Ian

by Kate Hoffmann

  “You’re not going to let me sleep. You’re going to keep me awake all night long. And tomorrow, I’m going to be too tired to talk to the FBI.”

  “Now there’s a plan,” she said.

  “You don’t think I can control myself?” Ian said. “I can have you in my bed and do nothing but sleep.”

  “Well, that would be a waste, wouldn’t it?” Marisol asked.

  “All right, let’s see who has the most self-control.” Ian grabbed the towel she’d wrapped around her and tugged it off her body. “Come on,” he said as he dried himself with her towel. “Let’s just go to bed and see who falls asleep first.”

  Marisol knew he was just teasing, but she decided to go along with the game. If he was determined to prove a point, then she’d do her best to disprove it. It wouldn’t take more that a simple caress to shake his resolve.

  She snatched the towel from his hands and dried her wet hair, then crawled into his bed. He lay down beside her, tugging the sheet up around his waist.

  “See, no problem.”

  “You’re not asleep yet,” she said.

  Marisol rolled over on her side and watched him, but Ian refused to look at her. “I see you’re very determined.” She held her hand over his chest, hovering just above his skin. “I won’t touch you then.” She ran her hand down, holding it over his crotch. Then, Marisol began to move her palm back and forth, as if she were stroking him.

  It took no time at all for him to react, his growing erection pressing against the sheets. She smiled in satisfaction. “Oh, my. What could that be?”

  With a low growl, Ian reached out and grabbed her, pulling her on top of him. “You are a bad, bad girl,” he said.

  “Just remember, you touched me first,” she countered. “So I guess I win.”

  “Can I give you your prize now?” Ian asked.

  Marisol giggled. This was what she loved about Ian, these moments when she could be completely herself, when the world fell away and it was just them. She was falling in love with him, and every day, the feelings simply grew stronger and stronger.

  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 Maris
ol’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.

  They passed Agent DiMarco in the hallway and Ian pulled him aside. “She’s feeling a bit overwhelmed. I’m just going to take her out back for some fresh air. She’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll take her,” DiMarco said.

  Marisol held up her hand. “No, I’ll be all right with Chief Quinn. I just need a moment to myself. I’m not going to run away.”

  Agent DiMarco considered her request for a long moment, then nodded. “Just for a few minutes. Then we need to go over a few more things and get you wired up.”

  Ian rested his hand on the small of Marisol’s back as he steered her toward the back entrance of the police station. The rear parking area was fenced and completely hidden from the street. The moment the door closed behind them, he took her hand and pulled her over into the shadows. “Are you all right?” he murmured, cupping her face in his palms.

  Marisol nodded. “I’m a little nervous. What if I can’t do this? I’ve never been very good at lying.”

  Ian bent close, then kissed her, his fingers furrowing through her hair. It was the only way he knew to reassure her, and himself. She leaned into his body as his tongue delved into her mouth, so sweet and warm.

  “It’ll be all right,” he whispered against her lips. “After it’s over, it’ll just be us again.”

  Those words seemed to calm her nerves and she surrendered herself to his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. Ian’s hands skimmed over her back and then circled her waist, lifting her up off her feet until her whole body was pressed against his.

  “Take me away from here,” Marisol pleaded. “I don’t want to do this.”

  Ian drew back and looked down into her face, just barely illuminated by the lights from the nearby parking lot. “I will,” he said. “If you really want me to, I will.”

  She blinked in surprise at his response. “But you’d get in trouble. Wouldn’t you lose your job?”

  “Maybe. I’d probably be arrested, too. But you’re more important to me than my job.”

  “Don’t say that,” she murmured, shaking her head. Marisol took a deep breath, then straightened. “I can do this. I’ll be all right. You don’t have to worry.”

  “And why can’t I worry?” he asked, aware of the sudden distance between them. Why was she suddenly pushing him away?

  “This is my problem and I’m the one responsible. I don’t want you to bear any of the consequences.”

  “Damn it, Marisol, we’re in this together now. The moment you told me the truth, it became our problem.”

  “And this is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you,” she shouted, yanking out of his grasp. “I didn’t want it to be your problem.”

  Ian cursed softly, leaning back against the brick wall of the station. “So what? Then I’m not allowed to care about you? This is what a relationship is about, Marisol. We help each other, we support each other. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing,” she murmured, refusing to meet his gaze.

