He’d whispered the question, but it jarred Sebastian.

“What?” His father sat straight up and glanced around. There seemed to be a moment’s panic as though he didn’t remember where he was, but then a smile lit his face. He stretched and moved aside the blanket the flight attendant had settled on him while he was sleeping.

“Sorry. I must have fallen asleep. I tire easily these days. I’m afraid I was dreaming. How far are we from Bliss?” Nate backed off. “Another twenty minutes, Mr. Talbot.” Sebastian shook his head. “No, no, Nathan. That won’t do. Please call me Sebastian. Half the time Stefan does. I can’t wait to see Bliss again.”

The panic was back. His father was coming home. “Dad, this is insane. You don’t vacation. The whole time I was growing up, you rarely left the office.”

He turned and looked out the window. He took in the gorgeous mountain views. “That’s not true, son. I spent two whole years in Bliss running the company from the estate. It worked well then. Given today’s technology it would be even easier now. Don’t worry. I won’t be a pest. I’ll stay in the guesthouse.”

“No!” Both he and Nate shouted the denial.

“The guesthouse is drafty,” Nate managed to sputter. “It’s really cold right now. You’ve been in Texas for a long time. Colorado winters are hard.”

Stef was glad Nate was such a quick thinker. He nodded. “Yes, the guesthouse needs some renovations.” The guesthouse was perfectly comfy. It was also filled with sex toys. Often it was where he kept his subs when they came for training.

Of course, for the last six months the place had been empty except when Max and Rye had brought their wife there to play. Stef hadn’t brought in a sub since that night with Jennifer. It had seemed wrong somehow.

Sebastian shrugged as he got out of his seat. Stef noticed his father had lost a lot of weight. He seemed small and frail. “Well, there are six bedrooms. I’m sure we’ll all manage. I promise you’ll barely know I’m there.”

He walked toward the back of the plane and disappeared into the bathroom.

Jen’s eyes came open. She looked sleepy and soft. A secret little smile curled those plump lips of hers up. “Liars. What’s up, Stef?

Don’t want your dad to find your stash of butt plugs?” Stef shuddered to think about it. There were far more exotic toys than anal plugs. “I’m more worried about what he would say about the St. Andrew’s Cross. He also might think the new violet wand I bought is a massager. Really, it’s best he doesn’t go into the guesthouse. For all our sakes.”

“He might know you better than you think. Our parents tend to know us better than we imagine,” Jen said, pulling a blanket around her. Stef pulled his blanket off his body and handed it to her. She didn’t argue, simply tucked it around her and settled back down.

“I don’t think he knows you at all,” Nate said. His face was flushed, his jaw perfectly square. “Especially since he thinks you’re sleeping with my wife.”

Jen grinned at the sheriff. “Didn’t you know, Nate? Callie’s been his beard for years. Ever since they were teens.”

“She is not my beard. For god’s sake, Jennifer.” She was making far more of this than was true. He and Callie had a very simple agreement. She pretended to be his girlfriend, and he did stuff for her.

They took care of each other. He turned to Nate. “On several occasions Callie accompanied me to Dallas. My father would summon me from time to time, and Callie went with me. He never made me stay for long. Maybe his conscience got to him, I don’t know.”

“Maybe he just wanted to see his son,” Jen offered.

“I doubt it. I found it awkward and unsettling to have to go to my father’s place. I did not consider it home. It’s strange. I was born in Dallas, raised there for years, but even at the age of eight, I knew Bliss was my home. I fought him when he decided to move back to Dallas, and he left me there with two nannies and a staff of ten. He summoned me home twice a year, but ignored me when I was there.

He had meetings, you see. What he really wanted to do was lecture me. When I was seventeen he asked whether I had a girlfriend. I told him no and was immediately presented with several applicants for the position. I doubt it had much to do with my happiness. He simply wanted me to marry the right sort of girl.” Jen’s eyebrow arched. “Callie must have come as a surprise.”

“Callie’s the right sort of girl. Callie’s the perfect girl.” Nate was unwavering in support of his oft-naked wife.

Stef felt himself smile. He loved Callie Sheppard, though not in the way his father thought. She was the sister he’d never had. Callie was a brilliant combination of quirky and strong. She was just like the town where she had been born. And she was completely the wrong sort of woman for a man concerned with high society to marry. She spent far too much time at naturist camps to be comfy with jet-setters.

And yet his father had taken to Callie right away. He’d been utterly charmed by her. Every time Stef had brought her to Dallas, his father had taken them out, and not once had he tried to change her or talked to Stef about her beyond how sweet she was. Every time his father called, he asked about Callie.

“Okay, I get why you used her as your fake girlfriend when you were younger, but you’re thirty-two now and she’s taken,” Nate said, sounding more reasonable. “Don’t you think it’s time you came clean?”

“How many phone calls from your father have you ducked lately, Wright?” Stef knew where to shove the knife in. Nate was completely estranged from his father, but the man kept calling. He seemed to think Nate should loan him money.

Nate sighed and sat back. “Family. What are you going to do?” Stef knew exactly what he was going to do. “I’m going to let it ride. My dad wants me to be happy with Callie? Fine. I’ll tell him I’m going to ask her to marry me soon, and we’ll leave it at that. He’s been sick. This is a phase. Trust me, the first emergency at Talbot Industries, and his CEO hat will be right back on. He’ll go back to Dallas, and I’ll get a Christmas card from his secretary.”

