From Manhattan with Revenge (The Fourth Book in the Fifth Avenue Series) by Christopher Smith

didn’t tell me what
it was because I didn’t ask. Given the urgency of your current situation, I’d
recommend that you contact her now, give her an update on Katzev’s telephone
message to you, and suggest that you meet immediately so you can get ahead of
this before he follows through.”
    Her phone made an audible click, letting
her know a new message had been left. She thanked Vincent, hung up, and
listened to the message. It was from Sheila Paige, one of the administrators at
St. Vincent’s she’d known for years. She sounded on the edge of panic, which
was unlike her. As she listened, Carmen understood the woman’s panic and why
her own stomach sank now. He did it.
    He stole Chloe away.

 
 
 
 
    CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

 
    Out of all the property Illarion Katzev
owned in Manhattan, he owned only two warehouses. The first was unusable
because it was filled with items he didn’t have space for at either of his
hotels or his restaurants, while the second was perfect for his needs now
because it contained only his growing collection of high-end new and vintage
sports cars.
    As such, this warehouse was
spacious—none of the cars was parked remotely close to each other. Better
yet, there was plenty of room for the other cars Katzev planned to purchase
soon, such as the Gullwing Mercedes he was this close to buying.
    The ones he owned now simply were here for
him when he needed them for a night out on the town or when he just wanted to
see them, touch them, sit in them, and be reminded, with surprise, even at this
point in his career, that they belonged to him.
    He loved them all, these gleaming works of
art that shined in the spotlights positioned above of them. As a boy in
Aberdeen, when he was just poor Iver Kester, the picked-upon kid who collected
car magazines and dared to dream that a better life existed beyond the poverty
he’d come to know on the farm but did not accept, he never thought that he’d
ever amass a collection such as this.
    In the center of the room was something
different.
    Sitting on a metal chair beneath another
spotlight was a young woman with a black hood over her head. Her wrists were
cuffed and her hands were in her lap.
    Two armed men stood on either side of her.
Beyond asking to use the bathroom or for the occasional drink of water from the
fountain beside the bathroom, she hadn’t spoken since they abducted her late
yesterday afternoon when she was leaving Forest Hills High School to return to
the group home St. Vincent’s provided for her.
    Now, she simply sat there with her mouth
shut, a gift she probably learned from her days on the streets when keeping
quiet sometimes was enough to keep one alive.
    Katzev went over to her and, for the first
time in several hours, snatched off the hood. The sudden gesture and the
blinding light startled her to the point that she reared away from
him—not so much in terror, but given the look on her face, also in rage.
    He knelt down beside her.
    She leaned further away from him, a lock
of her shoulder-length blonde hair fell in her face, and she pushed it back
over her ear with her cuffed hands. Her bottom lip quivered, but he sensed it
wasn’t out of fear. Just looking at her now, sensing the heat of hatred coming
off of her, he half-expected her to spit on him.
    “How are you, Chloe?”
    The girl moved to speak, thought better of
it, and remained silent. She glanced around the warehouse. Looked at the cars
again. Saw the two men on either side of her. Saw their guns. And then, in
front of her, she saw something new. A video camera on a tripod. It was pointed
at her.
    “It’s fine,” he said to her. “You can
talk. You’re not dead yet. I’m giving Carmen nine hours to secure your
protection. Do you think she will?”
    “Why am I here?” she asked.
    “Because Carmen loves you,” Katzev
said.   “What’s your last name,
Chloe?”
    “Why?”
    “Because I asked you politely and I want
to know. You certainly don’t want me to