Eve heard him turn the deadbolt in the front door as she slowly walked up the staircase. Will followed her and then John, with his gun, brought up the rear.
She didn’t know what he had in mind for them, but he was obviously not going to trust her to let him simply leave with the paintings. She wished there was a way to convince him that violence was completely unnecessary. She’d trade this entire house to get Will Cleary far away from this mess.
“To the guest bathroom,” John said when they reached the landing.
Eve led the way. He’d chosen the only room upstairs without a window. She fervently prayed he was selecting a location to keep them sequestered while he made his getaway, and not for an out-of-the-way place to contain their bodies.
“I’ll be back,” he said, pushing them inside. There was no lock on the door, but the heavy leather armchair on the other side of the door would make a fine barricade for the moment.
“What the hell is going on?” Will found his voice once John was gone.
“I’m so sorry, Will. I didn’t want anybody involved in this mess.”
“What mess, exactly?”
“The less you know, the better, honestly.”
“I presume he’s the reason you wanted the security system in the first place,” Will said wryly.
“Well, not him, precisely, but I had an inkling that what I had here would be tempting for someone one of these days.” She caught sight of the blank space of wall where her Rembrandt had formerly hung and sighed. “Unfortunately, John taught me everything I know about disabling security systems. So he probably broke through our first two layers of security.”
“What about the third?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Snatches of Eve’s letter were replaying themselves on a loop in Hudson’s brain.
It’s better this way. I’ll call you when I figure some things out. I don’t want to hurt you.
Well, she’d failed on that last count. It hurt to know they could share so much joy, happiness, even tears, and she could get up from his bed and walk away. He would have felt sorry for Eve, unable to allow herself a moment of happiness without dragging all the guilt over her father and her various sins into it, if he hadn’t been so angry.
She might have been trying to pretend that she was leaving him temporarily, but what she was really doing was giving up. He knew about giving up. He’d given up who he was for two years because he thought he deserved it, he thought that denying himself his basic essence would make him feel better about his sister dying and him not being there for her. Well, now he knew that it didn’t. It changed nothing. It didn’t make anything better. He’d finally woken up and fully grasped that painting was his life’s purpose, and he was damn sure he wasn’t going to give up a second time. If he was certain about that, he was equally convinced that Eve was his other great passion.
If she had a problem with that, if she thought she could cut him out, then she was wrong.
He was going to stop her from taking off to who knew where, because he knew in his heart that if she left Chelsea today, she wouldn’t ever come back and he’d never see her again.
That would not happen.
So his anger receded into a kind of fierce determination as his truck climbed the hill. He was itching for a fight that would end in glorious make up sex and then he’d put a metaphorical ring on her finger if he had to, if it would keep her close to him. That was the only option.
He frowned as he drove up to Eve’s house. It seemed she had company. The Lotus and a fairly beat up black Mercedes sedan behind it took up the driveway spots. His brother’s truck was parked across the street. Curious. His adrenaline, which had been calming down slowly, kicked back up. There was something off here. He passed the house, drove to the trailhead cul de sac around the bend in the road, and killed his engine. He dialed his brother’s cell phone. It went straight to voicemail. That was enough to push him from concerned to worried.
He approached the house on foot through the copse of trees. He stopped stock-still in place when a figure came out of the house. He recognized John instantly, as well as the covered item he was placing in the Mercedes trunk as a painting. He also identified the bulge at John’s waist. A gun. There was no sign of Will or Eve. Ice water ran in his veins. What had that bastard done with them?
John returned to the house. Eve and Will were probably inside. Hudson could call the police, but it would take too long for anyone to get here and he didn’t have time to wait around for a county sheriff to show up.
The second John shut the door behind him, Hudson ran up to the front of the house, tested the door. Locked. Moving quickly, he ran to the Triple A truck, opened the cab with his spare key, and grabbed a few items from the toolbox on the floor of the passenger seat.
He palmed a crowbar and a lock pick set and raced to the front door. Eve and Will had done a first rate job of securing the house against the casual intruder. He had picked this lock once before, but that had been a flimsy hardware store lock. Now it had a sturdy deadbolt, but he had to believe he could do it. He couldn’t risk the noise of breaking a window.
If John came out of the door while he was working on it, then that’s where the crowbar came in.
One long minute passed. Hudson didn’t hear anything inside. No talking, no footsteps. No gunshots. He had to be thankful for that, at least.
Time stood still as he struggled with the lock. He remembered the lock cutting device that was surely somewhere in the truck, but it was too late to go back and look for it.
The sweat dripped off his forehead when the lock finally tumbled open. He turned the doorknob slowly, silently, and gripped the crowbar with a hand that was trembling with the fine motor exertion of lock picking.
***
“How you holding up, Will?”
Will was sitting on the floor, his head resting on the tops of his drawn-up knees.
“I can’t believe I stood there while that jerk pointed a gun at you.”
“You did the right thing,” she said. “I’ve known John for ten years, but I’ve never seen him this way. He’s desperate, which makes him unpredictable. I still don’t think he’ll hurt us. I already gave him my blessing to take the paintings. He has to believe that we aren’t going to call the police the moment he’s gone.”
