he knew, he knew, that Abby was with Marin, he all but ran for the door.
He was less than a foot away when something was shoved under it.
The renovated loft where he lived was old. It was a wonderful place and he loved it, but it was old. Big open areas, huge windows . . . old doors. And whoever had just shoved that envelope under his door had absolutely no problem doing it.
He stared at the envelope for a split second and then lunged for the door.
The grate was already going down on the old freight elevator and he didn’t make it in time to stop it.
Swearing, he debated between chasing it down or going back to his place. He opted to go back, because he’d glimpsed something. It had been a guy. All he’d seen were the shoulders, but it sure as hell hadn’t been Abby.
Okay.
In the end, that was what mattered.
Back in the main room of his loft, he knelt down and scooped up the flat white envelope. It was the kind that Zane would send pictures in.
Zane . . . Narrowing his eyes, he jogged over to the window and stared down at the parking lot. He didn’t see his brother’s car. All he saw was somebody moving damn fast down the sidewalk, head bent, shoulders hunched, and a baseball cap tugged over his hair. And he was already too far away for Zach to get a good look at the guy.
Running his tongue over his teeth, he tore the mailer open.
And then he damn near choked.
Abby . . .
Minutes ticked away as he stared at the pictures.
It was Abby. Ten portraits in all. Some in color, others in black and white. Some were close-ups, some were full-body shots. Some of them had that soft focus thing going on while others were so clear and sharp, he almost believed he could reach out and touch her.
Stroke the soft shoulder bared by the green silk shirt she wore. A shirt that looked pretty damn familiar.
That was the first picture.
The second was her profile as she stared at the camera.
In the third one, she was looking away. She looked . . . ethereal. The black-and-white image had a soft, almost blurred look to it and she looked like something just not of this world.
The fourth one showed her fingers working down the buttons . . . another black and white, with the shadow and light playing across her skin. It almost made his heart stop, just from how beautiful and raw the image was.
And then blood started to pulse in his head as he realized something.
Zane had taken these.
He knew his brother’s work. Nobody could take a picture quite the way Zane could.
His hands were shaking as he turned to the next one. Her left breast was bared, revealing the lotus blossom he’d painted on her skin. Abby was staring at the camera through her hair and there was a faint blush on her cheeks . . . and the glint in her eyes almost laid him low.
Abby . . .
That look.
Swearing, he laid them down for a minute and stormed over to the bar. He needed a drink. Needed to think—
He made it two feet before he was back over there, staring at the picture again. He had to find her. Had to see her. The sadness in her eyes. The pain . . . and unless he was mistaken, there was something else.
His hands were shaking as he flipped to the next one. She wasn’t looking at the camera this time. Her shirt was open completely, but hanging so that all he could see was a bare strip of flesh.
In the seventh, she had let the shirt fall back to catch in the crook of her elbows. The shot was beautiful. It was erotic. And he was pretty damned certain this was as aroused as he’d ever been without actually having her there, with him. But if he didn’t find her soon, he thought he might start to just whimper like a baby.
The eighth one had her head hanging low with the shirt dangling from her fingers, while her other hand covered her face and she was half hidden from the camera. Another black-and-white.
The ninth one was another close-up, but of her back, with her looking over her shoulder, all those wild, crazy curls spilling down her back.
He had a feeling the tenth one might just make him either die from a heart attack or come