Ian

by Kate Hoffmann

  She raced upstairs and found the painting where she’d left it. Dragging it from beneath the bed, Marisol tucked it under her arm and hurried back outside, this time using the kitchen door. She saw Sascha circle the block, then waited for her to appear again before running out to the street.

  When she was safely inside the car, Marisol screamed, unable to control her nerves. Then, a laugh erupted and she couldn’t seem to stop the emotions bubbling to the surface. She wasn’t happy or amused or even frustrated. She was just scared.

  “Are you all right?” Sascha asked.

  “I will be,” she said. “Once this is all over.”

  “FIRST OFF, YOU CAN’T TALK to women, so how can you be honest with them? They have no capacity for logical reasoning. They’re driven by emotions. Let me tell you, getting into a real conversation with a woman is like stepping on a land mine. One stupid move, one offhand comment or misplaced adjective and, boom, you’re dead.”

  Ian waited for his brothers to respond, knowing what he’d said was complete bullshit. At one time, he believed that women were incapable of logical thought. But then he’d met Marisol. He didn’t have to work hard to figure her out. She was just…Marisol.

  “And you can’t depend upon women,” Declan commented. “They may have your back now, but the minute you don’t agree with them, they’ll cut your legs out from under you. You want someone who’ll have your back? That’s what brothers are for.”

  “Women are not the enemy,” Marcus said.

  Ian stared at Marcus for a long moment, grinning. “Did you break the pact?”

  “No!” Marcus said. “I’ve just figured out a few things for myself.”

  “So, are you planning to share with us?” Declan asked.

  Marcus shook his head. “Not at the moment.”

  A long silence descended on the group as Ian and Dec stood at the grill and stared into the fire. Ian dumped a bit of beer onto the flames that licked at the burgers. He listened distractedly as Dec and Marcus discussed the search for Eden Ross, but his mind kept wandering to Marisol.

  “Louise Wilson over at the diner mentioned there were a couple of guys wandering around Bonnett Harbor asking if anyone had seen her,” Ian commented. “They’re promising a big payday for information. Ten thousand for a tip that leads to a photo of Eden Ross. I’m thinking I ought to be out looking for her.”

  “She must be close by, then,” Dec said.

  “Why do you say that?” Marcus asked.

  Ian walked over to the picnic table and grabbed another beer from the cooler, taking the chance to glance at his watch. Dinner would be ready in a few minutes, a half hour to eat, another half hour to hang out and he could be over at Marisol’s by six or six-thirty.

  “I gotta go,” Marcus said.

  Ian frowned. “You haven’t had anything to eat.”

  Marcus shrugged. “The wind is supposed to pick up later tonight and I’ve got to set another anchor.”

  “So how’s the job going for you?” Dec called. “What did Ross think about the work?”

  “He thought it was great,” Marcus yelled.

  “He’s an odd one, that boy,” Declan said, staring after their younger brother.

  “I can never quite figure what’s going on in his head,” Ian commented. “You really think he’s found himself a girl?”

  “Nah,” Dec said. “All Marcus cares about is his work. Besides, who would he meet staying out on the boat?”

  They sat outside for the next hour, enjoying their dinner and chatting about work. Ian avoided talking about Marisol and the painting, and instead, pumped Dec for information on Eden Ross. In the end, Dec enlisted Ian’s help in the search, asking him to keep an eye out for Eden, as well.

  He finally left at seven and Ian hurried upstairs to change out of his uniform, pulling on a fresh T-shirt and a pair of jeans. He noticed the covers on the bed had been tossed back, and smoothed them in place with his hand. Slowly, Ian realized someone had been in his bedroom.

  He dropped to the floor and peered under the bed. “Oh, hell,” he muttered. The painting was gone. And it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know who had it. She must have been here before he returned home from work. He tugged on a pair of Nikes, tucked his badge in the back pocket of his jeans, then raced downstairs.

