Grace worked in the office until noon. When Roman didn’t come down, she took a sandwich and iced tea upstairs to his studio. He sat, one hand buried in his hair, the other tapping a pencil on a blank sheet of paper. She set the plate and glass on the stand beside his work area. He glanced at her, and she noticed the shadows beneath his eyes. “Talia called. She has some prints for you to sign.”
He tossed the pencil into a tray. “How many?”
“Two hundred. She set the price at one thousand each.”
“How much would you pay for one of them?” She didn’t want to answer. He lifted a brow, his mouth curving in a sardonic smile. “Don’t look so guilty, Grace. I wouldn’t hang one on my wall, either.” He swiveled on the stool. “Problem is, I’ve lost my momentum. I don’t have a clue what to draw or paint right now.”
“It’ll come to you.”
He gave a bleak laugh. “Maybe God has a problem with my work, too.”
“Maybe He has something else for you to do.”
“Such as?”
She wished he’d stop looking at her. “I don’t know. Ask Him.”
“I don’t know how.”
“You just talk to Him. I do it all the time.”
“I don’t hear you talking all the time.”
“You don’t have to pray out loud.” She looked at the blank sheet of drawing paper. “Hector told me when he painted pottery, he’d start with an ordinary shape. A cactus, for example, or boulders.” Roman had plenty of those on his property.
“As you know, cacti and boulders aren’t my thing.” He looked her over. “I’d be more inspired if you posed for me.”
Her mouth fell open. He must be kidding. “Very funny. If you want a model, I have a file of letters from a dozen beautiful women very willing to do that.”
“I’m not asking you to take your clothes off, Grace. Just sit for an hour. It might get me started on something other than what I’ve been doing.” He nodded toward the wall he’d buffed that morning.
Grace’s whole body went hot. She couldn’t sit for an hour with him looking at her. She shook her head, mortified at the warmth that spread up her neck into her cheeks. “If you need inspiration, try what Hector does. Start with a line.”
Roman smiled slightly. “Okay. Give me a line.” He handed her the sketchbook and a pencil. “Let’s see if it inspires me.”
Grace went over to the windows and tried to match the horizon. She put the sketchbook and pencil on his worktable. “See what you can do with that.”
He gave a dry laugh. “I should’ve known you’d want a landscape.”
She stopped in the doorway and faced him. “It doesn’t matter what I want, Roman. But maybe working on a landscape rather than painting whatever it is you hid on that wall would help you sleep at night.”
“And what about you?” He looked at her intently. “What’s keeping you awake at night?”
Her heart pounded. “Nothing you can fix.”
Roman saw Brian sitting on the patio wall Tuesday afternoon, obviously waiting for Grace. He stood when she came down the path, leaned in, and kissed her cheek. Roman ground his teeth and moved away from the window. They’d probably be heading off to whatever quiet, romantic restaurant Henley had picked for the evening.
He didn’t like the kind of heat building inside him. What right did he have to feel hurt or angry?
Think about something else. Don’t speculate on what might be happening over there right now.
Picking up the sketch pad, he focused on the simple curves Grace had drawn. He imagined shapes forming, muted colors, shadows. Grace wasn’t going to get a landscape out of him. He’d give her something else to think about. Sitting at his drafting table, he used her line to begin his work.
Sunset was a blaze of bright orange and golds, high streaks of purple that suited his mood. Everything seemed quiet at the cottage. Maybe Grace and Prince Charming had gone out for dinner while he was sketching. A light was on, but then she might have left it so she wouldn’t have to walk into a dark house.
Driven by curiosity, Roman went downstairs. Pain radiated from his calf as he went out the front door. Henley’s tan Suburban was still parked at the cottage. Roman muttered a foul word under his breath. So much for chaste kisses.
He had to get out of the house, or he’d do something stupid. Grace didn’t belong to him. She could be with whomever and do whatever she wanted. What could be better for a girl like Grace Moore than a youth pastor?
