Love Unlocked

by Libby Waterford

  “Not if the bad guys get to him first.”

  “I don’t know if I can count on that happening.”

  “Well, let’s deal with one problem at a time. First, we need to make him think we’ve got the real painting. So let’s leak the fact that the Mondrian has been stolen.”

  “Leak?”

  “You know, start a rumor. There are already rumors from the party ending strangely. We need to fan the fire.” His voice grew animated as he warmed up to his plan.

  “I see…like, tip off a reporter or something.”

  “Exactly. Or post something to some social media sites. If he’s watching TV or online at all, then he’ll see confirmation in the press.”

  “If they interview someone from the museum and they deny it, we’re screwed.”

  “It’s worth a shot.”

  Eve nodded. “You’re right. It’s the best plan we have so far.”

  “Let’s make some calls.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Eve was running on three hours of sleep, two shots of espresso, and adrenaline. She’d ordered a full breakfast for the two of them, but most of the food on the room service cart sat cold and uneaten. She clicked off the mid-morning local news, which had run a two-minute story about the apparent theft of the Mondrian, though the police were staying close-lipped. The impression given by the perky redheaded reporter was that something had gone down during the swanky fundraiser at billionaire Jim Kwan’s Montecito mansion, but that fear of a scandal had everyone keeping mum. It would have to be enough to convince Deacon they’d stolen the real thing.

  Eve prayed Deacon was keeping up with the day’s news, and that he was greedy enough to take the painting and run.

  If he didn’t, her backup plan was the snub-nosed revolver she’d only ever shot at the firing range.

  First, she had to persuade Hudson to stay behind while she made the trade.

  She took a deep breath and called out, “Hudson, I’ve been thinking….”

  “Wait, I can’t hear you,” he said, emerging from the bathroom with shaving cream on his face, wearing nothing but a thick white towel wrapped around his hips. He looked like sin incarnate and she momentarily lost her train of thought.

  “Um, yeah, I’ve been thinking that it would be best if you stayed here while I go make the trade. I’ll call you the moment John and I are out of there and safe. I’ll go park the Lotus in a secure lot—I can pick it up later—and rent something roomier, then come pick you up and head up north.”

  He stared at her. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said calmly. “I’m going with you.”

  She kept her voice light. “I really think it would be better if I went alone.”

  “There is no way in Hell I am going to let you meet that Eurotrash asshole by yourself.”

  “Look, I appreciate all your help, but this is not your battle. The deal was you helped me get into the party. You did your part. I can’t ask you to stay involved.” She had trouble keeping her breathing even when she imagined Hudson being there if something terrible went down at the meet.

  He apparently wasn’t buying her argument. “Tough luck, because I am involved. I’m going and that’s final.”

  “I don’t want to have to watch out for my back and yours, too,” she said, biting the words out, hoping he’d understand what she really meant.

  “You think I’m a liability?” He sounded incredulous. “After everything we’ve been through together, you don’t think I can handle myself?”

  “Deacon could be armed, he could have backup, he could have laid a trap that we can’t even imagine.” Her voice was growing desperate.

  “Those are all reasons why you need someone else with you. You need me with you.” He started to walk back into the bathroom as if the discussion was over.

  “I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you,” she cried out.

  He turned to face her, the tautness gone from his face. He lifted the corner of his mouth in a gentle smile that made her heart ache.

  “The feeling is mutual, sweetheart. Now, let me shave and we’ll go finish this.”

  Eve nodded, unsmiling. She waited until she heard the water running, picked up her bag, and left the room, easing the door shut behind her.

  ***

  Eve double-checked the address she’d programmed into her phone. She was at a lonely agricultural intersection outside the city. She appeared to be in the right place, but Deacon was running late. All she could see were orange trees, stretching out in uniform rows like glossy green soldiers lined up for inspection. She parked, cut the engine, and popped the hood. After drawing the painting from its hiding spot, she carefully propped it, wrapped in its protective fabric, against the bonnet of the car.

  Her plan was simple. Give Deacon the painting, take John, get the hell out of there. If Deacon tried to back out or tried to eliminate the witnesses, she’d defend herself. At least, she told herself she would. If he bought it, and later found out the truth, she’d deal with that when the time came. Maybe she’d go underground. She could dye her hair. Move someplace warm and tropical. Lie on the beach.

  The idea of going into hiding made her feel sick to her stomach. Leaving Hudson, never seeing him again, would be worse than whatever punishment Deacon would have in store for her.

  A vehicle approached from the direction of the city, a large black SUV with tinted windows. Typical. She prayed John was safe inside.

  The SUV parked with its nose against the grill of the Lotus, blocking her in, so she’d have to reverse before she’d be able to drive away. Deacon exited the vehicle from the passenger side, as the driver, a squat man wearing a black turtleneck even though it was another gorgeous June day, took up a menacing position on the other side of the car.

  Deacon, in contrast, was dressed for a day at the beach. He wore a crisp pink polo shirt, designer white shorts that probably cost more than her espresso maker, and leather sandals. To top it all off, a pair of Ray Bans perched on his prominent nose.