“Are you forgetting that I’m Callie’s husband? Well, I’m one of her husbands. We’re not looking for a fourth, Stef.” Now was the time to bring out his big guns. “And who facilitated your marriage? Who introduced you in the first place? Who gave you a job and a place to stash the big guy when he was all post-traumatically stressed out?”

Nate’s jaw became a hard line.

Jen just nodded at Nate. “See, King Stefan. Just like I said. The king giveth and then expects payback when you least expect it. First it’s a simple ‘hey, come get Jen out of jail with me,’ and now you have to give him access to your wife.” Her teasing made him want to spank her. He really didn’t need that mental image now. “I am not demanding to sleep with Callie. I am simply borrowing her in an attempt to misrepresent my love life to my father.”

Nate sat back, but suddenly a smile spread across his face. It made Stef unaccountably nervous. “You’re right. I owe you. You know what? Callie is meeting us at the airport. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to see your father again. I’ll just step back and let you have your little ruse.”

“Thank you.” It solved one of his problems.

Jen was gaping at Nate. “You are so mean, Sheriff.”

“I am entirely reasonable.” Nate smirked, and Stef wondered if he was missing something.

Before he could really process the problem, the plane began a turn.

The flight attendant walked in and announced it was time to buckle up. Sebastian came out and began talking about his plans for his stay in Bliss.

Stef just wanted the whole thing to be over.

* * *

Alexei Markov stared down at the man currently being worked over by his partner, Ivan. Jean Claude Renard had started out like they all did, with threats and promises of retribution because he was such an important person. And like almost all the rest, he was just a sniveling mass of begging, pleading flesh after a couple of minutes with Ivan. Despite his deep loathing of the man, Alexei had to admit that Ivan was the master at what he did.

“It was here, I tell you. I hid the damn thing just like I promised.” He managed to get the words out of his swollen lips. “Somehow she must have figured it out.”

Ivan hit him again. Alexei could have told Renard that it didn’t matter what he said. Ivan would use him like a punching bag because he was a sadistic son of a bitch. Of course, a certain streak of sadism was always required when one became a mob enforcer.

Sadism, or a well-defined and patient sense of revenge.

He couldn’t help Renard even if he wanted to, and he didn’t. If he did, he put everything he’d worked years for at risk. He was so close to getting in the same room with Pushkin that he could taste it. Then he would be free.

Ivan stared down at his victim. “My boss would like his package.

He paid for it, and he would like it now. I have to be on plane to Moscow in four hours. We can use that time to bundle up the package, or I can simply beat on you until we board. It is up to you. It make no difference to me.”

Ivan’s English was decent, though he sounded like it pained him to speak anything but Russian. Alexei was well aware his could use a bit of work, but he’d spent a lot of time watching American television and becoming accustomed to their ways. If he survived his meeting with Pushkin, he would find a way to build a new life in this country.

He would be free here.

Well, he would be an illegal immigrant on the run from both the Russian police and the mob, but at least he wouldn’t have to listen to Ivan anymore. Ivan was a brute. Having to share a room with him for the last year had been trying to say the least. The man did not understand that the world had made great strides in personal hygiene products. He seemed to think smelling like a bear made him more intimidating.

Alexei tapped a foot on the floor. He was so tired of being a lackey. He needed to be back in Russia, doing whatever it took to get close to the man. “Or he could give back money to Pushkin. With twenty-percent increase for all our trouble.” Ivan snorted. Alexei knew that it wouldn’t satisfy Pushkin, but it would buy this idiot an hour or two to come to his senses. He wasn’t sure why Renard had decided to renege on his deal with the head of one of Russia’s most notorious crime syndicates, but he seemed a reasonable man. Most people wanted to live. Alexei did some quick calculations. If he got Renard to come to his senses and give up the package by five, he could be home in roughly twenty-four hours. He could deliver the package himself. Pushkin was being strangely paranoid about this one painting. He wanted to meet with Ivan and Alexei himself to take the package into custody. But first he had to convince Renard to give up the painting.

A wet cough came out of Renard’s chest. “Sure. I can do that. I just need a little time to get the money.” Alexei felt his eyebrows rise. “I was told Pushkin sent you two million four days ago.”

Another cough and a shudder. “I spent it. I owed some people, some people from Columbia. Please. You can’t tell Pushkin I lost the painting. He’ll kill me. He might kill you, too. God, how did this go so wrong? I just need a little time. I can find it. She must have taken it with her last night.”

“He’s a very international idiot,” Ivan said in Russian. “How many dangerous groups can one man get involved with?” Alexei shook his head. Renard was going downhill fast. It was obvious the man had spent Pushkin’s money on cocaine. “Please, show some respect, Ivan. We are in his country. We should kill him in his own language.”

Renard let out a pitiful cry.

Ivan backhanded him. “Fine. But you are too soft on these people.”

As Ivan continued to pound on the gallery owner who’d been foolish enough to make a deal with the Russian mob and then renege on it, Alexei looked around the small room. The gallery outside had been stark and modern, but this was a work space. It was much more intimate, with small details that let a person know something about the occupants. Before he’d been too preoccupied with wailing from pain, Renard had explained that this was his restoration room.

Apparently he was not an artist himself, but he cleaned up works that had damage. It was in this manner that he had acquired the painting Pushkin desired. Alexei bent over and picked up the canvas that had been destroyed by Ivan when they first entered the room. Renard had tried to play a little game with them. He’d told them to pack up the painting and leave as though they were mere messenger boys without a brain in their head. Alexei knew better. Pushkin had sent them a copy of the photo of the painting they were supposed to bring back.