Burning up inside, Roman went back to his studio walk-in closet, where he kept all his paint supplies. Grabbing a backpack, he stuffed in a couple cans of spray paint and a hard hat with lamp. He might not be able to climb ladders or do parkour anymore, but there were places that screamed for a piece of graffiti. He did an online search of pedestrian tunnels in Los Angeles County, pulled up a map, studied it briefly, and made a quick plan.
The sun had gone down by the time he headed for his car. The lights inside the guesthouse were now on. Maybe Prince Charming was spending the night. Roman shifted gears and roared up the driveway. Rocks flew from beneath his tires as he pulled onto the canyon road.
It didn’t take long to reach his first destination—a supermarket parking lot. Shrugging into his backpack, he limped toward a bus stop. He had the feeling someone was watching him. Just nerves. The bus arrived. He took a seat in the back, emotions churning, trying to think about something other than Grace in the arms of another man. His calf hurt, and he stretched out his leg. It took thirty minutes to get to his second destination. He winced as he went down the steps. The bus pulled away. He crossed the street and started walking. A few blocks, that’s all, but every step shot pain up and down his leg.
He should’ve brought his cane. After a block, he was sweating. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. He sat at a bus stop. When one came, the doors swishing open, Roman waved it on. He couldn’t sit here all night.
Gritting his teeth, he stood and kept going.
The tunnel was deserted. Most avoided pedestrian tunnels after dark. Sometimes the homeless used them for shelter. This one was vacant and cleaner than most. Roman slipped off the backpack and pulled out his supplies. He put on the red hard hat, pressed the lamp light, and went to work. The scent of Krylon filled the tunnel, the only sound, the hiss of spray paint. He had flashbacks of hell and worked faster. Anyone who walked through here would see creatures glaring at them from both sides and above. He finished one, then another farther down. He planned six in all. Flames around the end of the tunnel would complete the work.
He thought he heard footsteps and froze, a can of spray paint in his hand. A late-night pedestrian? Homeless person looking for a place to spend the night? Quickening his pace, he pulled another can of paint out of his backpack, then another, shifting from hot red to orange and licks of yellow, lines of black. Tossing the cans into his backpack, he took off the hard hat and shoved it in. He zipped the pack closed and straightened. A man stood midway in the tunnel, watching him. Roman’s pulse shot up. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough.” The voice was deep. “I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw Roman Velasco get out of a car at the supermarket. I’ve had my suspicions about you. We met once, at the gallery in Laguna Beach. I doubt you remember.”
Roman didn’t, but he knew who the man was.
Roman limped toward him, the backpack held tightly in one hand. He could use it as a weapon. “You’re the cop who was asking questions.”
“The flock of blackbirds you painted gave you away. My wife keeps an eye on what’s happening in the local art world, and she’s been interested in you. She’s the one who received the brochure from the gallery in Laguna Beach. The minute I saw that painting, I knew I had you.”
“Is that so?”
“Think you can get past me? Outrun me? I don’t think so. Not with an injured leg.”
The man stood taller than Roman, with broader shoulders. He’d know how to block a blow and take a man down.<
br />
Roman knew he was facing jail time. Assaulting a cop would just add more. “Okay.” He shouldered the backpack. He’d pushed his luck for years. Tonight, it had run out. “Let’s go.” He could imagine the headlines. He could imagine Grace’s shock and disappointment, and Jasper’s and the Mastersons’. What would they think of him? Part of him was relieved it was over. The other part wanted to run. Problem was, he couldn’t run fast enough.
The cop stood aside. They didn’t speak as they walked. “LAPD has a file on your work. I’ve done some digging on Roman Velasco. Not your real name.” He knew about Bobby Ray Dean. He knew about Sheila Dean and how she died. He even knew a few details about Roman’s European activities. “You’ve been building a reputation for yourself.”
Roman tripped and uttered a soft curse as pain shot up his leg. He stopped and bent over to rub his knotted calf.
“Have you had your leg checked out?”
