Ian

by Kate Hoffmann

  “It won’t,” she murmured.

  He reached out and ran his finger along her bare forearm, his touch sending a shiver through her body. “So, am I going to see you tonight? I have this thing with my brothers, but I can come over later.”

  She nodded. “Call me.”

  “I’ll do that.” Ian turned and headed to the police cruiser. He looked back once and Marisol waved, relief washing over her. This was only going to get more difficult if she didn’t find a way to solve her little dilemma. Ian waited until she pulled back into traffic, then followed her for a bit, before he made a U-turn and headed back into town.

  As she drove the last mile to the rest stop, Marisol’s thoughts returned to the previous night. Every instinct told her she ought to put him out of her life, at least until she got rid of the painting. But it was no use. Her attraction to Ian Quinn was not something she could ignore or resist. Having Ian in her life, in her bed and in her body was the only thing she cared about, and it was worth the risk.

  Marisol spotted her father’s car before she turned into the rest stop. She pulled into a parking spot about twenty feet away and then walked over to one of the picnic tables set beneath a large maple tree. A few seconds later, her father sat down beside her.

  “I know what you are going to say,” he muttered, hanging his head. “And you would be right. I let myself get involved in something that might cause us both trouble.”

  “Papi, why did you send me that painting?”

  “I had to get rid of it. I couldn’t bear to have it around. I couldn’t even look at it. David said the FBI had come to him with questions about one of his clients. The client who paid for the painting. David has been waiting to smuggle it out of the country in one of his shipments, but it’s been too risky.”

  “Then David is involved. Did he put you up to this?” Marisol asked.

  Hector nodded. “I needed the money.”

  “You could have come to me for help. I would have given you the money.”

  “After all I have taken from you and your mother, I could not ask,” he said.

  “And yet, you put me in the middle of this?”

  “I didn’t know where else to turn. David asked me to hold on to the original. What choice did I have? But I decided I had to make this right. If we can switch the paintings, I can destroy the forgery before anyone finds out. David will be left to deal with his client.”

  She shook her head, unable to believe that she’d once loved David Barnett. He was nothing more than a common criminal. “Then that is the original Colter.”

  Hector nodded. “I painted a copy for him when he had the original in his gallery. That’s not my painting.”

  “How did he make the switch without getting caught?”

  “Before the sale. He authenticated the painting and he sold it, so there were no questions.”

  “He knows the Templetons,” Marisol said. “They’d be stupid enough to trust him doing both. If there was only a way to get the forgery out of their house. Then we could switch the two and no one would have to know.”

  “You can find a way. That’s why I sent you the painting.”

  She stood up, her hands clenched at her sides. “I will find a way out of this. And you will find somewhere quiet where you can stay until I do. Don’t go back to your place, just keep driving north.” Marisol reached in her purse and grabbed her wallet, then pulled out three hundred dollars. “Go up to Maine and visit your old friend Edgar. Tell him you need the peace and quiet so that you can paint again. He’ll let you stay at the cabin for a month or two. I’ll send you more money once you get there.”

  Her father stared down at the cash she offered, then reluctantly took it. “All right.” He slowly got to his feet and then made an attempt to hug her.

  At first, Marisol drew away, but then her emotions overcame her and she threw her arms around his neck. “Go,” she said. “And don’t let anyone know where you are, not David, not anyone. I’ll contact you.”

  She watched as her father walked toward his car. He seemed so old and frail now, nothing like the man she remembered from her childhood. Life had not been kind to Hector Arantes. He’d given everything to his art and no one had recognized his talent.

  Tears pushed at the corners of her eyes and Marisol swallowed them back. How had she been so lucky? Everything had always come so easily to her. From the moment she’d started painting, people had taken notice. And when she’d tried sculpting, her popularity had increased even more. Some collectors could barely wait to see her new work and she’d already had three shows in prominent New York galleries.