  If Marisol had any thought to switch those paintings tonight, then it might already be too late. He jumped into his car and threw it in gear, backing down the driveway and swinging the Mustang out into the street.

  A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of Gallerie Luna. Marisol’s car was parked out front, but she wasn’t answering the buzzer. For a brief moment, he felt a prickle of panic, then decided that there was no need to jump to conclusions. Maybe she’d gone for a walk, maybe she was waiting for him at his house right now.

  He tried the buzzer once more, then returned to his car, double-parked in front of the gallery. He’d just take a drive over to Newport and check in with the Templetons. And if she wasn’t there, he’d put out an APB on her and have the rest of the Bonnett Harbor police force helping in the search.

  As he sped across the Newport Bridge, his thoughts returned to the meeting in Declan’s office. Though he didn’t want to believe the worst in Marisol, there was a tiny voice that told him she could be lying about the painting. For all he knew, she was aware that the painting in her possession was a fake and her intention all along was to steal the real painting. Hell, she could be working with David Barnett on this scheme.

  The gates to the Templeton mansion were open when he approached on Ruggles Avenue. He parked on the circular drive and turned off the car. But as soon as the engine stopped, he heard a loud siren sounding from inside the house. “The burglar alarm,” he murmured. Maybe he was too late?

  He grabbed his badge from his pocket, then jogged up to the front door. Ian rang the bell once, then opened the door. Cheryl Templeton stood in the foyer, her hands pressed to her ears as he held out his badge.

  “Oh, thank God you’re here. I can’t remember the code to the system. The security company is on the phone and they won’t switch off the alarm until I give them the code.” She held out the phone. “You talk to them.”

  “Where is your husband?”

  “He’s out of town on business,” she said. “Please, tell them they can turn off the alarm. Why aren’t you wearing your uniform?”

  “I’m undercover,” Ian said. She seemed to accept the answer, to Ian’s relief. “Is there anyone else in the house?”

  “Yes. Sascha Duroy is here and Marisol Arantes. Marisol was in the library and I’m not sure where Sascha is.”

  “Let me check around first,” he said, taking the phone from her hand. “Why don’t you wait out front, just for your own safety. When I find the other two ladies, I’ll send them out. And once the house is clear, I’ll tell the security company to turn off the alarm.”

  “Tell them the power went off and that’s what set off the alarm. There aren’t any burglars.”

  Ian waited until Cheryl Templeton was outside, then tried the library door, but found it locked. Cursing, he rapped sharply. “Marisol!” He knocked again. “Marisol, let me in.”

  A moment later, the door swung open. She reached out and grabbed him, then dragged him inside. “What are you doing here?”

  “The question is, what are you doing here?”

  “I don’t have time for this,” she muttered. “Did anyone see you come in? How did you get in the house? Where is Mrs. Templeton?”

  “Mrs. Templeton let me in. She’s under the impression I’m responding to their security alert. I don’t think she realized I’m not the Newport police.”

  Marisol hurried back to the painting on the wall, grasping the frame as she tried to lift it off the hook. “You could give me a hand here. I don’t have much time. Did you lock the door behind you?”

  Ian grabbed his handcuffs and snapped one side on her left wrist, then reached across and caught her right. She di
dn’t realize what he was doing until she couldn’t move her arms.

  “This is no time for games!” she cried above the alarm “Take these things off me.”

  “Not until you look me in the eye and tell me what you’re really doing here. I know the truth, Marisol.”

  “Of course you do. I told you.”

  He grabbed her hands and forced her to face him, looking deeply into her eyes, watching the emotions play across her expression. She looked frightened and frantic. “The painting on the wall is the real one,” he said.

  Her eyes went wide and she gasped. In that moment, Ian knew she had no knowledge of what was really going on. “But it can’t be. How do you know?”

  “I took the one hidden under my bed to an expert this morning. He verified it was a forgery. He knew Emory Colter. He was sure, Marisol. You were going to replace the real painting with the fake.”

