by B. J Daniels
"Okay, let's walk through what happened after Simon left your shop, okay?"
She explained how she had finished the last of the framing. "I was too excited to sleep so I packed up the art for the show, then I went to bed."
"And you're sure that painting was one of them you packed?"
She nodded.
"You say you went to bed?"
"My apartment was just upstairs."
"You think you would have heard if anyone had come in during the night?"
"Of course. Anyway, the paintings were packed. It would have been impossible for someone to sneak in, find that particular painting and take it without me hearing them."
He groaned and raked a hand through his hair. "Okay, the painting was packed, then what?"
"The next morning, Evan came over and helped me load the paintings into a van and take them to the gallery. Evan is the gallery owner. I helped him put the boxes in the back of the shop. Then I left and he set up the show after the gallery closed that afternoon."
"He does everything himself?"
"It's a small gallery."
"What did you do?"
"I went back to my studio and worked. I like to paint when I'm anxious. It calms me. Later, I went over to the gallery to make sure Evan had everything he needed."
"But you don't remember seeing the sailboat painting."
"No, but then I can't be sure it wasn't there and disappeared later. Evan might remember."
Yes, Landry would have to talk to Evan. "Did all the paintings sell?"
"Almost all of them. Evan packed up the rest."
Landry felt his heart quicken. If the small painting had accidentally been overlooked in a box at the back of the gallery, Evan would have just packed the unsold ones with it. "What happened to those paintings, the unsold ones?"
She frowned. "I asked him to put them away for me until I came for them."
The painting had to be one of two places if it hadn't been found yet, which he was counting on. Either it had been misplaced at the gallery. Or Simon had hid it in the studio.
"Okay," he said, feeling better. "What happened to everything in your studio?"
"The police took me back there and I packed up everything."
"Did any of the officers help?" he asked.
"Two." She seemed to see where he was headed with this. "Yes, but no one walked away with a painting or a disk. They just made sure you didn't try to kill me while I told them what needed to be packed, and they did it. I watched the entire process."
He ignored the part about him killing her. As far as he knew, the police didn't know that Simon had hid the disk in a painting. Simon was dead so he couldn't have told them and Zeke wasn't about to tell them since he'd changed sides no doubt long before all of this had happened. So the police wouldn't be looking for the painting. That meant either of them could have unknowingly packed the painting with the disk, never suspecting what they had in their hands.
"Is it possible you missed the painting—it was small, so maybe you overlooked it and left it behind?" Especially if Simon had hidden it.
She shook her head. "I gave up the studio so everything was packed and cleaned out. There really wasn't anyplace to hide anything."
He nodded. "So where is everything you boxed up?"
"In storage."
He rolled his eyes. "I gathered that. Okay, darlin'," he said, his gaze locking with hers as he stepped toward her. "What do I have to do to get you to trust me?" he asked, his voice soft as he cupped her cheek.
She tried to step away from him, but he pressed her to the wall with his body. She smelled clean and a little citrusy. He sniffed her hair, breathing her in.
Her big blue eyes were on him. He removed her glasses and tossed them aside; her eyes widened. He could feel her breath quicken. Her heart was a hammer in her chest. She really was something.
As he bent to kiss her, she tried to turn her head away but he was still cupping her cheek, still pinning her to the wall.
She glared at him as he lowered his mouth until his lips were only a hairbreadth above hers. He felt her breath catch as he lowered his mouth to hers.
He kissed her gently, slowly, carefully. At first it was to show her how things were going to be but somewhere along the way he felt things change. Not so much in her as in himself.
Her mouth was paradise. There was a shyness to her, an innocence he'd seen the first time he'd laid eyes on her and yet hadn't believed. It was still there though beneath the bravado. And he was surprisingly touched by it.
He drew back to look into her big blue eyes. She looked like a deer caught in headlights. Her tongue darted out to touch her lower lip. She looked scared and excited all at the same time. He could feel her heart pounding beneath his. Something had changed between them and he already regretted it.
Sometimes he hated his job, hated that he had to use people, to gain their trust, to hurt them.
He especially hated that in the end he would hurt Willa St. Clair.
Willa looked past him, her eyes growing wider. He swung around, going for his weapon, expecting to see someone behind them.
The room was empty. He blinked as he swung back around with the gun in his hand and faced her.
Willa stood smiling smugly. "I think we need to establish some ground rules," she said calmly, although he could see she was anything but.
"That was just a ruse?"
She cocked her head at him, still smiling. "Just like that kiss of yours was to make me think I could trust you."
He holstered his weapon, eyeing her warily. He understood now how she had managed to survive this long. And maybe the kiss had started out that way, but it had changed. He thought about calling her on it. She'd felt something. He knew because he'd felt it, too. But she was right about them needing some ground rules.
"Have you heard the story about the little boy who cried wolf?" he asked as he stepped closer.
"I like the one about the wolf in sheep's clothing better," she said, and held up her hand. "That's close enough. Rule number one: Keep your hands off me."
