. I’m marrying the sister.

I’m all over that sister twenty-four-seven, like white on rice.

But I still notice a great, mandolin-shaped ass when I see one.

So shoot me for sending it your way. God knows, you needed something to get you going, and Vivi’s good for giving jolts.

The woman’s like a walking firecracker.”

“You admit it, then? You set me up?” I demanded.

Duncan was silent for a moment. “Hold on here,” he said slowly. “You’re thinking this is all about you and your deep-frozen dick, aren’t you? It’s not. Did Vivi tell you what they did to Nell when they took her?”

I rubbed my aching forehead. “We actually never got around to any kind of details like that,” I said. “At least not so far. But that’s not what I’m?—”

“They shot the bodyguard I hired to accompany her. They coerced a little old lady to lure her into a trap, and then they bashed that little old lady in the head. They drugged Nell, and shoved her into the trunk of a car. They tied her to a chair. They beat her. They would have cut her and raped her and killed her if I hadn’t gotten there in time.

These are the guys who are after Vivi. That’s exactly what they’ll do to her if they succeed.

Think about it, you self-absorbed butthead.

I’m doing this for her. Not for you. Are you paying close attention? ”

A fierce sigh hissed out from between my clenched teeth. “I don’t need a fucking sermon, Dunc.”

“Doesn’t seem that way,” Duncan said. “The reason I’m breaking your balls about this is because this is the only way I can think of to keep Vivi relatively safe.

Short of tying her, gagging her, and locking her in a fucking closet.

She is not the most reasonable of females.

In fact, she’s, ah, real independent minded, you might say. ”

“I noticed that,” I said sourly.

“It’s a family trait,” Duncan confided cheerfully. “Mine is just as bad. It’ll drive you bug-fuck. Buckle up, buttercup.”

“You need to resolve this before that happens,” I said sourly. “Got any leads?”

“Not much yet. Nell and I are renting a car tomorrow to drive down to Castiglione Sant’Angelo and ask around. Nell speaks fluent Italian, you see. Among other things.”

The fatuous pride in the guy’s voice set my teeth on edge. “Well. How nice for you,” I said. “Eat a pizza for me. Isn’t that a perfect excuse to run off and leave me holding the bag.”

“Dude.” Duncan’s voice dropped fifty degrees. “That’s no bag you’ve got there. That’s Nell’s precious little sister. You don’t get any further from a bag than that.”

I gritted my teeth. “I didn’t mean to imply that she was a?—”

“Shut up. Just stop being such a stubborn, bad-tempered, contrary dickhead. I send a hot, sexy little red-headed thing your way to liven up your lonesome, monotonous existence, and what do you do? You bitch! You complain! Jesus, Jack! Get the fuck over yourself!”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Me, shut up? You’re the one who woke us up out of a sound sleep at six-thirty in the morning!

Seriously, though, stay frosty, man. Those bastards are looking hard for her, and if they find her, she is meat.

And so am I, incidentally, if Vivi doesn’t stay okay.

You have got to convince her to lay low.

Keep quiet. Sculpt stuff. Make earrings.

Whatever the hell keeps her busy and out of trouble. ”

“Yeah, right,” I scoffed. “Like I can ‘convince her’ of anything.”

“Come on, man. Sweeten her up. Seduce her. Whatever works for you guys. God knows, you’re suffering from testosterone poisoning.

Unload some of that energy before you hurt yourself.

Get your dick out of the deep freeze and use it for something useful.

Melt her brain. Do what you have to do. Find a way to keep her safe. Or else.”

I hung up on him, slumped in my chair, dropped my throbbing head into my hands, and shifted uncomfortably in my jeans. I was going to rip out my seams if this bullshit went on much longer.

Sweeten her up. Seduce her. Melt her brain.

Duncan’s blunt suggestions had merit, but there was a small but problematic snag.

The brain in question that was melting was my own.