  But she’d put everything into her work, to the exclusion of a personal life. Even David had been a good business move at the time, although she hadn’t seen his true character until it was too late. Her father had tried to make a life for his family. Maybe a successful artist just couldn’t have both. Success required a selfishness that was in direct opposition to a happy personal life.

  She’d convinced herself of that fact after she’d caught David cheating, finding it a convenient rationalization for her pain and loneliness. But now that she’d met Ian, Marisol had begun to believe that things could be different, that she didn’t have to give up everything to enjoy success.

  He made her feel anything was possible, as if work and life-and even love-might coexist. She turned and walked to her car, he mind filled with thoughts of him. Suddenly, she needed to know more, all the tiny details of his life, what he loved and what he hated. He’d been right last night. They didn’t know each other. There were so many questions yet to ask.

  She sped down the highway toward Bonnett Harbor, the morning breeze blowing through her hair, exhaustion suddenly overwhelming her. She hadn’t slept much the previous night, making love in Ian’s bed until deep into the night before he returned her to the grocery store to pick up her car in the predawn hours.

  Once she’d returned to the gallery, she’d jumped right into work without a thought to eating or sleeping. And now, it was catching up with her. But when she pulled up in front of the gallery, she noticed a familiar car parked across the street-a steel-gray Mercedes sedan. She groaned softly as she pulled into a vacant parking spot, then sat behind the wheel and waited.

  He came strolling over to the car with his customary swagger, dressed in a finely tailored Prada suit and Italian shoes. There had been a time when his every move had enthralled her, but now she was just angry with him. Marisol pasted a smile on her face. “Hello, David. What are you doing here?”

  He stood over her, the sun at his back. She couldn’t see his face as she squinted to look up at him. But she knew he was smirking. “It’s been awhile,” he said, pulling open her car door. “I just thought I’d check in and see how things were going.”

  “Everything is going just fine,” Marisol said as she got out of the car, avoiding the hand that he extended to help her. They both stood on the street, Marisol’s anger simmering.

  “Your father has been keeping me up-to-date with what you’ve been doing,” he said. “But I haven’t talked to him in a few weeks. I thought maybe he was up here visiting.”

  Marisol knew immediately what he’d come for. He needed his painting and he couldn’t find it. But he didn’t know she had it. “Don’t lie to me. I know what you’re here for.” She drew back and slapped him across the face, his head snapping to the side with the force of her blow. “That’s for the Brazilian bimbo in my bed. And no, there’s no chance that I would ever want you back in my life. So turn around and go back to New York.”

  David’s friendly expression instantly turned hard. “You might not want to be so quick to judge me.”

  “No?” she asked. “I’ve had six months to judge you, David, and I’m afraid you’ve come off looking like the biggest ass on the East Coast.”

  He chuckled, the sound grating on her nerves. “I’m in town to see the Templetons, but I’m not due there until dinner. I’ve taken a room over in Newport. I thought I�
��d check out some of the other galleries in my spare time, look around for some promising new artists. I could use a tour guide.”

  Marisol took care not to react when he mentioned the Templetons. Was he planning to steal the forgery and sell that to his client? If he was, then David had to be desperate. “I’m busy. I’ll be busy for the rest of the year. In other words, I really don’t want to spend any time with you, David. We have nothing more to say to each other.” She walked toward the front door of the gallery.

  “Marisol, I know things didn’t end-”

  “Stop!” she snapped, turning on him. “Nothing you have to say to me will make me change my mind about you. Go away, David, and leave me alone.”

  She hurried to the door and unlocked it, then slipped inside. With a sigh, Marisol slid down to the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees, her back braced against the entryway wall.

  She closed her eyes and wished that Ian were with her, to soothe her frayed nerves and to distract her thoughts, to make her feel safe and protected. But this was her problem to deal with, and unless she could solve it, there would be no Ian. If things fell to pieces, he would be coming to her door with his handcuffs-to arrest her.

