Portrait of a Girl

by Luanna Stewart

  Footsteps crunched on the gravel outside the window. She jumped from the bed, her heart racing. She ran to the front hall, grabbed the paint and took the steps to the second floor two at a time. Opening the first door on the left, she raced inside and pried the lid off the can, spilling paint on the floor in her haste. She swore under her breath as she wiped at the puddle with the hem of her shirt.

  …

  Tony closed the door, surprised when Delilah went scurrying up the stairs, whining and woofing, instead of heading to the kitchen for her post-walk dog biscuit.

  “Here, girl, is there a critter in the house?”

  He followed at a slower pace, wondering how best to remove a squirrel, hoping like hell it wasn’t a skunk. The dog already smelled funky.

  He stopped dead in his tracks. Delilah was giving exuberant kisses to Heather, who was in his house trying to do something with paint.

  “Uh…hi?” he said, not sure if he should be angry or merely curious.

  “Cripes—call off your dog—she stinks.” She pushed against the large mutt with little effect.

  “Delilah, come.” He motioned to his side, and the dog complied. “She found something kind of ripe on our walk. I was about to give her a bath, but she charged up here.”

  Heather jumped to her feet and wiped at her face with her sleeve. “If you’ll close the door on your way out…”

  “Excuse me?” What the hell was going on here? He did rent this place, didn’t he?

  “I said, close the door—”

  “I heard you the first time. I wasn’t sure I understood. Why are you here?” Dammit, why was one of his suspects roaming his house? How much snooping had she done?

  She looked at the paint roller in her hand and raised an eyebrow. “I thought that would be obvious.”

  “It appears you think you’re going to do some painting. You remember I rented this house, right? Shouldn’t you have done this earlier?”

  “You rented the main floor. I’m working on the second floor. I don’t see the problem.”

  “Well, I sure as hell do. You can’t get up here without walking through my home. How did you get in here in the first place?”

  She propped her fists on her hips. “With my key.”

  Undecided whether to laugh or curse, or just kiss her, he held out his hand. When she didn’t move, he snapped his fingers. “The key.”

  “Look, what is your problem? I need to fix this place up so I can put it on the market. I couldn’t do that before you moved in because I didn’t have the time or the money. So stop being a hard-ass and let me get to work.”

  If he wasn’t mistaken, those were tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. He hated tears. Especially women’s tears. They got to him every time. His younger sister had used them to great advantage, so he should know better than to fall for these tears. He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and rocked back on his heels.

  He could either be the hard-ass she claimed and make her life more difficult. Or…

  The door across the hall remained closed, and he breathed a sigh of relief. If she had started on that room she would have found his telescope aimed directly at the gatehouse.

  Boy, the fur would have flown.

  “How soon do you need the work done?”

  Heather stared at the ceiling, seeming to trace the pattern of fine cracks in the plaster. “As soon as possible. I need to get this house on the market.”

  “Are you sure you want to sell? This was your home.”

  She shook her head, a sad smile tilting her lips. “My dad lived here for only five years. The first time I was ever in the house was when I came for his funeral.” She shrugged. “I have no attachment to the place, and only sad memories.”

  “Where will you go?” He hoped she didn’t move before he’d finished with her case. It was hard enough keeping tabs on her. And it would be suspicious if he showed up in another town.

  A different agent would be assigned to watch her.

  That idea didn’t sit well.

  “I have no clue. I was thinking of leaving town, but I like working at the bakery. Maybe I can find an apartment downtown. One that takes cats and doesn’t have drafty windows.”

  “I have a proposition for you.” He leaned against the windowsill, crossing his ankles.

  She met his gaze, raised her brows, and waited.

  Then, just for a second, her gaze dropped to his lips, and her cheeks pinkened.

  The room grew a little too warm, and he wondered what she’d do if he offered her another type of proposition. Focus, you idiot.

  Hard to do when she was sexy as hell in old, torn jeans that hung low on her hips, giving him a tantalizing peek of smooth, taut belly beneath the edge of her shirt. The memory of their kisses added more fuel to his arousal.

  “I’ll do the painting up here if you’ll stay out of the house.”

  Her eyes widened. “There are six bedrooms and two bathrooms, you know. They all need painting.”

  Damn, that was a lot of work, if you did a good job. Sanding, priming, taping, all before the actual painting started. But he couldn’t let her crawl around the house, especially if he couldn’t be here all the time.

  “Fine.” He leaned down and put the cover back on the paint. “I’ll start in this room. Now if you’ll excuse me?” He gestured toward the door, not moving until she did. He followed her down the stairs, liking the way her hips swayed with each step. He wiped the grin off his face when she turned toward the kitchen where she’d left her jacket. Damn, had she looked through his cupboards, too?