  She fell back in the chair as the revelation sank in. “And then I was going to give David the fake. But it would have been the real painting. And I would have never known.” She paused. “Why did you handcuff me?”

  “Because I wasn’t sure whether you knew or not.”

  “Of course I didn’t know. How could you think-” She paused, anger flashing in her eyes. “Get me out of these.”

  He unlocked the cuffs. “Straighten things up in here. I’m going to get the alarm switched off. Where is Sascha?”

  “In the bathroom. Blowing out the electricity.”

  “Can you do this?”

  Marisol nodded. “Just go.”

  Ian turned for the door, holding the phone up to his ear. “This is Police Captain Ian Quinn from the Bonnett Harbor Police Department. I’m a guest here at Mrs. Templeton’s. My badge number is 743. I’m checking the house now.”

  He made a cursory search of the mansion, knowing there weren’t any burglars. He found Sascha standing outside the powder room beneath the stairs, water dripping from her oversize handbag. “I think you better go out front and wait for me.”

  She nodded, then brushed by him, avoiding his gaze. He walked through the first floor of the house, then peeked back inside the library. Marisol was standing next to the fireplace, her painting propped up against the mahogany desk.

  “All set?”

  Marisol nodded, joining him at the library door. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  He took her hand and led her outside. “The house is clear,” Ian said into the phone. A few moments later, the alarm switched off, leaving Ian with ringing ears.

  “Oh, thank you,” Mrs. Templeton said. “I’m so glad you came.” She frowned. “How did you get here so quickly? The alarm just went off a few seconds before you arrived.”

  “I actually came to help Marisol,” he said. “But I got delayed. I understand she has a gift for you.”

  Cheryl Templeton clapped her hands. “Yes. I can hardly wait. Can we see it?”

  “Maybe we should get the power turned on first?” Ian suggested.

  “Oh, I put the gardener on that task.” She grabbed Sascha by the arm, then caught Marisol’s hand. “Are we ready? Can I see it now? Come along, let’s go.”

  Ian followed the trio back inside the house and waited at the library door. Cheryl Templeton covered her eyes as Sascha led her inside and Marisol stood next to her painting. She nodded at Ian and he quickly moved to the crate, grabbing it and taking it out the door while Mrs. Templeton still had her eyes covered.

  “Are you ready?” Marisol asked as Ian closed the door behind him.

  He carried the crate to Sascha’s car and slid it into the back. As he slammed the hatch, Ian sighed, satisfied that he’d done all he could to keep Marisol and her father out of jail-for now. But there was still one wild card in this whole mess and that was David Barnett.

  Barnett was short a painting and as long as he believed Marisol had the Colter, he wouldn’t leave her alone. Since Ian didn’t have a reason to arrest him, something else had to be done. But what?

  Ian glanced up as Marisol and Sascha hurried out of the house, offering their apologies for such a hasty exit. Cheryl Templeton followed after them, imploring everyone to stay for dinner. But to Ian’s relief, the invitation was graciously refused.

  Sascha got into the Volvo and Marisol grabbed for the passenger’s door, but Ian took her elbow and steered her toward the Mustang. “You’re coming with me,” he said.

  “I-I should go with Sascha. She has the painting.”

  Ian shook his head. “I’m not letting you out of my sight again until we’ve decided what to do with that damned painting.”

  Marisol slid into the Mustang and Ian hurried around to the driver’s side. They followed Sascha down the driveway and once out of sight of the house, he glanced over at Marisol.

  She sent him a weak smile. “Sorry?”

  Ian laughed. “Sorry? Do you realize what would have happened had you actually made that switch? That was theft, Marisol. You could have ended up in prison for a very long time.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but Ian held up his hand. Right now, he wasn’t interested in explanations. This certainly wasn’t what he was taught at the police academy, nor had his ten years of job experience prepared him to dance along the edges of the law as he had tonight.

  The only consolation was that, for the moment, Marisol was on the right side of the law-his side.

