Framed For Love Page 19

  The wound in her leg felt much better, but all her muscles throbbed from overuse. She lay back against the seat and let herself fall into an uneasy sleep.

  Much later, when they arrived at their destination, their plane was boarded by several men in suits. Cassi caught sight of Peter showing them documents. They glanced over each of them as though comparing pictures to faces. When had they taken her picture? She cast a worried look at Jared, but he only shrugged.

  A large navy van pulled up to the plane, driven by a grizzled old man with a drooping right eye. When Laranda was seated in the front passenger side of the van, the two nameless guards motioned Cassi, Jared, and Trent into the back with her wheelchair where there were no seats. They tied blindfolds on Trent and Jared, but Laranda snapped, “Leave it off him.” The guard removed Jared’s blindfold, threw it to the floor of the van, and jumped inside. The other followed his lead, sliding the door shut after him.

  Cassi moved farther away from the guards and closer to Jared, whose hands were still imprisoned in the metal cuffs. While they waited for the driver to start the engine, Cassi felt Laranda’s eyes on her, but the woman said nothing. Then Laranda faced the front, giving a signal to the driver. On the pretense of adjusting her position, Cassi lifted her body and looked out the back window. She saw Laranda’s boyfriend, Peter, speaking with the drivers of a large truck that had pulled up near the plane, presumably to carry the crate after it passed Customs.

  Trent had told Cassi the reasons why Laranda had previously used importing/exporting companies, and she wondered if the change in procedure was a sign that Laranda was running scared. She studied the woman’s profile and saw no traces of fear. Even the outline of Laranda’s face was exquisite. How could a woman be so beautiful on the outside yet so tainted on the inside?

  The steady hum of the engine as it skimmed over the crowded freeway was almost comforting. Tall buildings, closely set, lined the highway. After some time, they crossed a long metal bridge and came to a toll booth but didn’t stop with the other cars. Cassi spied a sticker with a huge V on the front window of the van that matched the one on the booth, and could only surmise that the driver had purchased a pass. Or perhaps the sticker was photographed and each car automatically billed, as she had seen done in other places. Regardless, they would find no help from the booth attendant.

  Before long, the masses of buildings gave way to open spaces and rolling hills of green grasses. Occasional patches of flowers in purple and yellow were mixed with long stems of dill weed. In the fields Cassi saw rich green eucalyptus trees, tall mushroom-shaped pines, and others she couldn’t name.

  Before long, they passed another toll booth. Again, they didn’t stop. Olive trees, a washed-out silvery green, took the place of the previous trees, still surrounded by rolling hills and grass-filled meadows. The brilliant sunshine added to the peace and serenity of the scenery. Cassi bit her lip and tried not to cry.

  Eventually they left the highway and veered off into a narrow, two-lane road. They passed several stucco houses with terra cotta roofs and low stone fences covered with ivy and moss. It was picturesque to the point of being unreal. How could they be prisoners in such a beautiful country?

  The asphalt road turned into a cobbled street that narrowed to one lane as it crossed a bridge. The driver slowed, and Cassi craned her neck to see a large herd of sheep blocking the road. To the sides, skinned cork trees dotted meadows of small purple flowers.

  Laranda leaned out the window, muttering an expletive Cassi was glad she couldn’t quite hear. “The last thing I need is to share this tiny road with five hundred sheep,” she growled. But there was no choice but to wait to the side until the sheep passed.

  “Can’t you take off his blindfold now?” Jared said, motioning to Trent. “We’ve been hours in this car. Besides, it’s a shame to waste all this beautiful scenery.” There was no missing the irony in his voice.

  “Go ahead,” Laranda told the guard. “This is only one of a million little streets in Portugal’s Alentejo.”

  Cassi didn’t miss the implications. If—and it was a big if—Laranda decided to let Trent go, he wouldn’t be able to find her hideaway. Cassi knew that even with her great sense of direction and her eyes open, she would never be able to find her way here again. The names on the signs were no more than letters placed next to each other in random disarray.

