"Glad to hear it. Storm woke you up, I'll bet."
"Couldn't hardly sleep through that racket. Came out here to check on the boats."
"That's what I figured." Nick studied the view of the shops across the street. The front of Bright Visions was clearly visible. "Happen to notice anyone hanging around the art gallery during the storm? Maybe see a car parked in the lot? Should have been empty at that time of night."
"Nope." Young Boone straightened and peered at Nick from beneath the peaked brim of his cap. "Only vehicle I saw was yours. Figured you was headin' back out to your family's place after spendin' time with Miss Brightwell."
Nick kept all expression from his face. This wasn't the first time today that he had been obliged to listen to observations about his late-night drive home.
"Uh-huh," he said. Noncommittal.
Young Boone screwed up his haggard features into a frown that may or may not have been genuine curiosity. "This have anything to do with that picture they say went missin' from the art gallery last night?"
"Yeah. I'd really like to find it for A.Z. and Virgil."
Young Boone nodded. "Wish I could help you but I didn't see a damn thing last night. Course, I was real busy here securing the boats and such like. Might have missed something goin' on across the street."
"You didn't miss my car when I drove past the marina," Nick reminded him dryly.
"No, I didn't and that's a fact. But I finished up down here right after that and went back to bed."
Which meant that there had been long stretches of time during the night when no one would have noticed a car in the parking lot across the street, Nick thought.
Young Boone gave him a knowing wink. "Miss Brightwell's nice, ain't she?"
"Yeah."
"A man like you could do a lot worse."
"A man like me?"
"Raising that boy of yours alone. No wife or mother around. Reckon it's time you settled down and got married again, don't you?"
"I don't think about it much," Nick said.
"Well, you damn well should be thinkin' about it, if you ask me."
"I didn't ask you, but I'll take your opinion under advisement."
"Under advisement?" Boone wiped his hands on a dirty rag. "That a fancy way of sayin' you ain't interested in my opinion?"
"No. Just meant I'll consider it." He watched a familiar, monster-sized SUV abruptly wheel into the marina parking lot. Mitchell Madison. Bryce was at the wheel.
Damn. He did not need another scene with Octavia's self-appointed guardian, Nick thought. Time to leave.
"You consider it real good," Young Boone said. "Time you found yourself a wife. You're a Harte. Hartes get married and stay married."
"Say, Boone, I've got to be on my way. You'll let me know if you hear anything about that painting, won't you?"
"Sure. But it's probably gone for good."
That gave Nick pause. He turned back. "Why do you say that?"
"Can't see anyone around here hangin' a stolen painting in his house. Sooner or later, someone would be bound to notice the damn thing."
"Okay, I'll give you that. And I'll also admit that this Upsall picture isn't the sort of fine art that you'd expect would appeal to the connoisseurs among us here in Eclipse Bay."
"Heard it looked like something a kindergartner might turn out," Young Boone said.
"Hey, I've got a kindergartner who can do better-looking art. Yeah, the Upsall is sort of ugly. Sure hard to envision someone like, say, Sandy down at the gas station, going to the trouble to steal it just so he could hang it on the wall of the restroom. And it would look a little out of place in the Total Eclipse, too."
Boone thought for a moment. "Still leaves all those fancy types up at the institute and Chamberlain College. They might go for that kinda thing."
"Maybe. If that's the case, we'll have to let Valentine deal with it. I'm just checking out the possibility that someone local might have taken it as a prank or on a dare. I can see some guy who'd had a couple-three-too-many beers down at the Total Eclipse deciding to swipe the painting as a stunt."
"Huh. Hadn't thought of that."
"In which case," Nick said in the same casual tone he'd been using all day long, "if it just shows up again there will be no questions asked."
Young Boone squinted knowingly and snapped his oily rag.
"Gotcha. I'll spread the word."
"Thanks."
Mitchell was out of the SUV. He had his cane in one hand and he was making straight for the dock where Nick stood.