He grinned. "That won't be easy given that your neighbors think we're lovers and up here right now going at it on your bed."
She flushed and he had a flash of the two of them on the bed doing just that. He took a step back as he felt himself grow hard at the thought.
"What?" she asked, frowning.
He looked at her. Was she serious? "How many men have you been with?"
"What?"
He let out an oath and took another step back. "Don't tell me you're a virgin."
Landry looked horrified and Willa wanted to defend virgins all over the world. Instead, she kept her mouth shut, her face flushing and giving her away.
He let out another curse. "How old are you anyway?"
"Twenty-five, and you're wrong. I've been with plenty of men." She groaned inwardly. Why had she said that?
He started to laugh, shaking his head as he stared at her. "Twenty-five? Aren't there any able-bodied men in South Dakota?"
"No, there's only sheep," she snapped. "Of course there are men, and I told you, I've been with my share." Her chin went up.
"Then all the men are with the sheep," he said with a laugh.
"That isn't funny." Her voice broke.
He stopped laughing. "Sorry."
"Could we just concentrate on finding the painting and you stop ruining my life?"
He nodded solemnly. "I haven't ruined your life. At least I hope not." He took another step back.
"Would you stop treating me like I have some communicable disease?"
"Sorry. It's just that you're an attractive woman and I don't want to be the one who deflowers you."
She groaned. Deflower? Could she be any more mortified? "Don't worry about it. It's not like I would want you anyway."
"You're right. The first time should be with someone you love. Someone who respects you and wants your first time to be something wonderful."
"Could y
ou please stop?" His words were getting to her. How could he sound so sensitive when she knew he was just the opposite? And he was still looking at her as if she was a freak of nature.
Was it possible that she could hate Landry Jones any more? Obviously it was. She glared at him, wanting to convince him he was wrong about her, but at the same time knowing she would be wasting her breath.
"The storage unit is in Everglades City," she burst out.
He blinked at her.
"Let's go," she said, and started for the door.
"Hold on," he said, grabbing her arm and then quickly letting go of it. "Sorry, forgot the ground rules," he said, acting as if she'd burned him.
She narrowed her gaze at him. It wasn't the ground rules that had made him behave the way he had. Men like Landry Jones didn't obey rules. The man was probably a killer, a dirty cop; he certainly was no gentleman. So why was he acting as if she had the plague because he thought she was a virgin? She'd bet he'd taken his share of virgins. So why draw the line with her? She felt insulted.
"We have to wait until everyone goes to bed around here," he said. "We can't just take off. Not unless we want to be followed by whoever tried to kill you earlier."
She hadn't thought of that. She'd been too angry with Landry. "Fine."
"In the meantime I think we should take Odell up on his offer of a steak."
"You have to be kidding." Having dinner with someone who wanted to kill her was the last thing on her mind.
"I would think a woman from South Dakota would eat beef."
She glared at him, still too angry with him to be civil. "Lamb and mutton, remember, all those sheep."
He laughed and glanced in her fridge. "Cottage cheese and fruit or yogurt." He closed the door. "Definitely think we should go to the barbecue."
"Fine." She didn't give him a chance to say anything as she stalked into the bedroom and started to close the door.
"No!" she cried. The next thing she knew Landry was at her side, his weapon in hand.
"Wait." Landry reached for her but she dodged his outstretched hand and rushed to her box of supplies.
"Oh, no," she said again as she dropped to her knees and began going through the box of supplies.
"What is it?" Landry asked after he quickly searched the bedroom and bathroom.
"Someone's gone through my things, only this time at least they didn't take my painting."
"Someone took a painting?" He sounded panicked.
From the floor, she looked up at him and mugged a face. "Not the painting you're interested in. This was one I did yesterday." Her eyes narrowed. "Did you take it?"
"No, why would I?" He looked insulted.
"Maybe it was Alma then. I smelled gardenias."
"Gardenias," he repeated, looking lost.
Nothing appeared to be missing this time, but someone had definitely gone through her stuff and she had to wonder who else had a key to her apartment. She felt violated, which seemed crazy since she was already running for her life and now living with a possible killer. What could be worse than that? Having someone paw through her private things.
"What was the painting?" Landry asked, hunching down on the floor next to her. He seemed concerned by how upset she was. Or maybe he was just worried that the same thief had his painting.
"It was—" she hesitated, remembering the painting "—of the murder in front of the gallery."
He winced. "Of me?"
She nodded, and he swore softly.
"Great," he said.
She glanced toward the painting on the easel, wondering why whoever had taken the other painting hadn't taken this one.
He shoved to his feet with a sigh. "Show me all of the paintings you have."
She looked up at him. "I told you the one you want isn't here."
"Or I can look myself," he said, his jaw muscle tightening.
She stood, copying his sigh. She crossed her arms. Her clothing had finally dried out some but she still felt half-naked around him. She couldn't help but think of the kiss, of what it felt like being in his arms, or the look on his face when she'd rushed from those arms and fooled him, she thought with a smile.
"What?"
