never been the altruistic sort. And she couldn’t possibly ask Sascha to endanger her reputation. There was no legal way to get the original back where it belonged, if she indeed had the original.
But there were some illegal ways, she mused. If art could be stolen, then it could be returned just as easily. And if she made friends with Mrs. Templeton, perhaps she’d gain a way inside. Now all she had to do was find a willing art thief who’d do his job in reverse. Perhaps her father could provide a name.
She was only a mile from the rest stop when she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the police car following her. A sick feeling settled in her stomach and she waited, hoping that the officer was on another errand. But then he turned the lights on and blasted the siren and Marisol had no choice but to pull over.
She waited as the officer got out of the car then let out a tightly held breath when she realized it was Ian. He smiled as he approached, removing his sunglasses and squatting down beside the car. “Hey there,” he said. “This is becoming a habit.”
“Did I do something wrong, Officer?” Marisol asked, sending him a nervous smile.
“Actually, you did,” Ian replied. “You ran the stop sign on Perry Street and Vine. And then you didn’t yield to the pedestrians on the next block.”
Marisol gasped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even realize.” She touched her temple. “I’m a little distracted. Tired, too.”
He frowned at her. “Is everything all right?”
“Of course,” she said in a cheerful tone. “I just-
Ian grinned. “Well, I guess since I’m the cause of your distraction, I really can’t write you up,” he said as he stood. “I’ll just give you a warning this time, but be more careful. I don’t want anything happening to you.”
“It won’t,” she murmured.
He reached out and ran his finger along her bare forearm, his touch sending a shiver through her body. “So, am I going to see you tonight? I have this thing with my brothers, but I can come over later.”
She nodded. “Call me.”
“I’ll do that.” Ian turned and headed to the police cruiser. He looked back once and Marisol waved, relief washing over her. This was only going to get more difficult if she didn’t find a way to solve her little dilemma. Ian waited until she pulled back into traffic, then followed her for a bit, before he made a U-turn and headed back into town.
As she drove the last mile to the rest stop, Marisol’s thoughts returned to the previous night. Every instinct told her she ought to put him out of her life, at least until she got rid of the painting. But it was no use. Her attraction to Ian Quinn was not something she could ignore or resist. Having Ian in her life, in her bed and in her body was the only thing she cared about, and it was worth the risk.
Marisol spotted her father’s car before she turned into the rest stop. She pulled into a parking spot about twenty feet away and then walked over to one of the picnic tables set beneath a large maple tree. A few seconds later, her father sat down beside her.
“I know what you are going to say,” he muttered, hanging his head. “And you would be right. I let myself get involved in something that might cause us both trouble.”
“Papi, why did you send me that painting?”
“I had to get rid of it. I couldn’t bear to have it around. I couldn’t even look at it. David said the FBI had come to him with questions about one of his clients. The client who paid for the painting. David has been waiting to smuggle it out of the country in one of his shipments, but it’s been too risky.”
“Then David is involved. Did he put you up to this?” Marisol asked.
Hector nodded. “I needed the money.”
“You could have come to me for help. I would have given you the money.”
“After all I have taken from you and your mother, I could not ask,” he said.
“And yet, you put me in the middle of this?”
“I didn’t know where else to turn. David asked me to hold on to the original. What choice did I have? But I decided I had to make this right. If we can switch the paintings, I can destroy the forgery before anyone finds out. David will be left to deal with his client.”
She shook her head, unable to believe that she’d once loved David Barnett. He was nothing more than a common criminal. “Then that is the original Colter.”
Hector nodded. “I painted a copy for him when he had the original in his gallery. That’s not my painting.”
“How did he make the switch without getting caught?”
“Before the sale. He authenticated the painting and he sold it, so there were no questions.”
“He knows the Templetons,” Marisol said. “They’d be stupid enough to trust him doing both. If there was only a way to get the forgery out of their house. Then we could switch the two and no one would have to know.”
“You can find a way. That’s why I sent you the painting.”
She stood up, her hands clenched at her sides. “I will find a way out of this. And you will find somewhere quiet where you can stay until I do. Don’t go back to your place, just keep driving north.” Marisol reached in her purse and grabbed her wallet, then pulled out three hundred dollars. “Go up to Maine and visit your old friend Edgar. Tell him you need the peace and quiet so that you can paint again. He’ll let you stay at the cabin for a month or two. I’ll send you more money once you get there.”
Her father stared down at the cash she offered, then reluctantly took it. “All right.” He slowly got to his feet and then made an attempt to hug her.
At first, Marisol drew away, but then her emotions overcame her and she threw her arms around his neck. “Go,” she said. “And don’t let anyone know where you are, not David, not anyone. I’ll contact you.”
She watched as her father walked toward his car. He seemed so old and frail now, nothing like the man she remembered from her childhood. Life had not been kind to Hector Arantes. He’d given everything to his art and no one had recognized his talent.
Tears pushed at the corners of her eyes and Marisol swallowed them back. How had she been so lucky? Everything had always come so easily to her. From the moment she’d started painting, people had taken notice. And when she’d tried sculpting, her popularity had increased even more. Some collectors could barely wait to see her new work and she’d already had three shows in prominent New York galleries.
But she’d put everything into her work, to the exclusion of a personal life. Even David had been a good business move at the time, although she hadn’t seen his true character until it was too late. Her father had tried to make a life for his family. Maybe a successful artist just couldn’t have both. Success required a selfishness that was in direct opposition to a happy personal life.
She’d convinced herself of that fact after she’d caught David cheating, finding it a convenient rationalization for her pain and loneliness. But now that she’d met Ian, Marisol had begun to believe that things could be different, that she didn’t have to give up everything to enjoy success.
He made her feel anything was possible, as if work and life-and even love-might coexist. She turned and walked to her car, he mind filled with thoughts of him. Suddenly, she needed to know more, all the tiny details of his life, what he loved and what he hated. He’d been right last night. They didn’t know each other. There were so many questions yet to ask.
She sped down the highway toward Bonnett Harbor, the morning breeze blowing through her hair, exhaustion suddenly overwhelming her. She hadn’t slept much the previous night, making love in Ian’s bed until deep into the night before he returned her to the grocery store to pick up her car in the predawn hours.
Once she’d returned to the gallery, she’d jumped right into work without a thought to eating or sleeping. And now, it was catching up with her. But when she pulled up in front of the gallery, she noticed a familiar car parked across the street-a steel-gray Mercedes sedan. She groaned softly as she pulled into a vacant parking spot, then sat behind the wheel and waited.
He came strolling over to the car with his customary swagger, dressed in a finely tailored Prada suit and Italian shoes. There had been a time when his every move had enthralled her, but now she was just angry with him. Marisol pasted a smile on her face. “Hello, David. What are you doing here?”
He stood over her, the sun at his back. She couldn’t see his face as she squinted to look up at him. But she knew he was smirking. “It’s been awhile,” he said, pulling open her car door. “I just thought I’d check in and see how things were going.”
“Everything is going just fine,” Marisol said as she got out of the car, avoiding the hand that he extended to
