you’ll create a diversion and I’ll switch the two.”
“A diversion?”
Marisol ran over to her worktable and returned with the handheld hot air gun she used to dry paint. “You’ll excuse yourself and go to the powder room under the stairs. Then you’ll plug this in, fill the sink with water and toss it into the sink. Or, I suppose you could use the toilet. Either way, the power should go off which will give me enough time to switch the paintings.”
“Most of those security systems have a battery backup,” Sascha warned.
“I know. But if the alarm sounds, the Templetons will think it’s from the power surge. Even if they suspect something is going on, they have far more valuable pieces in other parts of the house. The Renoir in the foyer is worth five times as much as the Colter. And rumor has it they have a Picasso drawing upstairs in the master suite.”
Sascha picked up the dryer. “How am I supposed to get this into the house?”
Marisol rolled her eyes. “Come on. You don’t have a designer bag that could carry that?”
“I suppose I could carry my Balenciaga. Although, I haven’t found anything good to wear with it yet. We’ll have to go shopping.”
“I don’t care if you stuff the thing under your shirt,” Marisol said. “It’s your responsibility to get it into the house and make sure the electricity is off for at least five minutes. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“But there are so many things that could go wrong,” Sascha said. “And what if they do?”
“Then I’ll tell the Templetons the truth and throw myself on their mercy. But I have to at least give this a try first. My motives are honorable. I’m attempting to right a wrong, so this isn’t really a crime, is it?”
“Well, when you put it that way, I guess it isn’t. Although I’m not sure your little friend, Officer Studly, would agree.”
Marisol winced. “I want you to call the Templetons and tell them I have a gift for them. You set up the get- together and I’ll make sure the plan works.”
“Speaking of Officer Studly, where does he fit into this plan?”
“He doesn’t,” Marisol said. “He doesn’t know anything about it.”
That wasn’t entirely true, she mused. Ian knew something was going on, he just wasn’t sure what. Since he was leaving it up to her to tell him, then he’d just have to wait until it was all over and her father was safe.
“Are you still sleeping with him?”
Marisol considered her answer for a long moment. She’d slept with him last night but had no intentions of sleeping with him tonight, so technically she wasn’t
Still, Marisol had to wonder if he’d invite her back into his bed if she made the offer. Would he be able to turn her away? Or was his desire for her more powerful than his professional ethics?
Every night they spent together seemed to bring them closer and closer. Last night, after she’d crawled into her own bed, she’d lain awake for hours, trying to figure out a way to tell him the truth, a way to ask for his help, if only so they might be together again.
She knew him sexually, knew every inch of his body, knew exactly how he’d respond to her touch. Yet she could only guess at how he’d react to her revelation. She knew the man who made love to her with such reckless abandon, but she didn’t know the man who put on a uniform and spent his days enforcing the law.
Marisol wanted to know that man, but at the same time, he held such power over her-the power to take her father away from her again. No, she couldn’t trust him. Not now, not yet. Sascha was the only person who knew the truth and it would have to stay that way until she sorted out this mess.
“Well, are you going to answer my question?” Sascha asked.
“Am I still sleeping with him?”
“That’s what I asked. Either you are or you aren’t.”
“No. In fact, he knows something’s going on with me…and David. He has-he had a file on us both.”
“What?”
Marisol held out her hand to calm Sascha’s rising panic. “It’s all right. He didn’t read it, but he has suspicions about me.”
“What kind of cop is he?”
“I think he might be afraid of what he’ll learn,” Marisol admitted.
Sascha gasped. “He’s in love with you.”
“Don’t be silly,” Marisol cried.
“I’m not. He’s a cop who suspects you might be involved in criminal activity and yet he’s unwilling to even figure out what you’re up to. He’s in love with you.”
“We barely know each other.” Marisol turned away from Sascha and began to arrange her tubes of paint on the wide surface of the worktable. Was Sascha right? After all, why wouldn’t Ian appease his natural curiosity by reading the file on her? She drew a deep breath and tried to sort it all out in her mind. Was it because he didn’t care? Or because he cared too much?
“I have to find a place to hide the painting,” Marisol murmured. “David showed up a few nights ago and I think he was trying to break in here and steal it back. If he gets it, there’s no way I can fix this for my father.”
“Where can you put it?”
“You could take it,” she suggested. “Hide it at your place until we’re ready to make the switch.”
Sascha shook her head. “Not a chance. I agreed to help you with your little plan, but that extends to creating a diversion. If I get caught with that painting, my career would be over.”
“I understand.”
Marisol considered all her options and could think of only one other place that it would be perfectly safe. She smiled to herself. “There is one place that David would never think to look.”
7
IAN STARED AT HIS CARDS, then shrewdly searched for tells on the faces of Declan and Marcus. “I’ll call,” he finally said, tossing in three blue poker chips. He laid down his cards. “Kings over sixes.”
Declan cursed and threw his cards into the center of the table. “I can’t buy a decent hand,” he muttered. Shoving his chair back, he stood. “Does anyone want another beer?”
“I’m good,” Marcus said.
“Me, too,” Ian murmured.
Declan wandered over to the small kitchen on the far wall of Marcus’s loft and opened the refrigerator. When he returned, he carried a fresh beer and a bag of potato chips. He sprawled into the chair, groaning softly. “I guess I’m sleeping on your sofa tonight,” he said, tipping his beer bottle toward Marcus. “I’m too drunk to drive back to Providence. Or I could stay with you.” He pointed his beer at Ian and grinned. “I prefer that nice soft bed in your guest room to Marky’s sofa.”
Ian shook his head. “I have an early day tomorrow. Besides, I walked over and I’m not about to drag you home through the streets of Bonnett Harbor stumbling drunk.”
It was a logical excuse considering Ian didn’t want any houseguests. After Marisol’s surprise appearance in his bedroom the night before last, he half expected her to turn up again. And he didn’t need his brother questioning the strange frantic moans coming from Ian’s room in the middle of the night. Or the beautiful woman sneaking out the kitchen door in the hours before dawn. He’d managed to keep his affair with Marisol completely private, no small feat for a public figure in Bonnett Harbor. He wasn’t about to let that change.
“You can sack out here,” Marcus offered. “Since I’m the only one still sober enough to drive, I’ll head back over to Newport and sleep on the boat.” He gathered up his poker chips and cashed them in, then stuffed the money into his jeans pocket. “Can I drop you at your place?” he asked Ian.
“If you’re dropping him off, you can drop me off,” Dec asked.
“I’m going to walk,” Ian insisted. “The fresh air will clear my head.” He took a small share of the pot for himself, then pushed the remainder across the table at Declan.
His brother cursed as he counted out the money in front of him. “I can’t figure how you tossers always