"I'd better get going," Nick said. "Places to go, people to see."
Boone glanced past him toward Mitchell, who was advancing rapidly. "Good luck. Gonna be hard to avoid Madison. He's got a bee in his bonnet about you and that Miss Brightwell gal."
"I know." Nick assessed his chances of escape. He had the advantage of being several decades younger than Mitchell, and he hadn't developed any arthritis yet. If he moved quickly, he might just make it to the car before Madison intercepted him. "See you around, Boone."
"See ya."
Nick went swiftly along the gently shifting dock. He made it through the gate and was halfway across the parking lot when he realized he wasn't going to be able to dodge his pursuer. He could outrun him, of course, but that would have been the coward's way. Hartes did not run from Madisons.
"Hold up right there, Harte." Mitchell thumped his cane on the hard-packed ground as he veered to the right to block Nick's path. His bushy brows bristled across the bridge of his aggressive nose. "I want to talk to you."
Nick halted. Not much choice, he figured.
"'Afternoon, sir," he said politely. "Storm give you any trouble last night?"
"Storms don't give me trouble." Mitchell planted himself in front of Nick and glowered ferociously. "Hartes give me trouble. Just what the hell kind of game do you think you're playing with Octavia Brightwell?"
"I don't want to be rude, sir, but I'm in a hurry here. Maybe we should talk about this later."
"We'll talk right now." Mitchell banged the cane again for emphasis. "I heard you spent the night out at Octavia's place."
"That, sir, is a flat-out lie."
Mitchell was startled into momentary speechlessness.
"You tellin' me it was someone else? You weren't the man who was out there last night?"
"I had dinner with Octavia," Nick said evenly. "I went home afterward. I did not spend the night."
"The way I hear it, you were there until nearly one o'clock in the morning."
"You've got spies on your payroll?"
"Don't need any spies. Young Boone saw you drive past the marina late last night. He told everyone at the post office first thing this morning."
"You know, sir, I hate to break this to you, but nowadays it's not all that unusual for a couple of adults to spend an evening together that doesn't wind up until one in the morning."
"Not here in Eclipse Bay, they don't, not unless they're foolin' around. And you two aren't a couple of adults."
"We're not?"
"Nope."
"Mind if I ask just how you classify us, if not as adults?"
"You're a Harte and Octavia is Claudia's great-niece."
"So?"
"Shoot and damn, son." Mitchell raised the cane and waved it in a slashing arc. "I warned you. If you think I'm gonna just stand by and let you take advantage of that gal, you're-"
"Mitch, wait." Octavia's clear voice echoed across the parking lot. "I can explain everything."
Nick turned his head and saw Octavia coming toward them at top speed. She left the sidewalk in front of her shop and raced across Bay Street, hair flying behind her.
He was amazed that she could actually run in the sexy little slides. They did not look as if they'd provide adequate support or stability for this kind of exercise. But, then, what did he know about ladies' shoes?
A car horn blared. Brakes screeched. Octavia paid no attention. She reached the opposite side of t
he street and kept moving, heading straight for Mitchell and Nick.
"You don't understand, Mitch," she shouted. "It's okay, really it is."
Mitchell glared at her with concern when she skidded to a halt, breathless and flushed, in front of him.
"See here, you all right?" he asked. "Something wrong?"
"No, no, that's what I'm trying to tell you." Still breathing hard, she shot a quick, unreadable glance at Nick and then turned back to Mitchell. "I just wanted to assure you that you don't have to protect me from Nick."
"I already warned him once that I won't stand by and let him fool around with you."
"That's just it, we are not fooling around."
"Well, just what the heck do you call it?" Mitchell demanded.
Nick waited with genuine interest to hear her answer.
Octavia drew herself up with astonishing aplomb. "Nick is working for me."
Mitchell gaped. "What the devil?"