She shook her head. "Go ahead. I know you aren't going to be happy until you've convinced yourself the painting you're looking for isn't here, so do it. Why don't you start with the bathroom? Then I'd like to bathe and change into some other clothes."
"I don't see anything wrong with what you have on." His gaze swept over her.
She looked down, not surprised to see that her nipples were hard in response to his look and now pressed against the thin material of her bra and shirt. She cursed her body for betraying her around him.
"I think I can dispense with searching the bathroom for a painting," he said, smiling smugly at her. He probably thought she enjoyed the kiss. Well, he was wrong. She was just playing along, letting him think he had her under his spell. No matter what her body thought, she was too smart to fall for anything Landry Jones was offering. But it did still annoy her the way he'd reacted when he thought she was a virgin.
She took some clothing from the chest of drawers— a pair of cropped pants, a shirt and some of the undergarments her mother had purchased for her back in South Dakota. She didn't feel safe in the skimpy underthings she'd bought since being in Florida.
As she shot a glance at Landry, she wasn't surprised to find he'd been watching her. He was looking smug, as if he knew why she'd chosen clothing that covered more of her body. What arrogance.
She groaned and stalked into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it. She could hear him searching the apartment and closed her eyes for a moment, imagining him going through the chest of drawers and her thong underwear.
Reminding herself that Landry in her underwear drawer was the least of her worries, she opened her eyes and reached in to turn on the shower—and screamed.
Chapter Ten
Landry practically flew into the bathroom, throwing open the door and almost knocking Willa down as he burst in, weapon drawn.
The bathroom was small and it only took him an instant to see that none of Freddy D.'s men were hiding in it. He heard a soft rustle and looked toward the bathtub.
The shower curtain was partially drawn back—just enough that he couldn't miss what was lying in the tub.
He flinched at the sight of the huge snake coiled in the bottom of the bathtub. He gently stepped back, putting Willa behind him as he did so. The snake was watching him through narrow slits, its tongue flicking from its wide flat head.
He'd seen his share of rattlesnakes, but this one had to be over six feet long—and appeared ready to strike.
In one quick movement, he was through the bathroom door and had the door between he and Willa and the snake. He breathed a sigh of relief and turned to look at her.
Her face was stark white, her eyes wide and scared, her hands trembling.
"What was that?" she whispered.
He grinned. "Don't they have rattlesnakes in South Dakota?"
"Not that big."
He chuckled and looked around for something to get the snake out of her tub.
"How did it get in there?"
"It came up through the pipes." He turned to look at her. She didn't really believe that, did she?
She'd sat down on the end of the bed but instead of looking scared, she looked angry. "It's whoever shot at me in the trees."
He didn't correct her as he opened the broom closet in the kitchen and pulled out a mop with a strip of sponge held in by eight inches of metal.
"What are you going to do?" she asked, sounding scared again as he passed her.
"I'm going to get the snake out of the tub, unless you want to shower with it." He opened the bathroom door quietly and slipped into the bathroom, moving behind the shower curtain. He could hear the snake trying to get out of the high old-fashioned tub. He took a breath and drew back the shower curtain with one hand, the mop handle in the other.
The snake turned at the sound, but Landry was faster. He slammed down the base of the mop, pinning the snake's head to the bottom of the tub, then gingerly he reached in and grabbed the snake behind the head and picked it up.
It twisted in his grasp. It was one heavy snake. As he stepped out of the bathroom, Willa let out a startled cry.
"Is it dead?"
"Not hardly." He moved to the back window near the couch, opened the window and pushed out the screen. Standing on the couch, he raised the snake and slid it through the open window, grabbing its tail to slow its fall as the snake disappeared.
"You let it go?" She sounded horrified.
"It was just a snake," he said, stepping down off the couch. "No reason to kill it."
Willa stared at him as if she'd never seen Landry Jones before. What kind of man couldn't kill a rattlesnake?
"You can take your bath now," he said.
She stared at him a moment longer then turned toward the bathroom, a little leery of what else she might find in there. "Are you sure—"
"Would kind of be overkill to have anything else in there, don't you think?"
Still she looked around before she turned on the faucet. It was probably one of the faster showers she'd ever taken, quickly washing off the sand and salt, shampooing her short hair and rinsing off.
She dried herself and dressed, feeling better as if wearing armor in the old-lady bra and panties that came up to her waist could protect her from her emotions. She couldn't help but think about Landry Jones. Just about the time she thought she had him figured out, he surprised her.
She gazed at her image in the mirror, dressed in the capris and tea-length sleeved blouse. She looked like the virgin she was, she thought with a self-deprecating smile.
As she stepped out of the bathroom, she found Landry standing by her bed holding a framed photograph. "These your parents?"
It was all she could do not to stomp over to him and snatch it from him. He already knew too much about her. "Yes."
"You grew up on a farm?" He seemed interested. Then she remembered that he was probably just wondering if she'd shipped some of her paintings home.
She walked over and took the photograph from him, unable to resist tracing her fingers over her father's face before setting it back down, then changing her mind and sticking it faceup in the top drawer.