  He reached out and tipped her face up to his. “You’re allowed to care about me,” he said. “It’s all right. This stopped being all about sex a long time ago. I think you know that but you’re afraid to admit it.”

  “I-I should go back in,” she said.

  “Yes,” Ian said. “You probably should.”

  She turned and hurried to the door. Ian faced the wall, bracing his hands over his head and drawing a deep breath of the warm night air. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to care the way he did about Marisol, but he sure as hell couldn’t stop himself.

  He strode to the door, then paused before he opened it. When this was all over, he planned to let Marisol know exactly how he felt about her. And if she still refused to see him as anything more than a lover, then he’d have to find a way to change her mind.

  MARISOL’S HEART slammed in her chest as she reached for the lock on the gallery door, fighting back a surge of nerves. She resisted the temptation to glance back at the rear of the gallery where Agent DiMarco had hidden himself in the storage room. Outside, Ian and Agent Phillips were parked a half block away in an unmarked car, recording everything her microphone picked up.

  She felt completely alone and vulnerable. In truth, she’d wanted Ian inside the gallery, but the FBI agents had said no. She reached for the door again, then drew a deep breath to calm her nerves. She’d only have one chance at this, once chance to make it all right, one chance at a future with Ian Quinn.

  Gathering her courage, she swung open the door. David waited on the other side. “Hello, Marisol.” He leaned forward to kiss her, but she avoided his touch, stepping aside to let him enter. “I’m glad you called. I knew you couldn’t stay angry at me forever.”

  “This isn’t a social call,” she said. “You’re here on business.”

  “What are you talking about?” David asked.

  “I have what you were looking for,” she replied. “It arrived by messenger last week.”

  David chuckled, but there was little humor in the sound. “So you were lying to me when I was here last?”

  “I didn’t know what I had until I unwrapped it. The minute I did, I realized that it was the Emory Colter from the Templetons’ house. So, is it an original?”

  “That depends,” he said. “On whether you decided to switch it with the painting in Newport. You see, that’s what I was counting on. I suspected your father had sent you the painting. He never had the stomach for my little intrigues. And I knew, once you received it, you’d figure out what you had. And I hoped you’d exchange it for the one in the Templetons’ library.”

  “Because this is the f
ake,” Marisol said.

  “Is it?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t switch the paintings. See, you don’t know me nearly as well as you thought you did.” Marisol drew a deep breath, knowing that she’d have to get him to talk more. The agents had pressed her to get as much from him as she could, but questioning him about what he’d done seemed so clumsy. “Why did you do it?”

  “Come on, Marisol. The Templetons, and people like them, are the kind of collectors artists hate. They don’t collect for the love of art, they collect because it’s the fashionable thing to do, a way to keep up with their billionaire friends. They’re only interested in how good the investment is. They don’t appreciate the beauty of what they’ve just acquired.”

  “So that’s why you swindle them? Because they deserve it?”

  “Well, don’t they?”

  “Why did you give my father the painting?”

  “Because I knew he’d send it to you. And if it was intercepted, I could deny ever knowing anything about it. He makes quite the dupe.”

  Marisol knew this was the moment when she’d have to keep it together. She’d never been much of an actress, but she tried to imagine how she’d react if Ian hadn’t gotten to her first. “How much did you pay him?”

  David laughed. “Nothing. He wanted to do it for you. We were engaged and he wanted to give you a beautiful wedding. Of course, any money I made I promised would go back to you. He was silly enough to believe me. But in the end, it didn’t make a difference. The painting he gave me was unusable. I had to find someone else to make the copy.” He paused. “You know, the funny thing was, he never even noticed. He couldn’t tell the difference between what he’d painted and the painting I sent him. Lucky thing or he might not have been so anxious to help me.”

  Marisol tried to contain her relief. Her father hadn’t been involved. He was safe, and in a few moments, she would be safe, too. She pointed to the crate sitting up against the wall. “Take it and get out. I don’t ever want to see you again. And if you ever try to contact my father, I’ll call the authorities.”

  He grabbed her arm and pinched it so tightly, Marisol cried out. “Don’t threaten me,” he warned. With that, he released her, then grabbed the crate and dragged it to the door. “Nice doing business with you, Mari.”