Marie Harte - RetroCog

She nodded. They ordered their food and continued with conversation that, to Noah’s surprise, felt easy. Nothing as mundane as the weather, their talk veered from the difference in the coasts to exercise and books, what they both liked to indulge in during their spare time.

“So why this place, Lara? What brought you to Brownville?”

Lara sipped her water. “History. Ever since Finnegan Fury became a legend, they’ve seen a lot of interest in town. Once I heard the love story between the outlaw and the madam, I had to see where it happened myself. Then I found I couldn’t leave. The main street, I’m told, used to be really run-down. But the past few years have seen a real turnaround. There are art galleries and shops all over the place. The AP did that story, and tourists started pouring in. Now there’s great food, incredible art, a wonderful inn…” She smiled at him, and he smiled back.

“I like it.”

“So why are you here?” She dipped her chip and opened her mouth in expectation of food.

But as she did, he swore he heard a woman’s suggestive comment. Open wider, sugar, he’s a lot bigger than that.

“What’s that?”

Her eyes widened before her gaze dropped like a stone to her plate, along with her chip. “I didn’t say anything.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze.

Weird.

The waitress arrived with their dinners. They ate in silence, intent on the savory dishes before them. Then Lara prodded him again.

“So, Noah, why are you in Brownville? You don’t seem like a typical art collector or tourist.”

“How do I seem?”

“I don’t know.” She lowered her fork and looked at him. “You’re obviously into some kind of physical fitness, but I get a sense of something else. Something academic, maybe.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re intense, quiet. And you listen.”

The woman was perceptive. He weighed the consequences of showing his hand too quickly. What the hell, he had nothing to lose but time. “I’m actually a personal trainer. That and a part-time investigator.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He reached into his wallet and dug out the picture of the portrait he’d looked at way too often for his peace of mind. “Don’t freak when I show you this.”

“Why would I?”

He opened the paper and pushed it across the table to her. Watching her reaction, he learned a good bit. She hadn’t seen the painting before. And she couldn’t stop looking at it. Like him, she was captivated by Vala’s work.

“Who is this?” Her eyes darkened with suspicion. “Is this a joke?”

“It’s a painting by Emilio Vala called The Lady . You can look him up.”

“I will.” She quieted as she studied it.

“So you have no idea who she might be?”

“Not a clue.”

“Well, if she’s not your twin, who do you think it could be?” The research Jack had done had turned up surprisingly nothing on the identity of the woman in the picture.

“I have no idea. Heck, she could be Lady Fine. I’ve never seen a picture of her, but now that I think about it, this picture matches a few descriptions of her I’ve read.”

“It matches you too.” He took a few bites of food, slowing down the conversation. To his surprise, his hunger for dinner had been replaced by his hunger for Lara. “When I saw you earlier, I couldn’t believe the similarities. You don’t recognize her as a relative, maybe?”

“Sorry. I don’t look like anyone in my immediate or distant family that I know of. And before you ask, I’m not adopted.” She traced the woman’s face with her finger. “Why do you want her?”

Such apt words. The realization bothered him. Noah wanted both the painting and Lara. Sex was all well and good. Noah liked women. He didn’t crave anyone in particular. Until Lara. And this is why you need to get laid more often. See what a dry spell will do to you?

He took a long drink of water before answering. “The painting belongs to my client. It was stolen a year ago. My firm tracked it down, but when I went to pick it up, I learned it had been stolen again.”

“No kidding.”

He frowned. “No, I’m not kidding.”

“I wasn’t being literal. So you think it’s here in Brownville?”

“From what I’ve learned, yeah.”

“Well, I can tell you that no one’s said anything to me about it. The locals in town take care of each other, and though I’m still the new girl on the block, I’ve met all the shop owners. Trust me, Brownville thrives on gossip. If anyone had seen your painting, they would have come to tell me about it.” Lara traced the picture with a fingertip. “I’m stunned by how alike we look. It’s eerie.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” I think she’s beautiful . He glanced from the picture to Lara, taken with the hidden depths in her eyes. She held so many secrets, and he had an insane urge to plumb the answers to each one.

At the thought, he clenched his jaw tight and rubbed his eyes. He didn’t have the patience for this nonsense. He was here to do a job. Period. Lack of sleep must have finally caught up to him.

“You okay?” Lara covered his hand on the table with her own. The minute they touched, he felt a spark rush through him—familiarity, need, desire.

“Just tired, I guess.” He refused to let her sever their touch and grabbed her hand when she would have withdrawn.

She froze.

He slowly turned her hand over and rubbed his thumb over her palm. The startled expression on her face turned to one of arousal, and it was all Noah could do to keep his calm. Every instinct he possessed demanded he take Lara back to the inn and possess her. Fuck her until she pleaded with him to stop, then pleaded with him not to.

He frowned, not liking this loss of control. He didn’t hurt women, not even when they begged him for it. Not anymore.

Oh, I’ll beg you for it, sugar. I promise.

Lara ripped her hand away and dug into her plate with sudden gusto.

Noah ignored the pounding of his heart and waited until Lara had relaxed. He finished his dinner, finally sated. In one way, at least. “That voice. I heard it before.” He studied her worried reaction, sure now she’d heard the same. More of the past seeping into the present, no doubt. But how the hell had Lara heard that? “You a psychic?”

“ What ?”

“A legitimate question. People out here see a lot of strange things.”

“Arizona’s like that, yeah. But I’m not psychic.” She wouldn’t look at him, but he could see the sense of unease she couldn’t quite hide. “I just, maybe… There are rumors a few places in town are haunted. I chalked up the odd talk to ghosts.”

“What kind of odd talk?”

“The—I don’t know.”

“Ghosts?”

She raised her gaze to his and glared. “This whole discussion is ridiculous.”

“Not to me. I need that painting. You look exactly like her.” He pointed to the picture. “And we both just heard a voice no one else did. Explain all that if you can.”

Lara withdrew a few bills from her jacket and tossed them on the table. “I need to get back to the inn. Enjoy the rest of your dinner.”

“We’re not done talking about this, Lara.” He watched her, wanting to know what drove her, scared her, aroused her…

She scurried from the table. “I’m done talking. I have to get back. Frank’s waiting.” She darted out of the restaurant in a blur of motion.

Noah saw nothing of ghosts or the past as he watched her go. He had eyes only for Lara. A mystery within a mystery. And a puzzle he had every intention of solving. The sooner the better.

Lara whipped down the dark and surprisingly empty street, knowing she’d made a fool of herself by mentioning ghosts. God, when would she learn? Her family had never believed her odd experiences during her childhood, and they’d tried. What made her think a man she’d just met might?