  They drove through several small towns and villages. At any other time, Cassi would have appreciated the ancient fountains, unique architecture, and exotic people, but now her terror only grew.

  Next to her, Jared and Trent exchanged glances as though communicating. Cassi knew they were planning something. She wanted to tell them to wait, but she knew deep inside that they were right. If all three of them were to get out of this alive, they would have to act. No one in the world knew where they were except Laranda and her goons. If they were to disappear, no one would ever know.

  She caught sight of a sign that seemed less foreign than the others. Alter do Chão. It had a recognizable first word, and she silently committed it to memory as her brother had taught her in one of the games they had played as youths. Alter as in altar or in altering clothing. Yes, she could remember that much at least.

  Shortly after seeing this sign, they arrived at their destination, a two-story house with interesting tile work on the outside, surrounded by open space and rolling hills. The tension increased, although Cassi wasn’t sure if that was her imagination. In front of the house, the driver lowered Laranda’s chair on his special equipment. The guards exited the van and unceremoniously pulled Jared and Trent after them. Cassi scrambled out alone.

  Laranda opened her arms, stretching luxuriously in her chair. “Here we are. Home sweet home.” She looked up at Cassi. “Go on inside and fix us something to eat. It’s been a long drive.” Laranda made motions as she spoke, but they weren’t very clear. Cassi hesitated, not sure if she should pretend to understand.

  “Food.” Jared raised his cuffed hands to his mouth as if eating.

  Cassi nodded, but she was reluctant to leave. Jared glared at her. Wanting me out of the way, she thought.

  “Go let her in the house, João,” Laranda told the driver. “And take her to the kitchen. I’m sure she’ll find something to tide us over until your wife returns from the store. I’ll be inside in a minute. First I wanted to show Jared something. Is Eduardo painting?”

  João nodded as though it were an odd question. What else would Eduardo be doing? his expression said. João glanced uneasily at the handcuffs Jared wore, making Cassi suspect that Laranda’s bringing prisoners here was a new occurrence for the old Portuguese man.

  João motioned ahead of Cassi, and she trudged slowly up the walk. With her she carried the odd feeling that her world was about to change again drastically. She wanted to stay, or beg Jared to go with her, but she had to play her role or endanger them all.

  She could maybe find a phone. But how to get rid of the watchful João?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  LARANDA GUIDED HER WHEELCHAIR ON a cobblestone walkway past a double garage and around to the back of the house. The skirt of her long peach dress fluttered in the light breeze that carried a scent of warm earth and wildflowers. The stones on the path met perfectly, unlike many Jared had seen in Europe, and he wondered if it had been made after Laranda’s accident in anticipation of her return. How long had she been preparing this hideaway?

  In the back of the house, there was another building separated from the main house by a garden of flowers surrounding a fountain. Statues were placed invitingly around the garden and some Jared recognized, including Michelangelo’s David and Rodin’s The Thinker, though they were only copies. This David stood only eight feet tall, instead of nearly seventeen, and The Thinker was about five feet tall instead of the mere twenty-seven and a half inches of the original. Jared scanned the garden, fascinated. He had never imagined Laranda had created such a world for herself

  Laranda ignored all
of it, but continued on the path until she reached the door of the other building. She didn’t glance back at Jared or Trent, trusting her guards to keep them in line.

  Jared looked at Trent, who nodded imperceptibly. Any moment they would make their move. Jared stuck his chin out toward the door and Trent blinked his eyes, showing he understood. They would wait to see what was inside. If they could act there, they could be sure no watching eyes from the house would spy them.

  The guards still had their guns in holsters at their waists, confident the handcuffs would do their job for them. One was about Jared’s size, and he was sure he could take the man in a fair fight. The other was taller and larger, but Jared had watched him over the past few days and knew his reaction time was slow.

  Ever since Big Tommy’s thugs had beat him up while searching for the Buddha statue three months earlier, Jared had added kickboxing to his daily workout. He hadn’t been able to test out his new skills when he’d been captured but felt confident his teacher had prepared him well. If I get out of this alive, I’m going to give the man a bonus, Jared thought.