  5

  THE PUB WAS PACKED, the Saturday-night crowd gathered around the bar to watch a Red Sox game. Ian grabbed a pitcher of beer from the bartender and headed to the pool table, set in an alcove near the back of the bar. Marcus and Declan were caught up in a game of pool with two of the regulars and Ian set the beer on a nearby table then found a seat on an empty stool.

  He glanced at his watch as he’d done so many times over the past hour. He’d promised Marisol he’d call her before he came over, but if he waited too long, it might seem more like a booty call than a genuine desire to be with her.

  He and Dec and Marcus had been forced to cancel their regular Friday night out last night because Dec had a security job scheduled, so they’d agreed to meet at Finnerty’s on Saturday.

  A few weeks ago, Ian would have looked forward to a night out with his brothers. But now that Marisol had entered his life, he’d lost all interest in hanging out, in playing pool or darts or in trying to analyze the female sex over a pitcher of beer. From the moment he’d first touched Marisol, Ian couldn’t explain why he wanted her. He didn’t care why. His affair with Marisol was exciting and unpredictable and confusing. Trying to figure it all out would only make it seem ordinary.

  Marcus sank the eight ball in the corner pocket, ending the game, then held out the cue to Ian. Ian shook his head. “I’m done.”

  Marcus glanced at Dec and they turned the table over to the next pair of players. He sat down next to Ian and sipped at his beer, watching as the players racked the balls. Dec returned the cues and wandered over to his brothers. A pretty blonde stopped him, her hand coming to rest on his arm. He bent close to listen to what she said, then nodded and grinned, before she joined her friends at a nearby booth.

  “You’re never going to last,” Ian warned as Dec found another stool.

  “Just because I converse with a woman does not mean I feel compelled to sleep with her. She asked if I wanted to play a game of pool and I said no, that I had to leave soon.” He took a long drink of his beer. “So what’s the topic of conversation for tonight?”

  “Jealousy,” Marcus suggested. “Ian and I were talking about that the other night.”

  Ian shot his brother an irritated look, but Dec seemed to find the topic intriguing. “Who are you jealous of?” he asked.

  “No one,” Ian said. “It was just hypothetical.”

  “Tell him about your other hypothetical,” Marcus urged. “The one where you meet the girl of your dreams and you have to break the pact.”

  Ian knew that Marcus was goading him on, but he wasn’t going to take the bait. “Hey, I was just wondering what would happen. Let’s be real. Which one of us is going to turn a woman down because of this silly deal we made?”

  “I would,” Marcus said, raising his hand.

  “That’s because you’ve got no game in the first place,” Dec teased. “But, I’d turn a woman down, for the greater good.”

  “We swore on the medallion,” Marcus said. “We can’t break the pact.”

  “Even if you met some nymphomaniac swimsuit model who was going back to Australia tomorrow? You wouldn’t sleep with her?” Ian asked.

  His brothers shook their heads.

  “Bollocks,” Ian said. “You are both bleedin’ liars.”

  “We swore on the medallion,” Dec said. “You can’t break a promise like that. You’d probably be cursed.” He studied Ian’s expression. “Or did you already break the pact?”

  Ian stood. “I have to go. I’ve got to work tomorrow at the fire department picnic.” Now who was the liar, Ian mused. He’d pawned that job off on Delaney and Wilson.

  “I’m gonna stay,” Marcus said. “Maybe win some more money at pool. These guys can’t play worth shite.”

  Dec clapped Ian on the shoulder. “I’ll walk you out. I’ve got a presentation in Manhattan tomorrow morning and I need to drive down there tonight. I’m doing background checks for a company down there.”

  They wove their way through the crowd in the bar and when they reached the street, Ian stopped. “So what do you find out in these background checks?”

  “Pretty much the same thing law enforcement has. But we also check into personal history. Employment, marriages, boyfriends and girlfriends. Even schooling.”

  “Answers to all the questions,” Ian murmured.

