by Paige Tyler
That was merely one of the things that had delayed them. Getting Trent onto a flight had been the first challenge. Airlines seemed to have a problem with people who showed up at the airport at the last minute. Trent actually had to buy his ticket online first. Then they’d needed to change her ticket. She’d originally intended to fly back to San Antonio tomorrow since she’d had no idea how long it would take to convince Trent to help her. Unfortunately, she hadn’t bought the kind of ticket that could be changed easily. The woman at the counter had given her holy hell about moving to an earlier flight, but luckily Trent—and his credit card—had solved all their problems. Of course, now she owed the big Navy SEAL an even bigger debt of gratitude. Then again, if he could find Marco and get her brother out of whatever mess he was in, she was going to owe Trent a lot more by the time this was over with.
Lyla glanced at the man beside her, the man she’d gone all the way to San Diego to find. She’d known him since they were both kids, so she’d been sure she would recognize him the second she saw him. And she had, in a way. His hair was still as dark blond as ever, and his eyes were still that vivid blue that made it nearly impossible to speak whenever she looked at him. And that smile—the one that had always made her heart speed up—was still the same, too.
Trent had definitely changed a lot since the last time she’d seen him, though. He’d always been tall and fit in high school, but she swore he’d grown at least three inches since then and had packed on a lot more muscle. He didn’t look bulky like a powerlifter or anything. No, he was more like a lean, strong jungle cat. She supposed all the stuff she’d read in the news lately about SEALs being amazing was true because Trent definitely looked ah-mazing.
Considering the way he’d agreed to fly out here to help look for her brother, Trent might be more remarkable than most. He hadn’t so much as paused to debate the fact that her brother was a criminal in the eyes of most of the world. When she’d asked Trent for help, he’d simply said yes. There weren’t many guys who’d do that.
“You said something about grading papers and writing lesson plans,” he said as she headed north away from the airport. “You’re a teacher, then?”
She nodded, abruptly realizing they’d spent the entire flight from San Diego talking about nothing but Marco and the people she thought he might be involved with. The notion of talking about anything else—like her personal life—hadn’t entered her mind.
“Yeah,” she said. “I teach fifth grade at the elementary school in Shavano Park. It’s a really good school system with great kids. I’m on summer vacation right now, which is a really convenient time for my brother to go missing, all things considered.”
“I know Shavano Park,” he said. “Do you live there, too?”
She shook her head. “I wish. But no. I can’t afford to live there on a teacher’s salary. I live in Stone Park. It’s only a few minutes north of the school, but the rent is easier to handle.”
Thankfully, Stone Park was also only about fifteen minutes from the airport. Her long day was finally catching up to her. She was beat. Trent, on the other hand, looked wide awake. Maybe it was a Navy trick or something.
When they got to her apartment building, Trent carried her bag and his up the three flights of stairs to her place like they were nothing. She flipped on the lights the moment they walked in the door. The two-bedroom apartment was on the small side, but she loved coming home after a tough day in the classroom anyway.
Trent set down the bags on the floor near the loveseat, his gaze taking in the plants she lovingly cared for, the framed photos of family and friends, and the many knickknacks she’d collected.
“This is nice,” he said.
“Thanks.” She gave him a smile. “I purposely rented a place on the lower end of my budget so I could save money and do some traveling during the summers.”
She would have said more, but a yawn snuck up on her. She hid it behind her hand then gave Trent an apologetic look.
“Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. We can talk tomorrow.” He grinned. “Right now, I think it’s time we get you into bed.”
The words had her pulse skipping a beat. If Trent wasn’t a guy she’d known since elementary school, she would have thought he was flirting with her. Since she had, she was simply going to chalk up the line to exhaustion on both their parts.
“Good idea.” She turned, motioning with her hand for him to follow while she tried to hide her blush. “Come on. I’ll show you where everything is so you can crash, too.”
He followed her through the small apartment while she pointed out the kitchen, bathroom, and second bedroom. Then she grabbed some sheets and a pillow and showed him how the futon converted into something that slightly resembled a bed.
“If you’re hungry, feel free to raid the fridge,” she added. “I’m not sure there’ll be anything in there you’ll like, but you’re welcome to check it out.”
He chuckled. “If you have ketchup, I’ll eat cardboard.”
She doubted he’d be so agreeable once he got a peek at her collection of Greek yogurt, coconut water, and soy milk. But she’d worry about that tomorrow. They could stop at the grocery store while they were running around looking for Marco.
Lyla left Trent making up the futon while she headed to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Normally, her nighttime ritual took at least thirty minutes, but she was too tired to go through the full routine. She got her makeup off, brushed her teeth so her mouth wouldn’t taste like the bottom of a birdcage in the morning, and pulled on her long, threadbare University of Texas at San Antonio sleepshirt then called it a night.
When she opened the door, she found Trent leaning against the wall in hallway outside the bathroom wearing tight khaki shorts and a snug-fitting T-shirt with some kind of surfing logo on the front of it. She wasn’t quite sure what it was because, well, there were so many muscles to look at instead. Damn, he had the most amazing body she’d ever seen.
