Boxed In (Decorah Security Series, Book #16): A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel Read online

  Boxed In (Decorah Security Series, Book #16)

  A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel

  REBECCA YORK

  Ruth Glick writing as Rebecca York

  CONTENTS

  DECORAH SECURITY SERIES

  OFF WORLD SERIES

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR

  PRAISE FOR THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CONTACTS

  COPYRIGHT

  ALL BOOKS by Rebecca York

  If you enjoy Boxed In, you might also like to read other Light Street Press books by Rebecca York:

  DECORAH SECURITY SERIES

  Book 1. On Edge (a Decorah Security prequel novella)

  Book 2. Dark Moon (a novel)

  Book 3. Chained (a novella)

  Book 4. Ambushed (a short story)

  Book 5. Dark Powers (a novel)

  Book 6. Hot and Dangerous (a short story)

  Book 7. At Risk (a novel)

  Book 8. Christmas Captive (a novella)

  Book 9. Destination Wedding (a novella)

  Book 10. Rx Missing (a novel)

  Book 11. Hunting Moon (a novel)

  Book 12 Terror Mansion (a novella)

  Book 13. Outlaw Justice (a novella)

  Book 14. Found Missing (a novel)

  Book 15. Preying Game (a novel)

  Decorah Security Collection (an anthology including Ambushed, Hot and Dangerous, Chained, and Dark Powers)

  And if you like science-fiction romance, you might enjoy the following Rebecca York books:

  OFF WORLD SERIES

  Book 1. Hero's Welcome (an off-world series short story)

  Book 2. Nightfall (an off-world series novella)

  Book 3. Conquest (an off-world series short story)

  Book 4. Assignment Danger (an off-world novella)

  Book 5. Christmas Home (an off-world short story)

  Book 6. Firelight Confession (an off-world novella)

  Off-World Collection (includes Nightfall, Hero’s Welcome, and Conquest)

  Prologue

  “Let’s run through the drill again. The first rule is—do not hesitate to kill. The second rule—do not open the box under any circumstances.”

  Mr. Smith spoke quietly as he issued his final orders to the other two thieves.

  Mr. Jones and Mr. Brown picked up their handguns from the bedside tables and checked the magazines. Then they returned to their seats on the hotel room sofa and chair and focused on their leader.

  All three men were of medium height, their well-toned muscles giving them the look of bionic soldiers.

  All three had dark eyes and olive skin. The oldest of the trio, Mr. Smith, had close-cropped hair shot through with gray. Mr. Jones had thick black hair that was slicked back from his wide forehead. And Mr. Brown was as bald as a cannonball.

  Their names were convenient fictions, of course, chosen to help them blend into the Baltimore urban landscape. None of them was an American citizen, but each had a driver’s license, credit cards and a medical insurance card to prove that he had been born in the States and resided here.

  In reality, they would be in the country only long enough to complete their mission—to steal the priceless antique box they had been hired to acquire. They would be leaving the hotel suite soon, and suppressed excitement thickened the air.

  Excitement, not fear, Mr. Smith assured himself. They were too disciplined to let their nerves show. They would execute the mission without a hitch. And they would be rewarded handsomely with a million dollars each, deposited in Swiss bank accounts.

  Or—

  He refused to consider the alternative. Because failure meant death for the three of them. And that was not going to happen.

  They’d deplaned at BWI International Airport the week before and passed through customs and immigration without a hitch. Initially they had been posing as European antique dealers on a buying trip to the United States. Once inside the country, they’d switched ID’s.

  They’d also acquired the weapons they needed, then gotten comfortable driving the narrow streets of Baltimore. It was an ugly city, but that was of little importance, since they’d be leaving soon.

  They’d taken turns checking out the location of their target, watching the comings and goings at the front door, the garage and the loading dock.

  That was only part of their drill. Every day, they jogged for five miles around the Inner Harbor, then worked out at a downtown gym, keeping their bodies in shape so that they functioned like a well-oiled attack machine.

  Mr. Smith looked at his watch. “Almost time.”

  He picked up a drawing from the dresser and unfolded it. It showed a wooden chest about a foot long and eight inches across, the entire surface was covered with ornate carvings of vines, flowers, animals and phases of the moon. They had studied it countless times.

  “It’s beautiful,” Mr. Brown murmured.

  “The power is more important than the beauty,” Mr. Smith answered.

  “Will we feel the power?” Mr. Jones asked in a hushed voice.

  No one had asked that question previously, and Mr. Smith took it as a sign that nerves were finally breaking through their carefully cultivated calm.

  “You may sense something,” Smith answered, keeping his words slow and even to cover the inconvenient fact that he was just guessing at the answer. “The ancient magic has a seductive power, but there is no danger if the lid remains closed.”

  Jones nodded, apparently satisfied.

