by Eliza Watson
“I was upset back there because I have some things I need to tell you, and it’s been eating away at me.”
Ethan’s gaze sharpened, unlike the soft caramel-colored eyes she’d gazed into the night before. “What things?”
She reluctantly fessed up about finding the provenances in Kate’s box of letters.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me about these?”
“They were for artwork he never sold. Didn’t think they were real important.”
He gave her a skeptical look. “You didn’t figure these might be what the bomber was looking for along with the paintings?”
“The provenances are from my dad’s past, so this guy is mob related, or somebody else involved in the forgery ring at the time. Maybe he found him through a U.S. Marshal snitch.”
Ethan’s grip tightened around the steering wheel, and she half expected him to rip it from the steering column. “As if I’m a snitch?”
She shook her head adamantly. “No, but what about Mike?”
“No way is Mike a snitch. Besides, he doesn’t have access to your dad’s case file. He doesn’t even know his real name. And how would he even have known the forgeries here existed?”
“Roy Howard.”
“I was closer to Roy than anybody, and he never said a thing to me about the paintings. If he’d known about the forgeries, he’d have taken it to his grave. We used to call him Roy Rogers. He was the epitome of what a U.S. Marshal should be.”
This was exactly the reaction she’d expected. He sounded as defensive of his ex-partner as she was of her dad.
“And no way did my dad continue his life of forgery. I knew him better than you know this Mike guy. How can you be so sure Mike’s not a snitch?”
“He worked in the FBI’s Art Crime Division for years. He had plenty of opportunity to turn dirty and didn’t. He interacted with art crooks on a daily basis. Why give up a gig like that with all those connections to become a marshal? That wouldn’t make sense if he was crooked.”
She shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t give up his connections, and he just hasn’t gotten caught.”
Ethan let out an exasperated sigh. “Anything else you wanna tell me? Let me rephrase that. Anything else you should tell me? I’m not passing any of this on to Mike. A marshal only discloses what’s absolutely necessary, even to a partner.”
For everybody’s safety she had to tell him about the paintings, but she didn’t have to tell him Bella was the forger. It was plausible her dad had painted them in his studio above her garage. That’s what she’d initially assumed. She took a deep breath, then told him about her discovery.
The scar on his cheek twitched, and his jaw tightened. “I can’t protect you if you don’t trust me.”
“I trust you.” At least she trusted him more than she’d ever trusted anyone besides her dad. He’d certainly done enough to earn her trust. Protecting her and being her rock to lean on.
She actually felt like she might belong here. But she couldn’t imagine being here without Ethan. She couldn’t imagine being anywhere without him.
Chapter Eighteen
Ethan turned down the road leading to the inn. Being unable to win a witness’s trust was nothing new.
But Olivia was much more to him than a witness.
A sick feeling had wrenched his gut when she’d claimed to trust him while her look said she was still holding something back. Witnesses always had a get-out-of-jail-free card. She’d probably never completely trust him. Yet he’d never wanted to earn someone’s trust so desperately.
How had he allowed this to happen? How had she gotten him to open up like no one ever had before?
And how had he allowed her accusations about Mike to plant a seed of doubt in his mind? Because the seed had been there for days, just not firmly planted. He’d learned to never trust anyone completely, and sometimes it came down to who he trusted the most. And that was still Mike.
They stepped out of the SUV and headed toward Roger and Kate on the mini-golf course. Kate was dressed in a paint-splattered T-shirt and shorts, painting a pyramid gold. Even with a wide-brimmed straw hat shielding her face from the sun, she was flushed, overheated from the ninety-degree weather.
“Course is coming along great,” Olivia said.
“Have to start on the roof next,” Roger said, walking up.
Kate shook her head. “You’re hiring someone to do that.”
“We don’t have enough money to hire someone,” Roger snapped.
“I can do the roof,” Ethan offered.
“And I’ll help more with the course,” Olivia said.
“I appreciate that.” Roger pushed his Packers cap back and rubbed his forehead. “We don’t have any money, Kate,” he said, his voice and expression softening.
Kate set down the paint brush. “I know things are tight but—”
“Too tight to hire someone. I was telling Ethan if he and Olivia hadn’t stepped up and helped, I don’t know what I’d have done.”
Olivia shot Ethan a look that said What the hell? Here he’d been yelling at her for keeping secrets, yet he’d known her grandparents were in dire financial straits and hadn’t said anything. But keeping this info from her hadn’t posed a threat to her safety. He’d planned on confiding in her, just not yet. She had enough going on.
“The poor economy has had occupancy in a bit of a lull, but it hasn’t been as bad as last year,” Kate said.
“Last summer about wiped us out. Especially after the summer before that. I don’t know what we’re gonna do.”
Kate pushed herself up from the ground with labored effort, concern etched on her face. “How bad is it?”
“Pretty damn bad. Sorry I didn’t tell ya sooner.” Roger bowed his head in shame and shuffled off, leaving Kate standing there in shock.
“I had no idea,” Kate said, shaking her head slowly.