  The door to the outbuilding had a keypad, and Laranda punched in a number. She grinned at Jared when she saw him staring intently. “A little too fast for you, eh, Jared? Well, no worry. If you’ll only relax a little, you can know all my secrets.”

  “Like Peter?” Jared couldn’t resist the comment.

  Laranda seemed amused. “Jealous, my dear?”

  “Not at all. You two deserve each other.”

  Her anger flared. “And you deserve your precious Cassi?”

  There was something odd about the comment, but Jared couldn’t pinpoint his concern. As far as Laranda knew, Cassi was still in California. Right?

  A round slot in the door glowed green, and Laranda turned the knob. She entered slowly, almost hesitantly. The room was bright with afternoon sun streaming in through the windows that covered most of the far wall. Jared saw at once that the spacious building was an art studio. It had very high ceilings, numerous easels, and shelves of paints and brushes. On the right, a raised stage had been constructed, and through the drapes Jared caught sight of a narrow bed, a refrigerator, and several sculptures at various stages of completion. In front of the windows stood a large canvas, taller than Jared, propped up against a wooden easel that formed an upside-down V.

  It was only after he noticed these peripherals that Jared caught sight of the inconsequential figure of a man dwarfed by the large canvas and easel. The artist. He didn’t look at the newcomers but continued his study of whatever was on the canvas. His stare was so intent, his concentration so profound that Jared wanted to retreat and let him alone. Even Laranda paused and watched the painter.

  “Is this your forger?” Jared asked. The man was very young, perhaps in his mid-twenties, and aside from the intense eyes, he looked ordinary. Not ugly or beautiful, but simply average. A young, nondescript boy with shaggy dark-brown hair, holding a paintbrush.

  Then he began to paint, stroking the canvas like it was his beloved. Power and sureness exuded from each stroke, bringing to mind a poetic feeling. This is what they mean by poetry in motion, Jared thought.

  Laranda stared as though transfixed. “This is Eduardo,” she said after a few minutes. “I met him in Florence, about five years ago. He was studying with an acquaintance. I brought them both here to paint and to study. When the teacher wanted to leave, I let him. He died the next day.” She didn’t elaborate on how he had died, and Jared wasn’t going to ask. “I didn’t get Eduardo another teacher. Instead, I began bringing him real art to learn from.”

  “And you kept the copies to sell.”

  “Not the first ones. They weren’t really good, but he showed so much promise that I let him continue.”

  “Did he do the Buddha statue?” Jared asked.

  “Yes. It was one of his best. He seems to have a penchant for Indian art. This time I’ve brought him a painting from Husain to see how he will do.”

  The painting Cassi saw, Jared thought. So the picture of Mother Teresa wasn’t a forgery.

  “Is the boy a prisoner like we are?” Trent asked.

  Laranda didn’t look at them. “He is content. He has companionship when he wants it, all the equipment he desires, and the works of the world’s best painters and sculptors to learn from. If I can’t buy it and bring it here, I will take him to see the piece personally and to take pictures. There isn’t much more a child like him could ask for.”

  “He’s talented,” Jared said. “He could make his own fortune.”

  “Eventually.” During the entire conversation, Laranda had kept watching the boy. Now she met Jared’s eyes. “One day, I will make him the greatest painter in the world.”

  “Owned by you.”

  “Of course. I gave him everything.”

  “Not his talent and his life. Just deception.”

  Laranda’s beautiful features turned hard. “I own him, Jared, and he wants to be owned. It’s not so bad. You should try it.”

  Jared’s response died in his throat as the boy abruptly threw down his brush and looked over at them. His face flushed and he yelled something in another language, sounding furious. Then he made a twirling motion with his hands and stalked out of a back door, slamming it behind him.

  Laranda gave a short laugh. “He’s a little temperamental when he’s creating. But he’ll be back shortly to beg forgiveness, which I will grant after he’s sufficiently humbled.”

  Jared felt sorry for the boy, whose talent was apparently more mature than he was. If this was Laranda’s idea of paradise, he wanted no part of it. Did the young genius?