  Smith folded the picture and put it in his pants pocket, then looked toward the bags sitting beside the door. The luggage was going in the car when they left the room, and the team would be ready to leave the city as soon as they pulled off the theft of the century.

  Not at a bank or a museum but at a small import company called Peterbalm Associates which was woefully ill-prepared for their attack.

  Chapter 1

  Is this shipment of antiques stolen?

  Olivia Weston kept the question locked behind her lips as she glanced from her boss, Carl Peterbalm, to the wooden packing crates that sat on the floor of her office.

  Peterbalm was a short man in his mid-forties, with small, beady eyes, fleshy lips, and thinning hair combed across the top of his head. Not a very attractive package, especially accompanied by the garlic smell of his breath.

  He was standing nearby, his arms folded across his ample middle, waiting for her to bring out more of the items he’d acquired from a French dealer who got his stock from God knew where. Wishing the crates weren’t so deep, she leaned into one of the containers to get another antique, aware of Carl’s hot gaze on her ass and legs.

  On her worst days, she suspected that he’d hired her because he liked to show her off to clients and pretend they were having an affair.

  Yuck.

  As distasteful as that thought was, she needed the salary he provided; so she’d have to wait until she got another job before she went after him for sexual harassment.

  She clutched the newspaper-wrapped object in her hand, then ordered herself to relax as she caref
ully peeled off the paper to find a delicate Limoges pitcher, which she set beside the Louis XIV clock and solid silver altar candlestick that she’d already unwrapped.

  She’d been working as a research assistant, secretary and gofer at Peterbalm Associates for eighteen months, and she longed to tell Mr. Grabby Hands to go to hell. Really, she wanted to open her own shop, where she’d have an appealing mixture of affordable collectibles and expensive antiques.

  But for now, that was just a dream. She was still paying off the college loans that had allowed her to get a degree in fine arts at the University of Maryland.

  When she turned, her breast brushed against his arm, which he’d positioned right where she would collide with him when she went back for more pieces from the shipment.

  “Sorry,” he said, the insecurity dripping from his voice.

  Biting back a sharp retort, she reached into the carton and brought out another antique. Through the paper she felt a rectangular object. With the wrapping still on, she couldn’t see the thing, but she felt the hairs on the backs of her arms stand up. Whatever she was holding, she suddenly wanted to put it back into the shipping container.

  Instead, she clenched her teeth and started to unwrap it. As she pulled away the paper, she saw a wooden box with elaborate carvings of vines, flowers, animals and moons. When her hand touched the wood, her fingers tingled. Setting the box down abruptly on the table, she took a couple of steps back. Even from a few feet away, the thing seemed to exude a kind of invisible power that she had never felt before.

  Behind her, Carl sucked in a sharp breath.

  Did he feel something too?

  “What?” she asked.

  He waited a beat before saying, “I just remembered that I’m late for an appointment.”

  “Uh huh.”

  He swept his arm toward the wooden crates. “I want you to finish unpacking the shipment today, and enter everything here in the computer file.”

  She flicked her eyes toward the time stamp at the bottom of her screen. It was already 4:00 in the afternoon. To finish on time, she’d have to work till midnight, at least.

  “That may take a while,” she murmured.

  “You can clock in an extra hour,” he said.

  Big whoop.

  “Thank you,” she answered.

  When he left the room and marched down the hall, Olivia breathed out a little sigh.

  She knew Carl was still trying to prove to his father that he could do better on his own than by joining the family business. She was sure he’d ordered this shipment from some under-the-table source—and now he was leaving her with the result.

  But she could work a lot faster without him breathing down her neck.

  She glanced at the clock again. As the only full-time staffer, she was alone in the office. Probably a lot of people in the building had already gone home—which added to her uneasy feeling.

  Ordering herself to settle down, she got up and locked the door before returning to the job.

  So where should she start? Unwrap everything—or do the inventory piece by piece?

  It wasn’t going to be a simple task. In addition to listing each item, she also had to write a description, and that might require some research on the Web or in some of the reference books that lined the shelves above the computer table.

  She unwrapped a couple more pieces from the shipment, setting them on the table. Then, almost against her own will, her hand was drawn back to the box. When she touched it, she felt the same tingling sensation she’d experienced before, as though it had an electric current running through it.

  No, it was more than that. Somehow she felt the tingling inside her head. Like it was getting into her mind.

  Stop it, she ordered. You’re letting your imagination run away with you.

  Still, she knew the chest had to be something extraordinary.

  And it had come in a cut-rate shipment from France?

  Please.

  She stroked her finger over the carved surface that had become nicked and scarred over the years, then gently traced the curve of a three-quarter moon before picking up the rectangle and holding it near her ear. Maybe she detected a faint buzzing, although that might be her imagination. When she shook the box, she heard a faint rattling sound, like someone had locked a little piece of plastic inside.