Olivia slipped an arm around Kate’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”
Olivia would make sure Kate and Roger didn’t lose their cottages. She’d have the money from the sale of her dad’s house and his life insurance policy. But what about Bella? Would Olivia be able to convince her to seek the therapy she needed? He had no doubt that Olivia would get over Bella running the museum and Kate and Roger allowing her dad’s forgeries to be sold. She’d be back to see her family.
Ethan wouldn’t. He wouldn’t know what happened with Kate and Roger’s cottages a year from now or how Bella was doing. Once the bomber was caught, he’d be onto his next job.
But this was turning out to be more than a job to him.
He’d crossed the line on this case in every way imaginable.
* * *
Olivia and Ethan spent the afternoon repairing the golf course. Late afternoon, Olivia was painting the Taj Mahal’s dome, while Ethan was fixing the tip of a pyramid the next hole over. Ethan had his shirt off, and she was finding it difficult to stay focused on the mausoleum rather than his chest, which was beginning to bronze from a few days in the sun.
Olivia’s cell phone rang out on the bench next to the hole. She snatched it up to find Rachel’s number displayed. Her stomach clenched with dread. What now?
“Something weird is going on,” Rachel said. “I just had an FBI agent here asking all sorts of questions. It had nothing to do with me being held at gunpoint yesterday. He wanted a list of our sales for the past few years. Picassos specifically.”
Why was the FBI snooping around their gallery? She slid her gaze over to Ethan, who was watching her with a curious expression. He stopped hammering and headed toward her.
“He said some Picasso forgeries surfaced in L.A. I gave him our list of sales. He didn’t say if any of them were the same paintings as the forgeries. I think he’d have said so, wouldn’t he?”
“I’m sure he would have. Let me know if this guy contacts you again.”
Olivia disconnected. Apprehension twisted her stomach as her gaze locked with Ethan’s, and for the first time, he show
ed a hint of fear. He knew what she was about to say.
“Any idea why the Feds are snooping around my gallery asking for a list of sales over the past few years? Picassos in particular?”
“Shit,” Ethan muttered, rolling his eyes, dropping his head back. “I told Mike not to pursue it.”
She felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from her body and her lungs were collapsing. “How did he know there was anything to pursue in the first place?”
“I asked him to do some checking on your father. To research his finances, see if anything looked suspicious. To be discreet. Then, those Picasso forgeries surfaced.”
Thank God she hadn’t told him Bella was the forger.
“Just a few hours ago your priority was keeping me safe. You didn’t care if my dad was still a forger. Right from the beginning you guaranteed me you’d keep my gallery’s name out of this. Hell, you didn’t believe my dad would have used my gallery as a front.”
“I tried to keep you and your gallery out of this.” He moved toward her, and she stepped back.
“Yeah, well, you obviously didn’t try hard enough.”
“I told Mike to be discreet, that I didn’t believe your gallery was involved, but he didn’t agree. He thought my judgment was clouded because I have feelings for you. If this turned out to be something and I held back information…” He raked a frustrated hand through his hair. “I couldn’t not pursue a hunch. If your father was still a criminal, WITSEC had put him back on the streets with a clean slate. I needed to prove or disprove that this bomber was your dad’s partner. My job and reputation are at stake.”
“What about my reputation? If anyone catches wind that the Feds are snooping around my gallery, clients are going to be questioning past purchases and not making future ones. I can’t believe you did this, especially without telling me.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice softened. “I was just doing my job.”
“And is almost sleeping with me doing your job? Keeping me close enough to protect? Or was that just an added perk? How about Gwen? Did you sleep with her also? Do you prey on vulnerable women who have nobody else to trust?”
Ethan’s jaw clenched, and his gaze sharpened. “As if you trust me.” He flexed his fingers like he wanted to punch a fist through the dome of the Taj Mahal. “If it helps, I don’t think your dad continued his life of crime.”
“I don’t care what you think,” she lied.
Hurt replaced his angry expression. She turned and marched toward the house. Ethan followed.
She spun around. “Just leave me alone.”
He reluctantly backed off, and she bolted inside.
She went in the dining room and scooped out some gummy bears, tossing a few in her mouth. Candy wasn’t going to cut it. She needed to release some anger. To scream her head off. She marched through the kitchen and out the back door. She kept right on going, into the thicket of pine trees. Even if Ethan had been doing his job, he could have been honest with her rather than pretending he didn’t care about her father’s activities. She came to an abrupt halt. Wait a sec. Mike had said Ethan’s judgment was clouded because he had feelings for her. Did he? He hadn’t denied it. Her stomach fluttered despite the fact that Ethan just admitted having betrayed her. She glanced toward the golf course, suddenly realizing it wasn’t visible, and neither was the house. She started heading back.
“Hello again, Olivia.” The man’s low gravelly voice brought her to a halt.
She slowly turned, her gaze locking on a pair of mirrored sunglasses. The guy had on a Packers cap and a Harborview Bar T-shirt. Your typical tourist, except for the gun he had pointed at her.
He stepped between two large pine trees. “Thought I’d save you from having to haul the paintings and provenances back to San Francisco.”
“What paintings and provenances?” If she offered them to him on a silver platter, he’d know something was up.
