Kate Hoffmann - Ian

If she was aware she had the forgery, then he could assume she was working with David Barnett. If not, then perhaps she was being used by Barnett. So did he treat her as an unwitting accomplice or a full-fledged conspirator?

The only way he’d know for sure was to confront her, which he intended to do the moment he returned to Bonnett Harbor.

“IT’S PERFECT,” Marisol said, holding up Sascha’s Balenciaga bag. “See, you can’t even tell what’s inside.”

They sat at the worktable in the rear of Gallerie Luna, sipping on cold glasses of limeade and eating shortbread cookies. Sascha had arrived from New York just that morning, determined to convince Marisol to give the painting back to her father and be done with it.

But no amount of convincing, even Sascha’s whining, would change Marisol’s mind. The more she considered her plan, the better she thought it would work. She’d promised Ian she’d give him a chance to fix everything, but he didn’t deserve to be dragged into this. She could do it on her own.

“I know this will work,” Marisol said. It had to. And the sooner, the better.

Sascha toyed with a tube of paint. “I’m starting to get nervous. What if something goes wrong? Shouldn’t we practice? How do I know throwing this in the sink will knock out the alarm system? How do I know I won’t electrocute myself?”

“Just don’t touch the water,” Marisol said. “And make sure it’s on before you toss it in. Did you call the Templetons? Remember, we have to be there in daylight, or I won’t have light to work.”

“I did,” Sascha replied. “And we’ve been invited over for brunch on Sunday. You’re lucky they love your work. She was hoping we’d join her for cocktails this evening, but I said we were busy.”

“But we aren’t,” Marisol said. “Why didn’t you accept?”

“Because I didn’t think we were ready.” Sascha fanned her face with her hand. “I have to prepare myself. I’ve never broken the law.” She paused, frowning. “Well, not any big laws. I did smoke pot when I was in college. And of course, I never drive the speed limit. And I once took a parking ticket from my car and put it on another car.”

“I’m sorry I put you in this situation,” Marisol said. “You’re a good friend to do this for me. I don’t know how I’ll ever pay you back.”

“With many large commissions,” Sascha said. “After this, you’re going to get back to work and we’re going to plan your opening. I have some important clients I intend to invite and they’re going to be spending obscene amounts of money on your work.”

Marisol smiled. “Good. I’m going to need obscene amounts of money if I intend to settle here. I can’t live in that tiny apartment upstairs much longer.”

“Settle here?” Sascha asked. “You can’t be serious. This was supposed to be a summer place for you. In the winter, you go back to the city.”

“I was thinking I’d live here full-time. I’m not that far from New York and it’s quiet here and-”

“Don’t do this,” Sascha warned. “Don’t throw yourself into another relationship so soon after David. I know this policeman is handsome, but what could you two possibly have in common?”

“He’s the police chief,” she said, gathering her patience. “And we have plenty in common.” Sascha was her friend, and a business partner, but there were times when she acted like Marisol’s mother.

Sascha stood up and paced back and forth between the worktable and the sofa. “You belong in the city. Everyone who is anyone is lives in the city. You need to be seen, at parties and gallery openings. People will forget.”

“There are plenty of successful artists who live outside New York City.”

“Of course. But they all have established careers and a solid market for their work. You’re not there yet.”

Marisol got up from the worktable and walked back to the kitchen to fetch the pitcher of limeade. She refilled Sascha’s glass, then sat down on her stool. “I’m not just staying for him,” she said.

“You aren’t?”

“Maybe I am,” Marisol admitted. “But what’s wrong with that? I want to see where this all leads. We have this incredible chemistry. When we’re together he can’t keep his hands off me. I’ve never had that with a man before. Do you know how good it feels to be desired like that?”

“What about David?”

“No,” Marisol said. “This is different. With David, everything was so predictable. We were the perfect couple, but he didn’t want me. Not the way Ian does.”

“So this guy is good in bed,” Sascha said. “How good could he be?”

Marisol smiled slyly. “Very, very good. No, unbelievably great. Fabulous. I don’t know. There isn’t really an adjective to describe it. It’s just-wow!”

“Magnificent? Astonishing? Extraordinary?” Sascha prompted.

“All of those. And really, really hot. Intense. And his body is just to die for.”

Sascha sighed as she plopped back down on her stool. “Every woman’s dream man?”

“Yeah,” Marisol said.

They silently stared across the room at the painting she’d done of Ian, both of them lost in their own thoughts. When the front buzzer sounded, they both looked toward the door.

“I suppose that’s him,” Sascha said.

“Can you give us a minute?”

She nodded, grabbed her bag and walked to the back of the gallery. Marisol hurried to the door and pulled it open, expecting to see Ian. But David stood outside.

When she tried to slam the door, he stuck his foot inside, then shoved the door so hard, she had to step back. He stalked into the gallery, letting the door slam behind him. Slowly, he took in the paintings and the sculptures scattered around the room.

“Where is it?” he muttered. “I want the painting. I know you have it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marisol said. “Just leave, David.”

“Your father sent you the Colter. I need it. And if you don’t give it to me, I’m going to let the authorities know your father is back to his old tricks again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marisol repeated.

He spun around and grabbed her arms, his fingers biting into her flesh. “I have a buyer who wants his painting. If I don’t give it to him, he’s going to be very angry. He might just decide to hurt me.”

“Then I guess you shouldn’t have gotten involved with him,” Marisol said.

“Tell me where it is,” he muttered.

“Go ahead,” Marisol said. “Search the place. I don’t know where it is or where my father is. I haven’t heard from him in weeks. And if he is involved in some scheme with you, then I don’t want to hear about it. He’s an adult, he makes his own choices. And I’ve made mine. Look for your damn painting and then get out, before I call the police.”

“Marisol?” Sascha slowly walked toward them, her eyes fixed on David. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, fine.”

“Hello, David. You’re looking…flushed. Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes, fine,” he replied.

“Well, then, we’re all fine. Can I get you something to drink?”

David shook his head. “Would you excuse us? Marisol and I have important matters to discuss.”

“I’ll just be in the back,” she said, “in case I’m needed.”

When Sascha had disappeared, David grabbed Marisol again and cursed beneath his breath. But this time, she yanked out of his grasp, crossing her arms in front of her.

“Find your father and convince him to bring back my painting. Or all the trouble that’s going to rain down on me is going to come down on him, too. And you.”

“I’ll see if I can find him,” Marisol said, keeping her tone cool and indifferent. “I’ll call you.”