  “Evie, I knew I could count on you,” he said, in his lightly accented voice, sounding as if they were catching up at a garden party instead of transacting life or death business.

  She shuddered at his use of John’s nickname for her.

  “I have what you want,” she said.

  “So I hear.” He smirked. “Your little exploit is all over the news. Quite a black eye for that prick Kwan.”

  “You know him?” she asked, catching the note of derision in Deacon’s voice.

  “We used to be in business together. He thinks I owe him a great deal of money. So I decided to steal his pet, so that I could get it back for him as a favor. When I return it to him, I’m sure he’ll consider the slate wiped clean.”

  “So you got me to do your dirty work. Classy, Deacon.”

  “I believe in getting the right tools for the job. You, my dear, are the best this region has to offer.”

  “Thanks,” she said flatly. “I thought you tracked me down because of the Chagall thing?”

  “Oh, no, who cares about that? I needed that Mondrian to square myself with Kwan. John told me you were in California, so I figured out how to kill two birds. Now, where is my painting?”

  Eve froze. Ice encased her heart, making it difficult to breathe. John had told Deacon where to find her?

  As she was processing this, the man himself opened the back door of the SUV and climbed out. He looked fit and grimly happy, not like a hostage.

  “John?” She hated the note of bewilderment in her voice as she spoke his name.

  “I’m sorry, Evie darling. I’m hard up, you see. I’m into some Hong Kong businessmen for way too much. Deacon’s going to give me a fat finder’s fee, and I needed to make sure you were properly motivated. I didn’t want you backing out at the last minute.”

  “I see,” she said, noticeably calmer. Her best friend had deceived her, her heart was cold enough to freeze her faith in humanity, but no one would know it from looking at h
er. She refused to let the harsh sting of betrayal get the better of her.

  She spent a long moment studying John, whose ingratiating smile suddenly seemed as empty as their friendship had turned out to be. He had been like a brother to her for ten years, and in a few days, he’d used her and put her in danger without a second thought. She was no better than a pawn to him. Eve shook her head, any sentiment she may once have had for him turning to dust.

  She spoke to Deacon, ignoring John altogether. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I am going to give you your precious painting. You’re going to take it and do whatever you think you need to do. I am never going to hear from either of you again. If I do, or if you so much as breathe another word about me the rest of your lives, so help me, I will tell Jim Kwan what you did, and I’ll help him track you down myself.”

  Deacon bared his piranha teeth at her, but John looked taken aback. “Really, darling, don’t you understand—”

  She shot back before he finished. “I’m not your darling. What I understand is that you have been using me for a decade and I’m not going to put up with it any longer. I’m not a lost, sad little girl. I don’t need what you’re offering.”

  Eve walked around the car and grabbed the painting. Before she handed it over, she paused. “Not that it’s worth much, but do I have your word that today is last time I will ever set eyes on either of you?”

  The men didn’t rush to agree, but when she motioned that she might break the Mondrian over her knee, they both found their tongues and answered in the affirmative. She placed the canvas in Deacon’s outstretched hand. He unwrapped the covering and chortled when he saw the distinctive pattern of paint on canvas.

  “I almost feel bad that you aren’t getting a cut. You did such a stellar job,” he said.

  “Believe me, never having to deal with you again is payment enough,” she said, trying to keep her temper in check. “Now go.”

  John frowned at her. “Evie, you don’t really mean that you never—”

  She took out her revolver and aimed it squarely at her friend. “You can see that I’m as serious as a heart attack. Get. Out. Of. Here.”

  Deacon didn’t have to be asked twice. He scrambled into the passenger seat, indicating to the driver to make haste. John took longer, but he went as well. “Good bye, Evie.”

  “Good bye, John.”

  Then they drove away.

  Chapter Nineteen

  She stood by the side of the road, a gun in her hand and tear tracks marking her beautiful face. A feeling close to terror took over Hudson’s body as he sprinted out of the taxi and to her side.

  “Are you all right? Are you hurt? Talk to me, sweetheart.” He smoothed down her hair, used his thumbs to clear the mascara smudged under her eyes.

  “I’m all right,” she said mechanically.

  “Are you sure?” When she nodded and her eyes finally met his, he could see she was unharmed. He crushed her to him.

  “Don’t ever do that again! I was out of my mind….” His words trailed off as he noticed that the two of them were alone on the country road. “Where’s John? What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you everything. Can we go home?”

  ***

  Hudson kept a light grip on the steering wheel of the Lotus as he navigated the stretch of road between San Louis Obispo and Chelsea. When they passed SLO-Town, Eve started to tell him what had happened, about John’s role in the entire ordeal.

  He waited until she was finished before clarifying.

  “So they think you stole the real painting, and they are going to offer it to Kwan for a finder’s fee that will square both of them with the bad guys they owe money to.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you ordered them never to come near you again.”

  “Yes.”

  “How good do you suppose their word is?”

  “Worth less than a wooden penny.” She sighed. “They don’t have the real painting, so Kwan is going to see through Deacon’s little scheme. Which means Deacon has no way out, and John won’t be getting whatever it is that Deacon promised him, which he probably had no intention of delivering, anyway.”