His grip tightened around the gun. “Don’t screw with me, Olivia.”
She swallowed hard. “The provenances are in a safe deposit box.” She glanced at her watch. “So, I can’t get them until the bank opens tomorrow. And I hid the paintings where I can’t get to them until morning.” Unbelievable how smoothly the lies flowed from her mouth when her entire body was trembling. “Why did you kill my dad? I’m sure he’d have given you the paintings.”
“He gave me no choice. It wasn’t about these paintings. We had a sweet operation going when he decided he wanted out. He refused to paint anymore, when we had dozens of sales pending. I knew he wouldn’t destroy the paintings from years ago. They were his insurance policy.”
Her stomach lurched, and she thought she was going to be sick. The sliver of doubt over her dad resuming his life of crime was more than a nagging feeling now. It was true.
“I don’t believe you,” she said, trying hard to keep the doubt out of her voice.
“Oh yeah, I just pulled all that out of my ass. Like I could make shit like this up. I figured he’d kept the paintings close by, didn’t figure they’d be back here. Bring the provenances and paintings to the cemetery tomorrow morning at nine. At your mother’s grave.”
Not how she wanted to see her mom’s grave for the first time. And she wasn’t about to have him shoot her and dump her in a ready-made hole. He’d killed her dad. He wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her family if she didn’t give him what he wanted.
“You want to meet, it’s in a public place, surrounded by people,” she said, glancing at his T-shirt. “Meet me in the parking lot of Harborview Bar.”
After debating this a few moments, he said, “Don’t bring your marshal friend. Don’t need him complicating matters. If you do, I’m sure he’d be interested in hearing about the operation you and your father had going out of your gallery.”
Her gaze narrowed in disbelief. “We weren’t running anything out of my gallery.”
“I have proof showing otherwise.”
Her eyes widened. “You fabricated evidence?”
“He’s never gonna know that.”
So even if her dad had continued selling forgeries, it hadn’t been through her gallery. It made her feel a bit better to know he hadn’t put her career in jeopardy.
What fabricated proof did this guy have against her and her dad? Had he planted the forged Picassos that materialized in L.A. as coming from her gallery? Would Ethan believe this concrete evidence over her word? She hadn’t exactly been up front with him. Besides possibly destroying her career and going to prison, she was worried what all this would do to Bella.
“Nine o’clock. Don’t make me come back here and pay your grandparents a visit. I won’t hurt anyone as long as I get the paintings. And don’t even think about contacting the Feds to flag the paintings once I have them, or they’ll be getting a packet about your gallery.”
He turned and disappeared into the woods. She let out a whoosh of air. Heart thumping wildly in her chest, she bolted toward the house. She flew inside and straight to the bathroom to splash water on her face.
Would Ethan believe her when she claimed she and her dad weren’t involved in a forgery scam, if the proof showed otherwise? What had this guy done to frame them? After everything she’d kept from Ethan, did she blame him if he didn’t take a chance on her?
A knock sounded at the door. “Olivia, you in there?” The tender concern in Ethan’s voice wrapped around her. She wanted to fall into his arms and tell him everything. Have him assure her things would be okay. But she couldn’t.
He knocked again.
“I’m here,” she said.
“I’m sorry.” Ethan’s voice was nearly a whisper. “I was just doing my job. Please let me in.”
She didn’t want to face him right now, but she also didn’t want anyone hearing their conversation. She unlocked the door and slowly opened it. He stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Yeah, well, you should have told me you were doing it,” she said.
“That wouldn�
�t have been doing my job. I wasn’t sure, if it came down to it, you wouldn’t cover for your father if you discovered he’d continued his life of crime. Besides you not wanting his memory destroyed, it was a matter of self-preservation. His crimes could destroy your life.”
She laughed at the irony to keep herself from crying. “You have the nerve to be ticked that I don’t trust you when you didn’t trust me to not cover up for my dad.” Did she trust herself not to cover for her dad? “I’m going to go finish painting.”
She moved toward the door, and he stepped in front of her. She stared at his chest, avoiding his gaze, trying to ignore the scent of his sandalwood cologne infiltrating her body.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Tears instantly flirted with her eyes, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Then please move,” she whispered. “I can’t talk right now.”
He stepped aside, and she brushed past him and out of the bathroom.
* * *
Just after 1:00 a.m., Olivia stood by her bedroom dresser, brushing a hand over her dad’s polished marble urn. She needed to talk to someone, since she and Ethan had barely spoken since their argument.
“Who’s this guy, Dad?” she whispered. “How does he know about the paintings and provenances? I don’t want to believe what he said about you two being recent partners.” She glanced at the wall, the living room and Ethan on the other side, then back at the urn. “What should I do? What would you do?”
She knew he wouldn’t trust Ethan.
But what if she gave this guy what he wanted and he killed her regardless? After all, she knew what he looked like. Knew he’d killed her dad. He couldn’t afford to let her live. She wanted her dad’s murderer caught, her family safe. She could trust Ethan to do both. But could she trust him to have faith in her and believe she was innocent if this guy tried to frame her and her dad?