  “All the important questions,” Dec replied.

  “Could you do a check for me?” The moment Ian made the request, he wanted to take it back. Sure, he’d been curious about Marisol’s past. It was in his nature to be cautious. And if he was going to fall in love with her, he deserved to know a little more about her. But still, it seemed a bit underhanded to use his connections to learn more.

  “What’s the name?”

  Ian paused, then brushed aside his qualms. What would the report say? Not much more than he already knew. So it really wasn’t a big deal. After all, it wasn’t as though he expected to find a string of arrests and a prison record. “Her name is Marisol Arantes. She’s from New York and she drives a Triumph Spitfire and she’s an artist who just moved into town. That’s about all I know about her.”

  He wasn’t about to tell his brother about Marisol’s beautiful body or about the way her hair felt when he ran his fingers through it or about how her face flushed in the moments before she came. Ian knew those details, but not a whole lot more.

  “And why do you want to know about her?” Declan asked.

  “Curiosity. That’s not breaking the deal we made, is it?”

  “Depends on how far you take your curiosity,” Dec said. He considered the request, then nodded. “Hell, if it will win me the money, I’ll get you anything you want. I’ll put someone on it right away. I should have something for you by Tuesday.” He gave Ian a playful punch to the shoulder. “Maybe I should encourage this?”

  “Piss off,” Ian muttered, a sarcastic edge to his words. He watched as Dec headed off to his car, then glanced at his watch again. It was nearly ten, but Marisol usually worked late into the night. Maybe she was ready for a break.

  He’d grown a bit protective of Marisol as of late. She didn’t seem to take care of herself when she was working. She rarely bothered to eat or to sleep, and often, she looked as if she were on the edge of exhaustion. He didn’t always understand her art, but he did know how to make her life a bit easier.

  Bonnett Harbor’s favorite ice-cream stand was still open and Ian left Finnerty’s and drove down to the waterfront, intent on getting something to tempt her away from work. He ordered a raspberry sundae at the drive-through. Maybe he did know more about her than he realized. From what she’d had in her cart at the grocery store the other night, he knew she liked junk food, anything sweet and anything crunchy.

  A tiny sliver of guilt shot through h
im as he turned the Mustang onto Bay Street. So why the hell did he need a background check? What could it tell him that would make any difference? Would he want her any less if she’d passed a bad check or been fired from a job?

  As Ian drove by Gallerie Luna, searching for a place to park, he noticed two things-the lights were off inside the gallery and a shadowy figure stood in the doorway, bent over the lock. He pulled the car around the block, then hopped out, leaving the sundae sitting on the front seat. He wasn’t carrying his gun, but he did have a nightstick and a pair of cuffs in the trunk. He grabbed them both, along with his radio. Then, keeping close to the storefronts, made his way down to Marisol’s place.

  The streets were eerily quiet. Usually there were at least a few pedestrians out at ten o’clock on a summer night, people walking their dogs, diners heading home from the local restaurants. When he got within fifteen feet of the gallery, he could tell the figure was a man and that he was working at the lock with a small tool.

  Ian took a deep breath and settled on a strategy. He’d whack the guy on the knee, then grab his arms and cuff him before he had a chance to turn around. But just as Ian came close enough to touch him, the intruder managed to get the door open.

  The moment it swung open, an alarm sounded. He spun around, only to find Ian standing in his way. One quick jab in the stomach was enough to double him over. Ian shoved him into the gallery, rolled him over, then put a knee in his back. He grabbed his arms and put on the handcuffs.

  “Get up,” he growled, yanking him to his feet.

  “What the hell are you-get off me!”

  Ian grabbed his radio from his jacket pocket, ready to call in for backup, but Marisol suddenly appeared, dressed in a short little nightgown, her hair tumbled around her face.

  “What are you doing?” she shouted over the sound of the alarm. She glanced back and forth between the two of them, covering her ears. “David?”