Celt. (Den of Mercenaries #2)(55)

He hadn’t known what he expected, maybe that she would stand there and listen as he explained what the f*ck was happening, but the minute she bolted, he hadn’t thought of anything else than to go after her.

But he couldn’t catch her—not because she was too fast, but because despite Elliot being tied to a chair, he was still a loose end that Kyrnon couldn’t afford to let out of his sight.

It was time for Plan B.

Turning the locks to the gallery, Kyrnon made quick work of covering his tracks, making sure that everything was in order before he headed back to the office where Elliot waited. On his way in, he noticed the phone—her phone—still in the mouth of the door.

Grabbing it, he tried to unlock the device, but a four-digit code was needed to get to the home screen.

“What are—”

“Shut up, before I have a mind to do murder.”

He was already annoyed that he even had to track the man down in the first place, but now that Amber was just here and practically fled from him in terror, he was ready to take his anger out on someone.

Plus, he needed to think.

People were predictable, and whether they realized it or not, any password or code needed to add a layer of security to something was created with something that was significant to them.

A birth date.

An anniversary.

Dog’s name.

Spouse’s name.

Or a combination of the four, but once you knew the intimate details of a person, it was rather easy figuring these out.

Since her phone only needed four numbers, Kyrnon automatically thought ‘year’. First, he tried her birth date, and when the phone vibrated, telling him to try again, he entered the four digit code he knew she used as her ATM pin. But again, same results.

He only had one more try before the phone would lock him out, and while under normal circumstances, those minutes would mean nothing to him, it was different when he was under the clock.

Then he thought of her, Amber, and everything he knew about her—the secrets she had spilled, the promises she had uttered. Then he thought of her in his greenhouse, painting away in the wee hours of the night.

The moon cycle …

Kyrnon cast his mind back, trying to remember the year in which that painting was done, and once he had the answer, he punched it in, blowing out a breath once it unlocked and went to the home screen.

Then he called Winter.

“Who’s number is this?” she asked once he had her on the line.

“Doesn’t matter. Dump everything and tell me anything interesting you find.”

“Uh, okay? When do you need it?”

“Now.”

“Seriously? I—”

“Now.”

“Dickhead.”

Winter hung up in his ear, and he didn’t doubt that she was going to make him pay for the attitude he had with her in some way, but that was the furthest thing from his mind as he stuffed the phone in his pocket, then crossed the room to Elliot.

“Listen up. I can stand here and continue to punch you in the face until you give me the answer I want—it’s easy going for me. But now I have other shite I need to deal with, so to can the ‘I don’t know what to tell you’ discussion, how about I give you a little incentive.”

Snatching the bowie knife from his belt, Kyrnon cut one of Elliot’s restraints free, grabbing hold of his wrist and planting the man’s hand flat against the desk.

Slamming the knife down in a wide arc, Kyrnon watched it sink into the desk with little resistance while Elliot screamed out in terror.

“Either give me an answer or lose a finger. The forgery, who did you sell it to?”

It was the same question he had been asking the man since he found him in his office, pacing the floor, his phone in hand. After the Kingmaker’s warning, he knew that he had to get to Elliot first before whoever the man had managed to piss off. If he didn’t, Amber would be as good as dead.

With Gabriel very dead, Elliot was his only other option.

“The Bronson Organization.”

Frowning, Kyrnon asked, “Who in the hell is that?”

“We never found out,” Elliot said, swallowing loudly. “A representative of the company came to the auction, that’s all we know.”

For f*ck’s sake …

That was going to take him even longer to track down. People that used shell corporations were good at covering their tracks, and it would take him more time than he would have wanted to get a name, especially when they already had a couple days’ head start over him.

And now, Kyrnon realized something else.

Whether she was afraid of him now, or not, he was coming for her. There was plenty of blame to be cast around, but none of it was hers, and she didn’t deserve to get hurt over something she had no control over.

Now he just had to find her.

Retrieving his knife from the desk, Kyrnon looked to Elliot, quickly thinking through what he would do with the man.

“Are you letting me go?” Elliot said as Kyrnon cut the other tie that bound his wrist.

“Not quite.”

Swinging a fist, he knocked him out with one hit. He grabbed and lifted the man over his shoulder as he headed back out the back toward the truck he’d rented.

Stuffing the man in the back, he hopped into the driver’s seat and raced back to his loft, only to find Calavera there waiting for him. She couldn’t have been there long—she was still on her feet, gaze roaming the place, but when her eyes swung back to him, he could see the question in them.