  What was in there anyway? And how did you open it? As far as she could see, it had no obvious lid. It must be like one of those Oriental puzzle boxes where you had to press a sequence of places on the surface to make panels slide to one side or the other. If you did it in the right order, the lid opened.

  She fiddled with the chest for a few minutes, but she couldn’t locate any hidden panels.

  Maybe she was wrong. Maybe whoever had made the thing had intended it to just be a paperweight.

  Although she didn’t believe that, perhaps she could get some help from an expert. She started to reach for the phone, then drew her hand back. Carl was a real cheapskate who had a limited calling plan and monitored the phone records. Knowing he’d complain if she made a personal call on his dime, she dug her cell phone out of her purse, then dialed Beth Lawrence.

  Beth and her husband Len owned a small shop on Main Street in Ellicott City that carried a charming selection of antiques and gift items.

  When Olivia had done an internship with them during her senior year at the University of Maryland, they’d become good friends.

  Beth answered on the second ring.

  “I’m glad I reached you.”

  “Olivia! You sound . . . upset. What’s wrong?”

  “Well, I’m stuck at the office with a big shipment of antiques from France. I’ve got to write up an inventory, and I was hoping you could tell me something about one of the pieces.”

  “What have you got?

  “A carved box. It’s very old. And it looks like it came from India or maybe China.”

  She used her phone to send Beth a picture.

  “And there’s no obvious way to open it?” Beth asked.

  “No.”

  Her friend was silent for a moment. “I . . . “

  ”What?”

  “From what I can see, it might be associated with an ancient religious cult.”

  “What cult?”

  “The Moon Priests. They flourished on the Indian subcontinent almost two thousand years ago. Also in mainland Greece. At one time, they were a powerful force in the world.”

  “But not now?”

  “I thought they died out.”

  Olivia felt a shiver travel over her skin. She’d known the box was old. It sounded like her estimate was off by a millennium.

  “The Moon Priests were reputed to have magical—or mystical—powers.”

  The comment made the hairs on her arm stir again. To banish the feeling, she laughed. “Well, a lot of religions make that claim. You could go back to Moses and the burning bush.”

  “Right.” Beth cleared her throat. “I’d like to see the box.”

  Olivia thought about the request. She was sure that Carl wouldn’t like someone else looking at his shipment. But Carl wasn’t here now.

  “Can you come tonight?”

  “I wish I could, but Len is out of town on a buying trip, and I have a merchants’ association meeting I have to go to.”

  “Okay. I understand. What about early tomorrow morning? Before my boss gets in?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  Because she’d better get to work if she didn’t want to spend the night at the office, Olivia ended the call, then turned back to the shipment, knowing that filling a computer file with information would make her feel better.

  Since she’d studied French china in one of her classes, she started with the Limoges pitcher, which she could describe and date without using a reference book.

  She’d just entered the information when the screen and the cursor froze.

  “Lord no!” she muttered as she tried to move the cursor. “Not again.”

/>   It seemed like every time she tried to do something important on this damned computer, it crapped out on her.

  When she couldn’t get the machine to respond, she was forced to press the Control-Alt-Delete keys. A box came up on the left side of the screen, telling her that the program was not responding, and she would lose all data she’d entered if she chose to terminate the program.

  Yeah, right.

  Well, she’d only recorded one item. Maybe the best thing to do was start over. When she pressed the cancel keys again, instead of just losing the program, the computer shut itself off.

  Panic shot through her. “Not now,” she pleaded as she tried to reboot.

  But the machine wouldn’t come back on.

  With a hand she couldn’t hold steady, she reached for the Rolodex on her desk. Her cell phone was still on the table, and she used it to dial Luke Garner, the guy who had taken over computer repair duty for Marathon, the company that had sold Carl the desktop. As she listened to the phone ring, she murmured a little prayer under her breath. “Please, God. Please, let him answer,” she repeated over and over. On the third ring, she heard his voice.

  “Hello?”

  “Thank you, God,” she breathed.

  He laughed. “I sound that good?”

  “Luke, I know it’s probably after your workday. But I need you. I’m in the middle of an inventory project, and my computer blew up. I have to catalog a shipment from France.”

  “Okay. I just finished a job downtown, and I’m in my car. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “You will?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I owe you.”

  He paused for a moment, then asked, “What?”

  “Get me up and running again, and we’ll talk about it,” she said. In truth, she was thinking that maybe this would be the push Luke needed to ask her out. He was so damned cute with his shaggy dark hair and that sexy cleft in his chin. But since he’d taken over the repair job, he’d struck her as a study in contrasts. He was confident when it came to his work—and a little unsure around her.

  She knew he liked her. So why couldn’t he ask her out?