“But he’s stealing your stuff!”
“That’s not important. What’s important is that when he leaves, he leaves us intact.” She paused. “What’s that?” She heard a clatter of footsteps and the thud as the armchair was wrenched away from the door. John stood in the doorway, looking wild-eyed.
“Who’s here, what have you done?” he hissed.
“What you talking about?”
He waved the gun around. Eve forced herself not to cringe when it floated in her direction. “The front door is open! What’s going on? I swear to God, Eve,” John yelled. The gun was pointed straight at her.
For the first time that day, Eve was stopped cold in true fear. She wished she could have seen Hudson one more time, taken back that ridiculous note, clung to him with her entire being. She hoped there would be time for that. “I have no idea what—”
A crunch, a thump, and a rattle followed one another in quick succession. John crumpled to the floor; the gun skittered across the bathroom to land at Eve’s feet. She scooped it up, and rose to come face to face with a heavily breathing, crowbar-wielding Hudson. She looked from Hudson to John and back again.
“Excellent timing,” she said.
Hudson looked at her and dropped the crowbar at his feet. “Are you all right?”
She smiled and her shoulders drooped in relief. “We’re fine. Where did you come from?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute. What are we going to do with this asshole?”
Eve considered. “I guess we should wait for the police to get here and tell them what happened.”
“The police?”
“They should be on their way. John disabled my alarm syst
em, but he didn’t know that I have an emergency button on my key fob.” She held up her key ring, with its whimsical Eiffel Tower key chain. Hudson could see a discrete button attached to its base.
“When it looked like John couldn’t be trusted to leave us alone, I pressed it. It’s attached to my security contract with the city, so they dispatch a car. It should arrive within thirty minutes.” As she spoke, she took possession of her gun and made sure the safety was on before tucking it back in her waistband. John’s gun was emptied of bullets and placed carefully on the bathroom counter.
“You rigged this up for her?” Hudson asked Will.
“She asked me to come up with a fail safe. There are a couple more buttons hidden through the house.”
“Now let’s get our story straight before the police arrive,” she said. “Will, all you need to know is what you saw. Hudson and I should probably talk a little. Do you want to wait downstairs? If John didn’t do something to it, you can use my landline to call the cops, make sure they are on their way. Tell them to send an ambulance, too.”
Will shrugged. “I don’t want to know anything. I’m glad you showed up when you did, bro.” They gave each other an awkward man-hug and Will practically ran downstairs, away from the unconscious man on the floor.
Eve repressed a wave of nausea as she inspected the bloody gash on the side of John’s head. “He’s not going anywhere. Do you think we could sit down?”
Hudson took her arm and led her to the guest bed, which had been stripped to the fitted sheet to make painting wrappings. She sank down on the mattress, stiff in his arms.
She’d never felt so self-conscious. She’d run out on him and he’d saved her life. “You must be mad at me,” she said, her face turned to his flannel-covered chest. Her voice was small. She’d faced down a gun-toting maniac but couldn’t meet Hudson’s eyes.
His arms tightened around her, his face buried in her hair. “I’m furious with you,” he whispered. He kissed the top of her head. “But I think I’ll get over it.”
Eve risked a glance at him. He rained kisses down on her forehead, her cheeks, and then put one kiss, soft as a brush from an apple blossom, on her lips.
She could float away on that kiss and never come back down to Earth.
Then a distant voice called, “They’re on their way!” and the moment was broken.
“Um, we really do need to get our story straight,” she said mournfully.
“Okay. What happened?”
“I think we can tell them the truth. John was an old friend. He came to the States, and knew I was out of town, so he tried to rob me of my paintings, for which I have legitimate proof of ownership. I came home early, caught him in the act. Your brother happened to be in the neighborhood and came by to check on things. John locked us up in the bathroom and would have done God knows what if you hadn’t come along and clocked him.”
“So no mention of Deacon, Mondrians, or any other art thefts?”
“I highly doubt John will be bringing that up, so I don’t see any reason to mention it.”
“Fine by me.”
“We can omit the part about my gun, I think. I don’t technically have a license for it.”
“Do you want to go mention that to Will? I’ll stay here with John.”
“You aren’t going to hurt him more, are you?” she asked, only half in jest.
“I don’t kick a man when he’s down, but I’d like to kill him for what he did to you, what he tried to do to you. Not to mention taking your paintings.”
“I’m almost sorry he didn’t get away. I suppose the men he’s afraid of can get to him in prison.”
“Eve, that’s not your problem. He tried to hurt you. He could have killed you, and my brother. I’m not exactly a fan.”
A wail could be heard as emergency vehicles climbed the hill.
Eve rose to leave and face the sordid business ahead.
“One more thing, Eve. We’re not finished.” His expression was unreadable but she could sense the threat, and the promise, of those words.
She nodded, once, then turned and fled.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Eve was alone. The house had grown two sizes smaller while the EMTs trudged through with their equipment, and the sheriff arrived, and then another squad car and a unit with cameras and evidence collecting equipment. It had been near chaos for a while, people taking statements and photographs. One by one, each of the unwelcome visitors left.