  “What do you suppose Kwan will do?”

  “Not my problem. I hope it means they both will be in too much of a world of hurt to worry about me.”

  “Even though you gave them the wrong painting?” He didn’t trust them not to take some sort of petty revenge on Eve, and he was afraid for her.

  “I know. If Kwan leaves them alive, they might come after me for kicks.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  She turned away. Acres of farmland spread like a blanket outside the car window. The world outside seemed quiet and calm. “The smart thing to do would be to leave and start over somewhere new. Again.”

  The possibility of her leaving slammed into him like a punch to the throat.

  “I’m sick of being controlled by other people, by what I’m afraid they’ll do or what I think I owe them. John showed me today that any loyalty I had to the life I was living was completely misplaced. For the past ten years, I’ve made decisions as a reaction against something or somebody else. I want to start making decisions for me, for my future.”

  Hudson held his breath.

  “Which means I need to tell you not only who I am, but who I was. Because when I’m finished, you probably aren’t going to want to see me anymore.”

  He let her speak without interrupting. He never spoke when he didn’t have to, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t listening to every word.

  “I barely remember my mother. After she died, my father loved me so much, he made having a mother irrelevant. He was always, always there for me, from parent teacher conferences to ballet recitals to picking me up from school when I got sick. He worked hard, but he never palmed me off on a nanny or a babysitter, at least not when it came to the important stuff. He never missed anything that I asked him to be there for.

  “I asked him for a lot. He never said no. I think that was the problem. I should admit it—I was spoiled rotten. I always had to have my way, and he always gave it to me. I think if I had asked for anything truly outrageous, he would have said no, but if I wanted to stay up an extra hour or have two scoops of ice cream instead of one, he couldn’t refuse me.

  “As I grew up, I didn’t realize that wasn’t how the world worked. I had never had to work. I had been allowed to quit anything that I didn’t like, from Girl Scouts to chemistry. I think he thought he was protecting me, but he was teaching me to be a selfish brat.

  “I got into Stanford. Dad couldn’t have been prouder. I’d like to think that I got in on my own merit, but I’m sure that Dad had something to do with it. Even that wasn’t good enough for me. I wanted to take a gap year, travel Europe with my friends on my father’s money. That was the first time he said no.”

  Eve drew in a ragged breath. He hated seeing her in pain, but he knew how important sharing this was, for both of them. She continued, tears rolling down her cheeks. He resisted the urge to pull over and cradle her in his arms. She had to finish this on her own.

  “We had a huge fight. I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t give in. He was worried about me. I can see that now. I was eighteen, traveling alone for the first time. It would have been a disaster; he was right not to let me go. Of course, that wasn’t what I thought back then. I packed a bag and bought a one-way plane ticket to Paris. He didn’t know I was gone until I was already in the air.

  “He tracked me down at the hotel, the Georges V. The only hotel I knew. We’d stayed there at Christmas a couple of years before. He told me he was cutting off my credit card and booking me on the next plane home. I told him I hated him and I was going to stay.

  “I regretted it as soon as I hung up. I’d never told him I hated him before. I didn’t hate him. The worst part was I was lonely, and homesick, but I couldn’t bear the idea of going home and facing the consequences. So I forced myself to wander around the city f
or a couple of days. He left messages, but I didn’t answer them.

  “Then one day I came back to the hotel after walking around, doing touristy things, hating every minute of it. There was an urgent message from my father’s secretary. I was going to call her back, but the phone rang in my room the moment I walked through the door. My father had died that morning of a stroke.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” His heart went out to her, knowing how impossibly awful hearing about a loved one’s death over the phone was, especially when you were faraway, too late to do anything, even say goodbye.

  “I flew home for the funeral. I couldn’t go to Stanford. I guess I was too stubborn or too selfish. I wouldn’t take my allowance, either. I sold some of my jewelry and flew back to Paris. I stayed in Europe for ten years.”

  They’d been sitting in his driveway for the past ten minutes. With a sleeve, Eve ineffectively mopped up the tears that had been flowing. Hudson wanted to hold her more than anything, but he had to know that was what she wanted.

  “So you see, I’m not only a criminal who’s dumb enough to be conned by her partner and best friend, I’m a selfish bitch who killed her father and didn’t even have the heart to enact what his wishes for me would have been. I’m not a good person, Hudson.”

  “Hush,” he said, and cradled her against his chest. He stroked her hair, and said again, “hush.” She sobbed into him, and he didn’t let go.

  His heart was breaking for the girl she had been. How alone she must have felt. Even when Stephanie died, he’d had his parents and his brother to share the grief with. He smoothed her hair, wanting to smooth away the years she’d spent filling the emptiness inside her with false friends and the thrill of the illicit.

  By the time the setting sun started to stain the summer sky red, Eve’s breathing finally slowed to normal. She pushed away and peeked up at him. Her eyes were red. Her makeup was long gone. She took a tissue he offered her and blew her nose soundly. He thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever helped commit a felony. Or was it a felony if it was a fake? It didn’t seem the right time to ask.