She bestowed an icy little smile on Nick and then looked at Mitchell with cool determination. "He has kindly agreed to investigate the missing Upsall. A.Z. and Virgil and I don't feel that Chief Valentine can handle the case on his own."
"Well, shoot and damn." Mitchell looked bemused for a couple of seconds, but in true Madison style, he recovered swiftly. "That doesn't explain why he was out at your place until all hours last night."
"Relax," Octavia said smoothly. "Last night was no big deal."
Nick felt his insides clench. No big deal?
"It's true we had dinner together, but so what?" Octavia went on in a breezy manner. "The only reason he left as late as he did was because of the storm. My fault, entirely. I didn't want him driving home until the wind had died down a little. I was afraid about stuff like downed power lines and trees falling across the road."
She did not have to sound quite so damned casual, Nick thought.
But her tactics were working. Mitchell was starting to appear somewhat mollified.
"Well, shoot and damn," Mitchell said again. "So you kept him there at your place on accounta the high winds?"
"Violent storms make me a little nervous."
"That one last night was a tad rough," Mitchell admitted. "Worst we've had in a while. You say he's gonna play private eye for you? Just like the guy in his books?"
"Precisely," Octavia said firmly. "From now on whenever you see Nick with me, you may assume that we are discussing the case. Nothing more."
"Huh." Mitchell looked thoughtful now. "If you're sure that's all there is to it-"
"Absolutely certain," Octavia said. "Like I said, last night was no big deal. Just a friendly dinner that lasted a little longer than we anticipated because of the storm."
"Huh." Mitchell looked hard at Nick. "You think you can find that painting?"
"Probably not." Nick shrugged. "But Virgil and A.Z. and Octavia want me to ask around a little so I said I would. If you hear anything useful, let me know."
"I'll do that."
Mitchell nodded to both of them and stalked back toward the waiting SUV.
They watched him climb into the front seat and slam the door. Bryce put the behemoth in gear and drove out of the parking lot.
There was a short silence. Nick folded his arms, leaned back against the BMW, and looked at Octavia.
"Let's get something straight here," he said. "I don't need you to protect me from Mitchell Madison."
Octavia reached into her shoulder bag, removed a pair of sunglasses, and slipped them onto her nose. Leveling the playing field, Nick thought. Now he could not read the expression in her eyes any better than she could read his.
"I think I'm the one who should make things clear," she said crisply. "I have a vested interest in making certain that you are not distracted by Mitchell and his misguided attempts to protect me. I want you to concentrate on finding that Upsall. Do we understand each other?"
"Yeah, sure. We understand each other." He paused a beat. "Last night was no big deal, huh?"
She pursed her lips and tilted her head slightly. Light glared on the lenses of her glasses. "I may not have phrased that correctly."
"I'm glad to hear that."
"After due consideration, I've decided that last night was actually quite therapeutic for me."
Her deliberate, reflective, analytical tone sent a cold chill through him.
"Therapeutic?" he repeated cautiously.
"Don't laugh, but this morning, when I woke up, I felt like the princess in the fairy tale, the one who'd been asleep for a hundred years. Awake at last. Okay, so maybe it was more like having been asleep for a couple of years, but you get the picture."
He relaxed a little but not much. "I'm a little confused here. Are you saying I'm Prince Charming?"
She chuckled. "Hardly."
His belly tightened. "I was afraid of that."
"What I'm trying to explain is that, in a way, I've been living in a different world for nearly two years. I put a lot of things on hold while Aunt Claudia was ill, and I never went back to them after she died. I've been just sort of floating through my life, as it were."
"A free spirit."
"That's how I described it, but it was more like being unanchored or untethered, if you see what I mean."
That fit with what he had figured out for himself, he thought. "Sounds like a form of depression or something."
"Maybe." She snapped her fingers. "But whatever the problem was, it's fixed."
"Because we had great sex last night?"
"The quality of the sex probably wasn't as much of a factor as the fact that I actually did the deed." She smiled coolly. "It has been a while, you see. My social life was one of the things I put on hold when Aunt Claudia got so ill. I never really got back to it."