First John had gone, handcuffed to the stretcher, his head wrapped in a bandage, an IV flowing into his arm. He was conscious but woozy. His prognosis was likely a full recovery after some MRIs and other diagnostic procedures. Eve followed him out, dismayed to see someone she’d once been close to hurt, but she couldn’t regret her actions or Hudson’s. She didn’t know if she’d get a say in the charges against him, but she’d already made up her mind to pay for his defense and maybe even to square him with the villains he owed money to. It felt like the right thing to do.
After all, she had her paintings back. They’d been tagged for evidence, but she’d convinced the officers not to cart them away after they’d been photographed. She sensed they’d been nervous about transporting such valuable pieces, and they’d relented with a warning not to do anything with them until the case was closed.
Then Will had gone home to Nancine and the kids, shrugging off Eve’s endless apologies. “It comes with the territory, I guess. You are my most high profile client.”
“Well, consider a bonus for combat duty coming your way,” she said with a smile.
He shook his head. “Be good to Hudson. He looks like Hell. That’s enough for me.”
She nodded and her heart twisted. She didn’t know how well she’d done in that department so far.
Hudson bore the bulk of the police scrutiny. His fingerprints had been taken and he’d been questioned thoroughly about his reasons for entering the house and hitting John in the head with an iron bar. He explained how his suspicions were aroused and he’d brought the crowbar along in case he couldn’t get the front door open any other way, but then used it to subdue the gun-toting intruder. Eve wasn’t worried as anyone could see he’d acted in self-defense and to rescue her and Will. Hudson was well known in the community both as an artist and as an activist and volunteer. She supposed the police had to cross all their Ts.
The deputy had asked him to come to the station for a few more rounds of paperwork, so he’d said a brief and serious goodbye. A tow truck came and impounded the Mercedes that John had acquired along the way. Eve was well and truly alone, and the house felt big and empty.
Hudson’s last words to her seemed to be bouncing off the quiet walls and around her brain. She was tempted to get in the car and drive away from her house, from John, and from Hudson, too. She could pretend it would never have worked out, that they weren’t meant to be. But she’d be lying. Hudson wouldn’t let her go. The knowledge that he’d come that day to prevent her from leaving and had stopped her from being hurt or killed instead gave her the strength to stay where she was.
It had been a lifetime since she’d woken up in Hudson’s bed that morning, but evening had barely fallen. Her stomach growled urgently, calling for dinner. Food had been forgotten in the day’s events.
She didn’t have to look to know her cupboards were bare. Trekking into town for groceries or take out seemed to require more energy than she could muster.
Then she remembered. Sunday Supper at Honeydale Farm.
Rue was warmly enthusiastic when Eve called to invite herself over. She showered and changed and found an offering—a bottle of champagne, of course. Before she left, she used her landline to leave a message on Hudson’s cell to meet her if he was able. She kept the message neutral, but he’d realize what she meant by accepting his earlier invitation, in a roundabout way.
The heat from the day had mellowed into a warm summer’s evening. Dusk darkened the woods and kept the sky clear and bright, so she decided to wal
k down the hill. It felt scandalously good to move around in the fresh air, having stepped off the emotional roller coaster of the past few days. She felt like skipping, something she hadn’t done since childhood. If the bottle of champagne wouldn’t have been the worse for it, she might have broken out into a skip, but she did have her priorities.
Everything she’d written in that note to Hudson had been wrong. She did need to go and face her father’s legacy, but she could do it with Hudson at her side. He needed room to rediscover himself as an artist, but he could do it with her cheering him on. There was no need to compartmentalize her life simply because that’s what she’d done in the past.
Eve finally understood what made Hudson such an innately generous man. He shared himself with her, he shared his life with her, and when she’d had a problem, he’d shared that as well. He wouldn’t see her problems as deal breakers; he’d see them as challenges that could be overcome more easily by two than by one. It felt so good to know she didn’t have to do everything alone anymore. She forgot about the champagne as she dashed down the last bit of the hill that led to the farm’s gravel driveway. She wanted to tell Hudson as soon as she humanly could. She didn’t have a cell phone, but she’d borrow Rue’s and she’d call him and call him until he came to her. Or she’d borrow a vehicle from Rue and go to him. Whatever it took. She didn’t want to wait anymore to have what she’d always wanted. Home. Family. Love.
Hudson was standing on the front porch of the farmhouse when she ran up. He was dressed exactly as she’d seen him a mere two hours before, but he looked more handsome than she’d ever imagined. Two days of beard gave him a charmingly disreputable air, his hair still needed that trim, and his shirt was wrinkled beyond hope. She beamed at him and his smile of return was the sweetest thing she’d ever seen in her life, sweeter than the Pietà or her favorite Raphael or Monet’s water lilies.
She ran up the steps, nodded to Rue who was chatting with a few other guests, thrust the bottle into her hands and said, “We’ll be back in a minute.” She pulled Hudson down the steps, to the side of the house where Rue’s vegetable garden tumbled out of its wooden enclosure. Zucchini plants and runaway tomato vines spread around them, and she didn’t let go of Hudson’s hands.
Love Unlocked Page 18
