LITMIR.BIZ

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Right.

      “I don’t know you and I’ve had enough.” She tried to punch numbers. “I won’t stand for this.”

      He took her phone away and tucked it into one of his many pockets. “No police. That could make things much worse.”

      “Why? Because you’re actually a criminal and you lied to me about everything?”

      He winced. “I used to be a criminal, but I’m reformed now. And technically, I haven’t lied about anything.”

      She didn’t believe him. Except for the criminal part. She could imagine him doing bad things, very bad things. He had that kind of look about him. Half treasure hunter, half pirate. All male.

      “I won’t go anywhere with you,” she said, wondering about the lesser of two evils. Should she pray for intervention or distraction?

      He sighed and held her up like a rag doll, his eyes level with hers. “I don’t have time to argue with you. If you don’t do as I say, they will either torture you or kill you. Or both.”

      The banging ended and the sound of crashing glass took its place.

      “What’s it going to be, Esther?”

      She stared up at the man holding her, her heart beating so fast she thought she was having an attack.

      “What’s really going on here?” she shouted, her fingers digging into his shirt.

      “More than I can explain right now,” he replied. “Now let’s get out of here.”

      She heard the splintering of the two-hundred-year-old door and closed her eyes, willing this dream to be over. But it wasn’t. Cullen was still there when she opened her eyes. And she heard footsteps rushing through the shop.

      “Do you have a back entrance?” he said, still dragging her along the wall, bumping her against old picture frames and antique wall sconces.

      Apparently, he’d made her decision, Esther thought with each jump in her pulse. She was going with Cullen.

      “Yes.” She bobbed her head, then motioned to a hallway beyond a door on the left. “It leads to the courtyard.”

      “Okay, let’s go.”

      Esther heard more crashing and then chairs scraping with irritating force, followed by drawers being opened and dropped. The shattering of precious crystal almost caused her to run back to save her place of business.

      “Don’t,” Cullen said, his gaze hitting her with a warning.

      She hated the tears that burned at her eyes, but this was her life. Her only life. Her father had worked hard to build a solid reputation in the antiques and collectibles world and Esther had vowed to carry on that tradition. She’d given up almost everything else to hold on to this showroom. If she lost this place, where would she go? Certainly not to Great-Aunt Judith’s in Lake Charles. That woman might be her only living relative, but she was ancient and mean and she lived in a trailer with six cats.

      They reached the door. Esther shoved the letters into Cullen’s hands so she could get to her keys.

      “Hurry,” Cullen said, pushing her to unlock it. He put the letters in his big knapsack. “We need to hide somewhere.” Then he pulled out an intricate box and quickly opened it to reveal an exquisite pistol. “I bought this next door, but it’s not loaded.” He shrugged. “I’m guessing here, but I think they’ll probably shoot at us. They won’t kill us. They’ll want to question us about the diamond. But we can bluff our way out with this if we have to. Only use this gun if something happens to me. And make them think it’s loaded.”

      They had real guns and he wanted her to fake her way out of this with an empty six-shooter?

      “This cannot be happening,” Esther kept repeating, her key ring jingling, her body shaking with each thump and crash. “Not to me. I follow rules, Mr. Murphy. Rules.”

      “Forget the rules,” Cullen said, his Irish accent on hard-drive. “And lock this door behind us. Right now, we need to find a way to stay alive.”

      She secured the door, knowing it wouldn’t matter but it might buy them some time. Then she motioned to her studio. “We can hide in there. It has another entrance. To St. Peter Street. We might be able to get away and double back.”

      He guided her to the old garage. “It looks rickety,” he said on a sharp breath. “And we don’t have time to get to the exit door. They’ll spot us.”

      “Do you have any other ideas?” She heard more precious items breaking, more doors slamming, then the echo of excited voices. “Maybe we can make a run for it.”

      “Let’s go,” he said, his hand on her arm. “We might be able to wait them out or we can take the side-street exit.”

      He hurried her into the growing dusk but kept her close to the courtyard wall, without regard for her bougainvillea vine or her beloved ferns and begonias.

      She didn’t know about him, but she wasn’t waiting around. She intended to get away from those goons and Cullen Murphy, too. And she would go to the police. Her shop was open now and vulnerable to looters. She had to do something.

      Esther tried the door of the studio, her hands shaking. Cullen put his hands over hers, the heat of his skin shocking her. “Which key?”

      She looked down at the big ring. “The silver one with the fleur-de-lis,” she said on a scattered whisper.

      Cullen grabbed the key ring and fumbled with the door. They heard voices and more shouting and crashing.

      Then across the way, the heavy back door to her storeroom and attached miniwarehouse crashed apart like a tinker toy. Esther squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the bullets. But Cullen had her inside the studio and back behind a work bench before she could catch her next breath.

      “Don’t move,” he said, his body guarding her, hiding her, holding her. “Don’t even breathe.”

      “That won’t be a problem,” she said between gasps. “I’m too scared.”

      Even though she didn’t know the man and even though he’d brought trouble to her door, she said a silent prayer, thanking God that Cullen was here and blocking her from these people.

      They waited, crouched on the floor, the shapes of her whimsical, mismatched sculptures all around them looking more like gargoyles and monsters than art. To calm herself, Esther thought back over her day. What about that nice couple from Illinois? Patt and Dave, yes. They loved antiques and also collected ceramics and glass, and had purchased several pieces, including a set of Roseville Bleeding Heart vases and an exquisite Depression glass pink bowl.

      Esther heard voices followed by heavy footsteps. She was back inside the nightmare. So she prayed. Over and over.

      Cullen tightened his grip. “Hold on.”

      She did, her hand grasping his arm, taking in his strength. She had to depend on him to help her through this. But later, she’d let him have it with both barrels.

      I’m strong, she thought, fear and shock making her want to giggle. I’ve managed to survive and keep on going, even when I’ve had no one. Well, not exactly no one. I have Aunt Judith at least. And sweet Mr. Reynolds and his wife from next door. And Harold the lonely saxophone player down the street. I have Ted, of course. Her one loyal employee and occasional dinner companion. Ted had been sick today, but he sure wouldn’t be happy come tomorrow. Their insurance would skyrocket. Ted had been her father’s right-hand man. He always focused on the bottom line.

      Esther prayed while she waited. Please, Lord, let this be a dream. Let me wake up, right now.

      The footsteps drew closer and from her vantage point inside the old workroom, Esther could see that the two men searching for them did indeed have guns. Ugly, skinny-barreled guns. She prayed Cullen’s sleek but ancient weapon would at least scare them.

      “They

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