She ignored the flutter in her tummy and jerked her thumb at the bathroom. “It’s all yours.”
Giving his shoulders, biceps, and long, muscular legs one more lingering glance, she turned and headed for her bedroom. She didn’t get more than a few feet before she spun back around to face him again.
“Everything happened so fast today that I didn’t get a chance to say thank you.” She gave him a sheepish look. “You didn’t have to use your vacation time to come back here with me, but I’m glad you did. So thanks...okay? It really means a lot to me.”
“You’re welcome.” His mouth curved up at the edges. “I only hope I can help you find your brother.”
Lyla returned his smile. It was crazy to think Trent could show up and simply fix everything just like that. She wasn’t naïve. She knew her brother was likely in some serious trouble. But having someone as strong and confident as Trent here gave her hope. At the moment, that was all she could ask for.
“We’ll find him together,” she said. “I’m sure of it.”
Chapter Three
THE NAME ON the elegant sign above the door said, The Show Piece. Even if Trent hadn’t known the fancy glass and metal building in the Southtown art district was a gallery, he would have figured it out. The place simply had that artsy look to it.
“So, this is the place Marco shows his stuff, huh?” Trent asked Lyla as they got out of her SUV.
Knowing his old friend’s recent criminal history, Trent had had certain preconceived notions about the place. He’d expected a gritty looking building with graffiti on it in a rundown part of the city. This gallery, however, screamed upscale and expensive.
Lyla smiled as they walked toward the door. “I told you he’s been doing well since turning his life around. One whole wing of the gallery set is aside exclusively for his work. They sell at least a couple pieces a week, and his traveling exhibits do even better.”
Trent decided then and there he needed to stop with the preconceived notions. He hadn’t talked to Ma
rco in a long while, so maybe it was time he admitted his friend actually might have changed his life for the good.
It was better than thinking the worst of his friend at every turn.
Trent couldn’t keep his eyes from locking on Lyla’s butt as she walked through the door he held open. She was wearing a flowy colorful top and tight jeans she looked damn good in. Made him wonder what she would look like out of them.
Okay, now his jeans were getting tight.
As they slowly made their way through the gallery, he cursed silently and forced himself to focus on the little cubicles filled with framed paintings and small sculptures mounted on pedestals. Trent had never thought about it one way or the other, but after passing through half a dozen of the displays, he came to the conclusion he wasn’t cut out for art appreciation. That was okay since it just gave him more time to appreciate Lyla—and there was certainly a lot to appreciate.
She’d been worn out last night when they’d gotten to her place, but she’d still managed to look gorgeous. Rather than make her old college sleepshirt look like it had seen better days, she’d made it seem like a provocative fashion statement.
I’m so attractive, I make threadbare look good.
And how. If the situation had been different, he probably would have flirted with her a little. But the timing was all wrong for that. Not only was Lyla worried about her brother, but so was he. So he’d stuffed his libido back in his tight Navy-issue swim trunks along with his hard-on and gone into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Then spent most of what was left of the night fantasizing exactly what Lyla looked like under that shirt.
While Lyla hadn’t seemed nearly as exhausted this morning, she was still clearly preoccupied with worry over Marco. They’d made a few general plans on the flight from San Diego last night. The first item on the agenda was to talk to the last person who’d seen Marco, the manager at the gallery that sold his art, Dana Olson. Lyla said she’d talked to the woman briefly a few days after her brother disappeared and hadn’t learned much. Trent wanted to talk to her, if for no reason than to find out what Marco had been up to in the days before he’d gone missing. If they were lucky, the woman might know more than she realized.
After that, the plan got a little vague, revolving around a general concept of checking out the people from Marco’s criminal past who might know something about his disappearance. The reason that part of the plan was so iffy was because neither he nor Lyla had a clue who those people might be or where to find them. They’d have to make that part up as they went. Then again, maybe Dana Olson could point them in the right direction.
Lyla led him past several people casually perusing the artwork as well as a couple talking to a dark-haired woman who worked there about buying a painting that covered nearly a whole wall toward the back of the gallery. When they got there, she paused to point out the section dedicated to Marco’s work.
Trent couldn’t help but stop and stare in surprise. The guy he’d known back in high school hadn’t possessed an artistic bone in his body. Marco’s idea of beauty had pretty much started with a woman’s butt in a pair of tight jeans and ended with a 1969 Boss 429 Mustang. Apparently, his friend had changed since then.
There were eight large metal sculptures positioned around the exhibit area. Trent found himself wandering around them, marveling that the man he knew had made these things. Although each of the pieces was totally unique, Trent could see the consistency of style that connected all of them to the same artist. Some were incredibly realistic, like the one showing a dragon with its wings extended lifting a huge Texas longhorn from the ground, while others were seemed designed simply to provoke an emotion, like the weeping willow that made Trent feel sad merely by looking at it.
But whether they were realistic or abstract, they were all powerful and beautifully crafted. The metal shaping, welding, and polishing that had gone into each of the pieces must have taken weeks—maybe months—to accomplish. Trent didn’t know anything about art, but he knew amazing when he saw it, and Marco’s works were nothing short of amazing.