"Glad I could serve in a useful capacity."
"You were extremely useful." She pushed her glasses up more firmly on her nose and cleared her throat. "Since we're having this conversation, I should probably take the opportunity to apologize for that unfortunate little scene last night as you were running out the door. Let's just chalk it up to two years' worth of celibacy, the storm, and the last remnants of my weird emotional condition."
"A nice tidy list of reasons." He shoved his fingers through his hair. "And for the record, I was not running out the door. It was late and I had to pick up Carson and get back to the cottage."
"Of course." She glanced at her watch. "I'm glad we've got that settled. You'll have to excuse me. I need to get back to the gallery."
"Now who's running?"
Her mouth tightened. "I've got a business to see to and you've got a missing painting to investigate."
"Sure." He wished he could see her eyes behind those damn sunglasses. "Would you like to come out to my place and have dinner with Carson and me tonight?"
She hesitated. "Thanks, but I'm afraid I'm busy this evening."
The chill returned to his gut. "Seaton?"
"Why, yes, as a matter of fact. How did you know?"
"Lucky guess," he said grimly.
"He wants me to look at some of his paintings." She turned away to start back toward the gallery. "He has never exhibited his work and he wants me to give him a professional opinion on whether it might have commercial possibilities."
"Bullshit. He wants to talk you into bed."
She stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "Would you like to tell me what it is between you two?"
"What the hell. I never told anyone else." He wrenched open the driver's side door of the BMW and got behind the wheel. "Might be therapeutic for me."
"Nick, wait-"
He slammed the door and looked at her through the lowered window while he started the engine. "Seaton hates my guts because he thinks that I had an affair with his ex-wife while they were still married."
Her mouth opened but no words emerged. Her speechless condition gave him some satisfaction, but not much.
"One more thing," he added, snapping the car into gear. "What happened last nig
ht between you and me wasn't therapy. It was great sex. There's a difference."
He drove out of the marina parking lot, leaving her standing there in her bright purple jumper and ridiculously sexy shoes.
Chapter 11
"What the hell do you expect me to do?" Sullivan snarled into the phone. "I'm trying to put together a merger here."
"Hate to break this to you," Mitchell growled on the other end, "but my grandson and your son don't need any help putting the finishing touches on the Madison-Harte merger. Both of 'em have been running their own companies for years. They know what they're doing. You're just gumming things up, hanging over their shoulders there in Portland. Leave 'em be and pay attention to the larger issues."
"Larger issues? Never heard you use a fancy phrase like that before, Mitch."
"Must have picked it up from one of you silver-tongued Hartes. Look, we've got a problem here in Eclipse Bay."
Sullivan cranked back in the chair and contemplated the view from the window of the temporary office his new son-in-law, Gabe Madison, had provided for him. The headquarters of Madison Commercial, soon to become
Madison-Harte, were located on the top floors of a Portland office tower. From his perch he could see the boat traffic on the Willamette River.
The summer afternoon was sunny and warm. The weather reporters claimed that it was hot down there on the city streets, but he spent most of his time in Phoenix these days. He knew hot, and this was not hot.
"Seems to me that you have a problem, Mitch," he said, stalling for time while he considered the larger issues. "Not me. You're the one who decided to take on the job of looking out for Claudia Banner's great-niece."
"This problem we're discussing involves your grandson," Mitch shot back. "I told you I wouldn't stand by and let him-"
"Shut up." Sullivan got up out of the chair very suddenly.
Phone in hand, he went to stand at the window. "Don't say it again."
"Don't say what?" Mitchell asked innocently. "That I won't let Nick sucker Octavia into an affair and then dump her when he decides he wants to replace her with some other lady?"
"This is my grandson you're talking about." Sullivan's hand clamped fiercely around the phone, but he managed to keep his voice level. "He is not a philanderer, damn it."
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