  The sound of the wheelchair interrupted Jared’s train of thought. Laranda glided to rest in front of the painting Eduardo had been working on. Driven by his own curiosity, Jared followed her. The painting depicted a meadow of dark purple flowers, bending slightly under a gentle wind. A young blond girl, with a strong resemblance to Laranda, stood in the middle, the bottom of her dress caught up in one hand as she filled it with the purple flowers. One flower had fallen from the bunch in her other hand and floated gently away. There was something about the escaping flower, its petals outspread, enthusiastic arms embracing freedom, that spoke of great desire. Jared wondered if this translated to Eduardo’s longing for freedom. Laranda might think she gave him everything, but she’d taken away God’s precious gift of agency.

  It was time to act. Jared stared hard at Trent until he took his eyes from the painting. His friend nodded once, and as one they bounded toward the guards. Jared hit his man, the largest one, at his knees and the man buckled. Pain exploded in Jared’s sore left shoulder as the man kicked him in return. Jared dodged another kick and thrust his own foot into the fallen guard. Jumping over him, he followed the assault with two more rapid kicks. The man’s head lolled back as he sank into unconsciousness.

  Jared whirled in time to see Trent steadily losing ground with the other guard. He had somehow managed to get his arms over the guard’s head, presumably to control his movements with the chain on the handcuffs. But the guard had grabbed the chain, leaned forward and yanked, tumbling Trent to the ground. Trent rewarded him with a powerful kick to the jaw. The man stumbled back and reached for his gun just as Jared swung his cuffed fists at his head. The guard crumpled. Trent, breathing heavily, shot Jared a grateful glance.

  Now to remove the cuffs. Jared turned to Laranda. He had thought she might try to escape and hadn’t worried about her getting far in her wheelchair, but she sat without moving, an enigmatic smile on her lips.

  “Game’s over, Laranda.” He held up his wrists. “Where are the keys?”

  With slow, deliberate movements, she brought something shiny from where it had been wedged between her leg and the chair. A small, deadly pistol. Jared’s hopes plunged.

  “It only takes once for me to learn, Jared,” Laranda said. “After your attempt to attack me yesterday afternoon, I knew I would have to rely on myself.” The green glint of her
eyes betrayed her excitement at her success.

  “Okay, you win,” Jared said quickly, but in his heart he knew his capitulation wasn’t enough.

  She moved the gun from his direction and fired at Trent’s chest. His face showed a mixture of surprise and pain as he crumpled to the ground.

  * * *

  CASSI LOOKED AT THE KITCHEN with a sense of dismay. Even in San Diego, with all her cooking equipment and full cupboards, she had never been able to manage to cook anything very palatable. How was she supposed to manage now, with limited and unrecognizable supplies? Near the window, she saw a string of garlic bulbs hanging and more things that resembled uncut pepperoni. She was sure Jared could have taken these items, added a little rice or something, and come up with a gourmet meal. But she didn’t know where to begin.

  She shrugged and gazed helplessly at old João. He smiled and said something so heavily accented that Cassi couldn’t understand. He pointed to a door next to the refrigerator. Could it be a pantry? Even if it was, Cassi doubted that it would hold Uncle Ben’s Minute Rice or a microwave dinner.

  When she didn’t make any move to investigate, João walked over to the door and opened it. Inside she saw transparent containers that held flour, sugar, several kinds of beans, rice, and other basics. Oil and vinegar filled decorative glass bottles. There were only a few canned foods, among them tomato sauce and corn.

  João stood partially inside the door, waiting for some response. Cassi suddenly had an idea—the perfect way to get rid of João so she could search for a phone. She practiced her plan once in her mind to get it right.

  She pointed to a canister on the top shelf, as though indicating her interest. João simply smiled. Oh well, nothing for it but to—

  Cassi pushed him into the pantry and slammed the door, dashing for one of the four chairs pushed up to a small table at one side of the room. She barely had time to shove it under the knob when the door rattled as João tried to get out. Good thing he was old and his reflexes slow.