Marie Ferrarella - Immovable Objects

She looked at Cole for a long moment, then tilted her face up to his in silent invitation. “Surprises.”

It was as if she was pulling him in. He’d always been an immovable object, someone who couldn’t be swayed toward a path if he didn’t want to be. But maybe he did want to be swayed, did want to be persuaded. All he knew was that he didn’t have the ironclad control over his mind and body he’d had for as far back as he could remember.

It disturbed the hell out of him. But it didn’t stop him from slipping his fingers into her hair.

He felt the pull intensify, but he didn’t fight it. He wasn’t sure he could have even if he’d wanted to.

And he didn’t want to.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Susan Litman, who has to put it all together

This RITA ®Award-winning author has written over one hundred and twenty books for Silhouette, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide.

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

Epilogue

The man known simply as Titan to his enemies, head of the mysterious Titan Syndicate, was very aware of his surroundings as he walked the dusky, mean streets of Philadelphia.

This was not the Philadelphia of the Founding Fathers. It was raw and edgy and dangerous. Still, a rare note of fondness vibrated within him. He’d preferred Chicago, but even Philly was better than being exiled in Europe.

Europe had not been to his liking. But staying there had been necessary. Otherwise, all he would have seen of his native country would have been the inside of a jail cell.

Because small minds didn’t understand.

The FBI had been breathing down his neck then.

But now the tables were turned and he was a problem for them, not the other way around. He enjoyed taunting, being one step ahead. He’d even taken to sending enigmatic postcards to that dolt Agent Liam Brooks. It excited him to be the thorn in that idiot’s side.

Peasants, all of them, stupid Neanderthal peasants with their insignificant lives, their annoying laws and their narrow way of seeing things. Didn’t they realize that he was a genius? A genius who saw potential for power, for greatness, while others sleepwalked through their humdrum existences, paying attention to confining things like right and wrong. Allowing that narrow view to get in the way of progress.

Yes, he did enjoy leading them around by their noses, these tin demigods with their code of ethics and their long arms. Just because that stupid New York senator had overdosed on the drug. His drug. The “honorable” senator had been an unwitting guinea pig, a step closer to the right direction.

But the drug wasn’t quite ready yet.

And the FBI was looking for him, or someone like him.

The anal fools had blown up his lab in Chicago, killing some of his people. People were replaceable, time was not. They were preventing him from perfecting the drug that would ultimately allow him to control key people. Allow him to be a puppet master until he was ready to take center stage, where he rightfully belonged.

But that day was still on the horizon. Right now, in order to complete his experiments, reach the right kind of chemical balance, he needed more information. More key input.

And he needed to find those brats again, all six of them.

Even if he had to move heaven and earth and destroy all the angels in the process to do it, he would reach his goal. He was born to be a leader. It was his due, his right.

It wasn’t by chance that he’d selected for himself the name of Titan.

“Missing? What do you mean it’s missing?”

The resonant voice bounced around the sleek, four-hundred-square-foot office on the top floor of the Williams Media Building. Not a man easily ruffled, Cole Williams found himself on his way to furious over this unexpected little bomb that had just been dropped in his lap.

These kinds of things did not just “happen,” they were orchestrated.

Ice-blue eyes, known to freeze people far braver than Jack Dobson, narrowed as Cole looked at the man who had come into his domain bearing the news. “A priceless statue doesn’t just walk away on its own.”

“No, sir, it doesn’t, but when we opened the crate it was supposed to be in—it wasn’t there.” His oversize Adam’s apple bobbed up and down like a cork that refused to be sunk. “Mr. Hagen doesn’t know what to make of it. He’s looking into it right now.” Dobson’s voice cracked.

Taylor Hagen was the chief investigator kept on retainer by Cole. He had witnessed the statue being crated and then followed the van transporting it.

Terrific, Cole thought.

His new art gallery opening was in a week and Rodin’s statue, Venus Smiling, the artist’s tribute to his beloved late sister, Marie, was to be the centerpiece of the entire exhibit. Recognized as the artist’s first work and lost for thirty years amid the chaos of western Europe following World War II, it had found its way into billionaire Jonathan MacFarland’s private collection. After much negotiating, Cole had managed to secure the twenty-four-inch piece, but only for a little more than a week. Nine days to be exact. A sizable donation was being sent to one of MacFarland’s favorite charities in exchange for the showing. It was the first time the statue was to have seen the light of public day since MacFarland had acquired it fifteen years ago, and it promised to attract an even greater crowd than had originally been anticipated.

Because of his self-made stature and his ability to turn almost anything he touched to gold, Cole Williams, tall, blond and good-looking in a publicity agent’s dream sort of way, was the darling of both the business and the celebrity world.

His position was made that much more unique because of his strong ethical beliefs. He’d gotten to where he was today with no backstabbing, no character assassination. He always ran a clean campaign, fought a clean fight. Not an easy feat in the world of media or publishing, and Cole had a well-entrenched foot in both.

But clean rubbed some people the wrong way. There were those who would have liked nothing better than to see him fall from grace, and if they had to create the scenario in order to accommodate the situation, so be it.

Someone had it in for him. Trouble was, because of the businesses he was in, the list of potential character assassins was far from short.

But he didn’t have time to wonder who had done this to him. Right now, what was necessary was implementing damage control. And fast.

Cole frowned. Dobson was still standing in his office, still shaking without giving any signs of stopping.

“Get a grip, man, I’m not going to eat you,” Cole snapped. “Anything else missing?”

Dobson moved his head from side to side like a deranged windshield wiper. “No, sir, just the statue. We checked. All the other paintings are still there.”