win me the money, I’ll get you anything you want. I’ll put someone on it right away. I should have something for you by Tuesday.” He gave Ian a playful punch to the shoulder. “Maybe I should encourage this?”
“Piss off,” Ian muttered, a sarcastic edge to his words. He watched as Dec headed off to his car, then glanced at his watch again. It was nearly ten, but Marisol usually worked late into the night. Maybe she was ready for a break.
He’d grown a bit protective of Marisol as of late. She didn’t seem to take care of herself when she was working. She rarely bothered to eat or to sleep, and often, she looked as if she were on the edge of exhaustion. He didn’t always understand her art, but he did know how to make her life a bit easier.
Bonnett Harbor’s favorite ice-cream stand was still open and Ian left Finnerty’s and drove down to the waterfront, intent on getting something to tempt her away from work. He ordered a raspberry sundae at the drive- through. Maybe he did know more about her than he realized. From what she’d had in her cart at the grocery store the other night, he knew she liked junk food, anything sweet and anything crunchy.
A tiny sliver of guilt shot through him as he turned the Mustang onto Bay Street. So why the hell did he need a background check? What could it tell him that would make any difference? Would he want her any less if she’d passed a bad check or been fired from a job?
As Ian drove by Gallerie Luna, searching for a place to park, he noticed two things-the lights were off inside the gallery and a shadowy figure stood in the doorway, bent over the lock. He pulled the car around the block, then hopped out, leaving the sundae sitting on the front seat. He wasn’t carrying his gun, but he did have a nightstick and a pair of cuffs in the trunk. He grabbed them both, along with his radio. Then, keeping close to the storefronts, made his way down to Marisol’s place.
The streets were eerily quiet. Usually there were at least a few pedestrians out at ten o’clock on a summer night, people walking their dogs, diners heading home from the local restaurants. When he got within fifteen feet of the gallery, he could tell the figure was a man and that he was working at the lock with a small tool.
Ian took a deep breath and settled on a strategy. He’d whack the guy on the knee, then grab his arms and cuff him before he had a chance to turn around. But just as Ian came close enough to touch him, the intruder managed to get the door open.
The moment it swung open, an alarm sounded. He spun around, only to find Ian standing in his way. One quick jab in the stomach was enough to double him over. Ian shoved him into the gallery, rolled him over, then put a knee in his back. He grabbed his arms and put on the handcuffs.
“Get up,” he growled, yanking him to his feet.
“What the hell are you-get off me!”
Ian grabbed his radio from his jacket pocket, ready to call in for backup, but Marisol suddenly appeared, dressed in a short little nightgown, her hair tumbled around her face.
“What are you doing?” she shouted over the sound of the alarm. She glanced back and forth between the two of them, covering her ears. “David?”
“You know this guy?” Ian yelled.
“Yes,” she said, nodding her head. “His name is David Barnett. Why is he in handcuffs?”
“He was trying to break in.” Ian winced. “Can you turn off the alarm?”
She disappeared, and a few seconds later, the alarm fell silent. When she returned, she stood in front of them both. “Who’s going to start?”
“This idiot just knocked me over and put me in handcuffs,” Barnett explained. “I was knocking on the door, hoping you were still up and-”
“He was messing with the lock,” Ian said. “How do you suppose he got the door open?”
“It was unlocked already,” David said.
“Bullshit,” Ian replied. “Marisol, did you lock the door?”
“I-I thought I did,” she said. A frown wrinkled her brow. “But maybe I didn’t.” She ran her hand through her rumpled hair. “Just let him go,” she finally said.
“I can’t do that,” Ian replied. “He was trying to break in.”
“He wasn’t,” she said. “I-I asked him to come over and I forgot.”
Ian could tell she was lying but he wasn’t sure why. With a soft curse, he unlocked the cuffs, leaning forward to whisper in Barnett’s ear. “We both know what you were doing,” he said. “I’d suggest you get out of town, before I find something else to arrest you for.”
Barnett cursed, giving Ian a shove. “Marisol, I-”
Ian went after him, ready to arrest him for assaulting an officer, but Marisol stepped in between them both. “Ian, wait here,” she ordered. She pointed to a spot near the door and Ian reluctantly did as he was told.
Then she walked outside, closing the door behind her. But Ian pulled the blinds aside and watched her as she spoke with the guy she called David. They appeared to be more than just passing acquaintances, but it was obvious from the way she was gesturing to him, that they weren’t on good terms.
He watched as the skinny strap from her nightgown dropped over her shoulder, revealing the soft flesh of her breast. She angrily pulled it up, but continued talking. He saw Barnett’s gaze drop to her breasts and fought back a surge of anger.
When the guy reached out and took Marisol’s hand, Ian cursed softly, grabbing the door handle, ready to step between them. He shouldn’t feel this way, as if Marisol belonged to him. They’d known each other exactly one week. It wasn’t nearly enough time to consider her anything more than an extended one-night stand.
But that wasn’t how he felt. In truth, he couldn’t recall ever feeling that way about her. From the very start, Ian had sensed that there was something more between them, something holding them together beyond basic lust and desire.
Ian walked away from the door, convincing himself he didn’t care who the man was to Marisol, or how she felt about him. For now, Ian was in her life and he wasn’t about to be displaced by some smart-ass city boy in a fancy suit. The guy was up to no good, and tomorrow, he’d call his brother and ask him to cancel the background check on Marisol, and instead, concentrate on David Barnett.
MARISOL STEPPED INSIDE the gallery and shut the door behind her, leaning back against it and closing her eyes. She’d planned to spend a quiet evening, catching up on her sleep and trying to put her troubles aside for just a little while. But the longer she had the painting in her possession, the more trouble seemed to find her.
If David had been breaking in, then she knew exactly what he was looking for. He intended to steal the painting from her and sell it to his client. But once the sale was complete, then her father was just as culpable as David-if they got caught. Maybe she ought to just give it to him and be done with it, to take the chance and pray that the odds would be with her and no one would ever find out.
“Is he gone?”
Marisol looked up to see Ian standing in the shadows of the gallery, his frame outlined by the feeble light from the street shining through the transom windows. “Yes. He’s gone.”
He slowly approached, stopping just far enough away that she couldn’t read his expression. “Would you like to explain to me what that was all about?”
She shook her head. “Not now. I’m tired and I want to go back to bed.” She walked toward the back of the gallery, then turned. “Are you coming?”
Ian cursed softly. “Who was that guy?”
She didn’t care for the tone in his voice, but if answering his questions would get them to bed any faster, then she was willing to do it. “David Barnett. My ex.”
“Ex what?” he asked, his voice tense.
“Boyfriend,” she said. “Fiance, actually. We were engaged for about six months.”
Ian let the revelation settle for a while before he responded. “How long ago did you break up?”
“Six months,” she said. “That’s why I decided I needed to get out of the city. To get away from him, to make a fresh start.”
“Do you still have a thing for him?”
“Why all the questions?” Marisol snapped. “He’s no longer in my life. Isn’t that enough?”
He crossed the room, standing silently in front of her, staring down at her face. Then, he grabbed Marisol’s hand and drew it to his mouth, kissing the center of her palm. “Am
She drew a sharp breath, the question taking her by surprise. Was he? Even in the very early days of her