“Yeah. It’s not going away.”
“Got your wings clipped. Surprised me when you picked a tunnel. You’ve always liked heaven spots. Is that how you injured yourself?”
“No.” Roman glanced at him, curious. “What do you know about heaven spots?”
“Did a little graffiti in my time. Not like yours. Bubble letters. Sloppy. Pointless.” He laughed low. “You’re something of a legend, you know?”
“I get buffed just like everyone else.”
“That last piece, across from the bank. It’s still there.” He chuckled. “I dropped in at the restaurant in that building, asked about it. The proprietor takes great pride in having the Bird’s work on his wall.”
Roman felt a flicker of pride and then the heavy weight of regret that he hadn’t quit before ruining everything he’d hoped to gain. “You’ll get a lot of street cred for netting the Bird.”
“I’ve thought about that many times.”
The squad car came into view, parked at the curb. At least the cop hadn’t cuffed him. Roman thought about running again. But where would he go? The officer knew who he was, where he lived. Roman opened the door, tossed his pack onto the seat, and slid in. Leaning his head back, he uttered a soft curse. He had only himself to blame. He closed his eyes and waited for the pain in his leg to ease.
It wasn’t the long drive Roman expected. The cop pulled into the supermarket parking lot and stopped next to Roman’s car. Roman stared at him in the rearview mirror. The cop smiled slightly.
“I was off duty. Was picking up a few things on the way home.” He turned and looked at Roman. “The Bird is done flying, isn’t he?”
Roman had forgotten to sign the piece in the tunnel. He wouldn’t be going back to lay claim to it. “Yeah. He’s done.”
“Have a good night, Mr. Dean.” He got out and opened the door for Roman.
“Thanks.” Roman grasped his backpack and slid out. The police car pulled away.
Another second chance.
Grace had been nervous since Brian called, asking if he could bring takeout for dinner so they could talk. Did he want their relationship to become more serious? Her friends thought he was the perfect man for her. And Brian did have all the character attributes she wanted. He was a man of faith, kind, considerate, employed. She’d never felt the flutter of physical attraction, but as Brian had pointed out, friendship was a good foundation for marriage.
Brian had arrived early and waited on the back patio. He stood and kissed her cheek before retrieving a brown paper bag from his car. “Italian.” He held up the bag. “I went to Trattoria. Fettuccine Alfredo, tossed salad, garlic bread, and tiramisu for dessert.” They’d had dinner at the small restaurant the week before she and Roman went on the road. How sweet that Brian remembered what she’d ordered. More desirable attributes. Brian was thoughtful and had a memory for details. Patrick would’ve bought Thai food on her credit card.
Brian followed her inside the cottage. He seemed pensive. “How’s Roman doing?”
Why did Brian have to bring him up? She was trying hard not to think about the man who lived right next door. “He’s not sleeping, and he doesn’t know what to paint.” She found herself talking about the back wall in the studio. “I don’t know what he paints, but he seems to use that space to get rid of frustration.” Brian said he probably had a lot of things to process after what he’d been through. Grace’s thoughts kept circling Roman. “He went to church with me. He’d never been in a church. He looked so uncomfortable, like he was on another planet.”
Brian chuckled. “Well, Scripture does say we’re not of this world, and Jesus had to smuggle in the Kingdom of Heaven down here.”
They talked about the youth group and how some teens who’d never been introduced to church found it a strange environment, too. That’s why Brian went to them first, so when they did come into a service, they had an idea what to expect. “They’re more comfortable in a converted supermarket than the traditional church.” The group was growing faster than Brian had anticipated. He was teaching the book of Mark.
Why wasn’t it this easy to talk to Roman?
She knew the answer.
Brian helped with the dishes. She made decaf to go with the tiramisu. Brian sat at one end of the sofa closest to the swivel rocker where she sat. She remembered Roman stretched out right there, Samuel draped on his chest as they both slept. Her heart beat a little faster.