“Wow,” he breathed.
Lyla’s lips curved. “Yeah. That’s the same reaction most people have the first time they experience Marco’s stuff. You can see now why I said he’s left his old life behind. This is who he is now.”
Taking Trent’s hand, she led him past the sculptures and out of the main gallery down a short hallway. Stopping outside an open office door, she knocked lightly then stepped into the small room.
“Dana?” she said. “Do you have a second?”
A slender blond woman in her early thirties looked up from her computer. At the sight of them, she immediately jumped to her feet and came out from behind her desk. “Lyla! Tell me you’re here with news about Marco?”
One look at the dark circles under the woman’s green eyes and the concern on her face made Trent think Dana was more than simply the gallery owner who sold Marco’s work. He was right. The moment Lyla shook her head, Dana’s eyes filled with tears. Yeah, there was something else going on for sure.
“We stopped by hoping you might have heard something,” Lyla said.
Dana’s gaze shifted to him curiously. “We?”
Lyla glanced at him. “This is Trent Wagner, an old friend of Marco’s. He’s helping me look for my brother. Trent, Dana Olson, the owner of the gallery.”
The curiosity disappeared from Dana’s eyes to be replaced by hope. In his line of work, Trent had seen that expression on enough desperate people’s faces around the world to recognize it. Dana had no clue who he was, but he was someone trying to help, and that was worth latching onto.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, lifting a manicured hand to wipe a tear from her cheek. “I just wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”
“Me, too,” Trent said. “I’m guessing you and Marco have more than a business relationship. Am I right?”
Lyla looked at him in confusion even as Dana gave him a sad smile.
“Is it that obvious?” she asked. “I thought I was doing a better job of hiding it.”
Lyla blinked. “You and Marco are a couple?”
Dana let out a sigh then nodded. “Sit. Please.”
Closing the door, she gestured to the antique armchairs in front of the big wooden desk before taking a seat behind it again.
Like the rest of the gallery, this room was decorated with photographs, paintings, and various sculptures. Trent couldn’t help noticing one particular small metal piece occupying a position of honor on Dana’s desk. It depicted a naked woman sitting artfully on an equally naked man’s lap. It was stylized and modern and didn’t look like anything he’d ever seen before. It looked pretty damn sexy for a hunk of steel, too. The fact Dana had put it in a place where she could see it every time she looked up from her computer told Trent a lot.
“We’ve been involved for over a year,” Dana explained. “Since shortly after he got out of McConnell State Prison this last time. Marco came in with a piece he’d made while in there. I have no idea how he got the thing out, but he was completely honest about his criminal background and asked me if I thought it was something someone would buy. I told him no.”
Trent frowned. “It wasn’t any good?”
That same small, sad smile tugged at her lips again, her gaze going to the naked couple on her desk. “It was too good, too perfect to be the first piece he sold. I told him I wouldn’t sell it, but that I’d give him enough money to live on for a week so I could see whether he had it in him to make something equally special.” She looked at Trent. “Obviously, he had. That’s when I set him up with an apartment and a studio and began to help him develop his brand. He took me out to dinner to celebrate the night he sold his first piece. We’ve been seeing each other ever since.”
While Dana wasn’t that much older than Marco, she must be wealthy if she was able to pay for his apartment and studio. A cynical part of Trent wondered if she was just in it to make money off Marco. From what he
’d seen, his old friend was certainly talented enough to make an unscrupulous person a lot of money. But Dana really seemed to care about Marco.
Beside him, Lyla looked stunned. “Why didn’t Marco ever tell me?” she asked Dana. “Why didn’t you? I’ve been in here at least a dozen times, and neither of you ever hinted you were seeing each other.”
Dana gave her an embarrassed look. “That was Marco’s idea. He was worried if it got out that I was having a relationship with a convicted felon, it might make people look at me differently and end up affecting the gallery. He didn’t want that, and I’m ashamed to admit I went along with it. I shouldn’t have. It was only after Marco disappeared that I realized how stupid I’d been.” She gestured around them. “None of this is as important to me as Marco is, and if I had to sell it tomorrow to have him back safe and sound, I’d do it in a second.”
Lyla leaned forward, reaching out to take Dana’s hand and give it a squeeze. “You’re not going to have to do that. We’re going to find Marco, and he’ll be fine. Then you can tell anyone you want you’re together.”
Dana nodded, tears glistening in her eyes again.
“Lyla said you were the last person to see Marco before he disappeared,” Trent prompted. “Did anything unusual happen?”
Dana frowned. “Something happened but it wasn’t unusual. People from Marco’s past were always showing up, trying to cause problems, wanting to bum money for drugs or trying to drag him back into the life. When I stopped by his studio the night before he disappeared, I interrupted an argument between Marco and one of those people.”
“Do you know what they were arguing about?” Trent asked.
“Not the details,” Dana said. “They stopped talking when they realized I was there. But I heard enough to figure out it had something to do with the protection Marco received while he was in prison.”
“Protection?” Lyla asked.
