Bonnett Harbor was supposed to be a fresh start for her, a place to escape a relationship gone bad. But instead, it had been a destination, a place for her to find something special, something real. And maybe something lasting.
“DO YOU UNDERSTAND what to do if you feel your life is in danger, Miss Arantes?”
Ian watched from behind the one-way glass, his gaze fixed on Marisol’s face. She was scared and he had serious doubts she’d heard anything the two FBI agents had said to her since they’d sat down in the small interview room earlier that afternoon. Her fingers kept fluttering to her throat, as she kept her eyes on the microphone set in front of her.
“David Barnett is a desperate man,” the female agent explained. “We don’t know how far he’s willing to go to get what he wants. We believe the buyer waiting for this particular painting is a highly placed member of the Japanese mob. If Barnett doesn’t deliver, then he’d be in serious danger.”
“I-I don’t think he would hurt me,” Marisol said, looking up at Agent Phillips.
“But if he does try, what do you say?” Agent DiMarco asked.
She turned to the male agent. “I say, ‘My father is a good man.’ And then I wait for you to come in. When you do, I duck for cover as fast as possible.”
“Good girl,” Ian murmured to himself. But would she remember once she was alone with Barnett? Did she have the courage to pull this plan off? And did he have the fortitude to sit back and watch as she did it?
It had taken every ounce of his resolve to walk away from her, to leave her in the care of the two FBI agents. But he and Marisol had agreed on the story they would tell. It was the truth, they could both swear to it, although it wasn’t the whole truth.
He’d convinced her of the strategy late last night, lying in bed with her wrapped in his arms. After she’d agreed, they’d carefully mapped out how they were going to make it work. Everything depended on Marisol reacting exactly as she should have the day she opened the painting.
Ian had left for the station early that morning, and an hour later, Sascha had arrived with her car. She and Marisol had loaded the painting and driven it to the Bonnett Harbor police station, where Ian had been waiting.
Like clockwork, Sally had called him from his office, announcing that Marisol Arantes was waiting in the lobby with a rather large crate. And from there, Ian did everything a good police chief would do. He interviewed Marisol, asked pointed questions about the painting and her father, checked out her facts and wrote his report. And then, right on schedule, he had called in the FBI.
Ian had expected to wait at least a day or two for a response, but to his surprise, the mention of David Barnett’s name brought instant interest. Within three hours, two agents had arrived from the New York office, anxious to interview Marisol.
She’d been with them for almost two hours now and Ian could see exhaustion in every expression, in every movement. Agent DiMarco pushed back from the table and walked out of the room. A few seconds later, the door to the observation room opened. “We’re going to go on this tonight,” he said.
Ian gasped. “Tonight? Come on, you can see she’s exhausted. Give her a chance to calm down and get some sleep. You can do it tomorrow.”
Agent DiMarco shook his head. “The longer we wait, the more Barnett is going to suspect it’s a setup. Her nervousness can work to our advantage. Agent Phillips is going to get her wired up and then we’re going to have her call Barnett and ask him to meet her at the gallery.”
“He’s in town,” Ian said.
Agent DiMarco frowned. “And you know this because?”
“When she mentioned his name in our interview, I figured I better find out where he was and what he was doing. So I put out an APB on his car. He’s staying across the bay in Newport. I’ve got an unmarked car watching his room. If he leaves, we’ll know about it.”
“Good,” Agent DiMarco said, smiling appreciatively. “I wish all local law enforcement was as thorough as you’ve been.”
Ian felt a prickle of guilt at accepting the compliment. If the FBI had any idea what Ian really knew, he’d be in that interview room and the questions would not be friendly. In any other situation, Ian would question his ethics. But the fact was, Marisol hadn’t been guilty of anything more than loving her father and wanting to protect him. And Ian hadn’t been guilty of anything more than feeling the same toward Marisol. Going in, he knew the potential consequences if they were found out, but he was willing to risk his career for Marisol.
“I ordered something for her to eat,” Ian said. “Can I take it to her?”
“Sure,” DiMarco said. “We’ll have her call Barnett and set up the meeting for 9:00 p.m. at her gallery. We’ll take her back there and get her set up after she’s eaten.”
Ian grabbed the paper bag Sally had delivered from the diner and walked out of the observation room. He nodded at Agent Phillips as he passed her in the hallway, then heard Sally call him from the door of his office.
“There you are,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know that Delaney and Wilson answered a call last night at the Sandpiper about a supposed car theft. Turns out Eden Ross was staying there.”
Ian frowned. “Eden Ross?”
“Yes,” Sally said. “Remember you told me to tell you if any of us heard anything about her? Well, she was-”
“Did Delaney and Wilson write up a report?”
Sally nodded. “It turns out that the car that was the object of the theft belonged to Trevor Ross and the suspected thieves were really tabloid photographers. We tracked the call through the motel switchboard and we’re sure it came from her room.”
“I don’t have time for this now,” Ian said. “Call Dec's cell phone an give him the info. He’s the one who’s looking for her.”
Ian entered the interview room and sat down across the table from Marisol, his back to the mirrored window. Tears swam in Marisol’s eyes as she gazed at him.
“They’re probably watching us,” he whispered. “And listening.” Ian pulled a can of soda pop from the bag, opened it and placed it in front of her. “How are you doing?”
“They knew all about David Barnett,” she said. “They’ve been building a case against him. And they knew my father was involved. And they thought I was involved, too, because of my relationship with David.” She took a quick sip of the soda. “If I help them, they promised not to prosecute my father.”
Ian smiled, clutching his hands in front of him. “See, I told you everything would be all right.” It took every ounce of his determination not to reach out and touch her. Her fingers trembled and he fought the urge to gather her hands in his and press them against his body. “You’ll do fine. These agents know what they’re doing. You’ll be safe.”
“Are you going to be there?”
“I don’t know,” Ian said. “I hope so.”
“After I do this, it will be over, won’t it?”
He nodded and smiled. “And then you can get on with your life.”
“My life,” she repeated. “What if they change their minds? What if David tells them my father-”
“It’s all right. I heard them make the offer. Once you do this, there will be papers to sign. You won’t have to worry, your father will be safe.”
“The FBI thinks David’s been running this scam for years, selling bogus art. He started out with small stuff, then gradually moved on to the more valuable pieces. My father will have to testify about the art he copied, but that should be the end of it. I’m not going to let them know where he is until everything is official,” she said. “They can’t make me.”
A single tear trickled down her cheek and she brushed it away. Ian needed to take her into his arms, to soothe and protect her. He was the one who had talked her into this and now he was watching her crumble before his eyes.
“You’d tell me if they were trying to trick me, wouldn’t you?”
He nodded, then shoved his chair back from the table. “You look like you could use some air, Miss Arantes,” Ian said. “Would you like to step outside for a few minutes?” She shook her head, but Ian persisted. “Really. You look pale, Miss Arantes.”
“I-I guess I could use some air,” she finally said, meeting Ian’s gaze. She stood up and Ian followed her out.