“What are you thinking about, Grace?”
Roman, of course, but she wasn’t going to confess to it. She didn’t want to think about another man tonight. She shouldn’t be thinking about him at all. “Nothing important.” She shook her head, trying to push Roman from her mind. “You said there were things you wanted to talk over with me.” Brian had covered a lot of topics, but still seemed to have another on his mind.
Brian nodded slowly. He set his coffee mug aside and leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. “We need to talk about where our relationship is going.”
She hadn’t expected him to be so blunt. “I think that’s up to you.”
“We’re both looking for permanence. Isn’t that so?”
Grace felt a sudden misgiving, a reluctance she hadn’t felt with Brian before now. “Yes.” She could hear the hesitation in her voice.
“We like each other.” Brian spread his hands. “We can talk about everything. We share the same faith. We’re both striving to be disciples of Christ.”
She felt inexplicably nervous, wishing he’d stop.
“Even with all that going for us, there’s something missing.” His smile was apologetic. “From what you’ve told me about your marriage, I’m not sure you know what I’m talking about.”
Grace had never seen Brian so embarrassed. She knew what he was trying to say. “No spark.”
He nodded. “If that’s all you have, it’s not enough to build a marriage, but if you have everything else, it makes it that much better.”
Grace felt the prick of hot tears. What if you felt that spark for someone who was inappropriate? What if you could barely catch your breath when you were with a man who didn’t know how to love, didn’t want to love anyone? What then?
“I never meant to hurt you, Grace.”
“It’s not you, Brian.” She shrugged. “I’ve felt that spark. I just wish it was with the right man.”
“Someone other than Roman Velasco, you mean.”
Her face went hot. “Why would you say that?”
“I knew the minute I saw you at the hospital. A woman doesn’t get that upset over a man unless she’s in love with him.”
She almost wept. “Is that why you’re saying this now?”
“No.” He put his palms together, avoiding her eyes. “The thing is I met someone . . . I’d like to get to know her better.” He raised his head. “And you know her.”
Everything became clear in an instant. “Shanice.”
Brian looked surprised. “How did you know?”
She smiled slightly. “The way you two were talking in the hospital waiting r
oom.” She’d sensed at the time something had happened between them, but she had forgotten all about it. She laughed. Oh, the irony. “I’ll remind her that she’s the one who picked you out.”
“For you.”
She leaned forward and took his hand. “She thought you were a good prospect.”
Roman cleaned up before Grace arrived the next morning. When she brought his coffee to the studio, he told her Jasper was coming for a visit this weekend. He’d called late last night after Roman had dragged himself home. Grace’s face lit up like Christmas was just around the corner. “That’s great! I’m planning a barbecue on Saturday. You and Jasper are welcome to join us.”
Roman had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t have to wonder if Brian Henley would be at the party. “You can tell Jasper when he gets here. I may have other plans.” He wondered at the flicker of confused disappointment.
Roman stayed in the studio the rest of the day, making sketches of the hills, his mind still on what had happened the night before. He hadn’t even asked the officer’s name. Talia might have his card. Or Grace would have made a note in her organizer. Better not to ask. He refocused on the figure he was sketching. He smudged a black line, softening it. He studied the curving lines he’d added. Would Grace see what he was hiding in this picture?
Grace returned. He ignored her until she cleared her throat. He didn’t look at her as he covered his work. “What’s up?”
“I’m sorry to break your concentration, but I have a few messages to give you before I leave.” Roman held out his hand as she came closer. She glanced at his drafting table. “Something new?”
“I’ve been inspired by your line.”
“May I see?” She leaned forward.
He inhaled the fresh, sweet scent of her. Was she wearing perfume? Or did she always smell this good? He imagined burying his face in the curve of her neck. Other images teased him, and he planted his hand on the sketchbook. “Not yet.” His voice came out rough. She glanced at him, and he saw her pupils dilate. His heart pounded like he’d been on a long run. “Back off.”
The Masterpiece Page 31