  9

  MARISOL STOOD BENEATH the shower in Ian’s bathroom, hot water pouring over her head, washing away the last of the tension that had plagued her for days.

  After they’d left the Templetons’, they’d all met up at Ian’s house, returning the painting to the hiding place beneath his bed. She’d been shaken by how close she’d come to committing a real crime and furious at how she’d nearly been duped into giving David the real painting. But Ian had poured her a glass of wine, and for the next hour, they’d sat in his backyard and talked, the conversation slowly calming her.

  Ian had made it clear what he thought needed to be done. The forgery ought to be destroyed and David Barnett hung out to dry. But Marisol insisted on keeping the painting, knowing that David would never let the matter rest until he had something to sell to his collector.

  Marisol reached for the soap, then felt Ian’s hands on her waist. “What are you doing in here?” she asked, smiling back at him.

  “I thought you might need some help,” he said. Ian reached up and gently massaged her shoulders.

  She turned and faced him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’ve always liked you naked,” she teased, “but naked and wet is even nicer.”

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Marisol nodded. She hadn’t told Ian about her plans to give the painting to David. Technically, that action would probably put her on the wrong side of the law again, but she didn’t care. She was simply giving the painting back to the man who paid for it.

  “I’m going to sleep so well tonight,” she said.

  “You’ll need your rest,” Ian said. “You have a big day tomorrow.”

  “We’re sleeping in tomorrow,” she said. “It’s Saturday.”

  “We have business down at the station,” Ian said, running his fingers through her wet hair.

  Marisol frowned. “What business?”

  “With the FBI. I’m going to call them in to deal with David Barnett.”

  Marisol gasped. “What? You can’t do that. I’m going to give him the painting and he’s going to leave me and my father alone.”

  “David Barnett is a criminal,” Ian said. “I did a little checking and Barnett is under investigation. This isn’t the first piece of artwork he’s tried to pass off as an original. It’s time he was stopped and we have the opportunity to do that.”

  Marisol shook her head, then stepped out of the shower. How dare he make a decision like this without consulting her? He had no right, even if he was the police chief of Bonnett Harbor. This was her father’s life they were talking about, not some faceless criminal who deser
ved jail time.

  She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her body, her hair dripping water on the floor. “No,” she said as he followed her out of the shower. “I’m not going to do it. When they find out my father made that forgery, they’ll arrest him again.”

  Ian grabbed her arms and met her gaze. “If you help them, you can make a deal for your father,” he said. “As long as we stop Barnett from selling that painting, then what your father did was a copyright violation at best. He’ll get a slap on the wrist and nothing more. But if Barnett sells that painting, then your father is part of the conspiracy. Do you understand?”

  Marisol looked into Ian’s eyes, searching for the truth in his words. She’d trusted him once and he’d helped her. She had to trust him again. “But how will we do this?” she said. “Don’t I have to tell them what he did?”

  “No,” Ian said. “I have a plan.”

  Marisol moaned, shaking her head. “Not another plan. I can’t do another plan. I like my plan. It’s so simple. Call David, give him the painting. One, two, it’s over.”

  “It won’t be difficult,” he assured her. “I’ll be with you the whole way. It will be the right thing to do.”

  “What is the FBI going to say when they find out the police chief of Bonnett Harbor has been sleeping with the daughter of an infamous art forger?”

  “We’re not going to tell them that part,” Ian said.

  “What are we going to tell them?”

  He reached down and hooked her chin with his finger, then kissed her gently. “We’ll leave all that to later,” he murmured. “I have other things on my mind right now.”

  “What?”

  Ian traced a line along her shoulder, down her arm to her wrist. “I was thinking you might want to crawl into bed with me and see what happens?”

  A tiny smile twitched at her lips. Things had changed between them. The trust between them had been tested and it had survived. And for the first time, she could see a future with Ian. She needed him, now more than ever. “I know what will happen,” Marisol said, taking his hand and leading him to the bedroom.