  She breezed by him, not at all fazed to have been found wandering through his home, and opened the front door. “I guess I’ll see you later. Let me know when you run out of paint. I have more.”

  “Do you want every room painted that shade of beige?” He didn’t even try to keep the shudder out of his voice.

  “What’s wrong with the color?” She straightened her back and raised her chin, apparently willing to defend her choice.

  “Who said there was anything wrong with it? I was just wondering—”

  “You didn’t have to say anything. You’re very easy to read. The paint was on sale, okay?”

  He laughed. “I can see why.” And if he were so easy to read, she’d know he wasn’t thinking about painting, or anything else that one does with clothes on.

  “What color would you choose, then?” She took a step closer, like she was angling for an argument. Arguing was not what he had in mind, either, unless it led to making up.

  “I’d choose a blue like your eyes.” He closed the distance and tugged a lock of hair free from her ponytail. “Or a mellow gold like your hair. Or”—he stroked her soft cheek, noting the catch in her breath—“the shade of your blush when you’re aroused.”

  Her lips parted with a soft “oh.”

  This right here was why he’d asked to be taken off the case or shipped overseas. He’d known, during that last meeting with his boss, that he was headed for this kind of trouble. The last thing he wanted to do was paint the fucking house.

  She put her hand on the back of his neck and pulled him close, her soft lips laying claim to his mouth. He slid an arm around her waist, pulled her close, pressing against her heat. Her scent made him forget all the reasons why this was a bad idea.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this.” She nibbled at his lips, playing and teasing.

  “You’re right.” He nuzzled her neck, tempted to take a bite.

  “I hardly know you.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Why are you so agreeable?”

  “One of us has to think clearly, and I’m doing my damnedest to be a gentleman.”

  “Maybe I don’t want a gentleman.” She pulled him back for another kiss, openmouthed, tongues clashing. If the bad guys showed up right now—

  He broke the kiss. They were both breathing hard, and her heart raced along with his. He had to get her out of his house. “I’ve got a deadline to meet,
or I won’t get paid. I’d hate to make my landlord upset by being late with the rent.”

  He felt her smile against his neck. “I happen to know your landlord, and her cat would go hungry if you were late with the rent.”

  “I’d hate to be responsible for a cat going hungry. Maybe we can continue this discussion later.”

  “You can count on it.” She walked out the door, and he watched until she was safely in her house.

  …

  The next afternoon Tony scraped at the paint can, trying to get every last drop. He had less than a foot of wall space to cover in the second bedroom, and he’d run out of paint.

  “Delilah, why didn’t I get more paint last evening? Heather was still up. I could have run down there and spent time with her. Wasted opportunity.”

  Delilah thumped her tail, no doubt agreeing that he’d been stupid.

  “No help for it, old girl. You stay here and guard my paintbrush.”

  The dog sighed and closed her eyes.

  He shrugged into his jacket and headed down the hill. He knew her house was empty—he’d become incredibly attuned to her comings and goings. Plus, he’d seen her leave. He’d also seen her feed her cat and eat her toast while reading a paperback novel. Perhaps he should just put the damn telescope back in its box.

  The sun hitting the walk had melted the snow, leaving an almost dry stretch of brick paving leading to her door. Water dripped from the roof onto his head as he tried the front door and found it locked. He went around to the back and used his key. He walked through the now-familiar rooms to the front hall, grabbing a can of paint.

  On his way back through the living room he saw the stack of identical black leather journals. Opening to a page at random, he found a detailed description of a burglary. Based on the arrangement of the stack, it looked like Heather was reading the journals in chronological order. If so, she’d read this volume. Now she knew who and what her father had really been.

  He couldn’t imagine what that was like—finding out she’d been living with a lie her entire life. Finding out that the trust she’d had in her father had been misplaced.

  He glanced at his watch and swore under his breath. Heather could walk through the door any second.

  A stack of paintings in the corner caught his eye. He’d looked at them before, and dismissed them as second-rate copies. He took another look, and the last painting changed his mind. He’d just read a description of this painting in the journal labeled 1974. It went missing from a villa in Italy. It hadn’t been seen since.

  Using his cell phone, he took a picture and immediately sent it to Sam and Chas, seeking confirmation.

  He set the small painting back in the corner, grabbed the can of paint, and left the gatehouse.

  Chapter Nine

  Heather tromped through the woods, ducking her head as a blast of cold wind sucked the breath from her nose. Sleet falling from the gunmetal sky perfectly mirrored her foul mood. Pausing at a fork in the trail, she wiped water from her face and shivered. Just her luck, she had the afternoon off and the weather sucked.

  She took the right-hand trail, heading back home. It wasn’t the day for a nice long ramble, and she’d discovered what she’d set out to find. The mystery intruder could have walked to her house in about five minutes after parking on a dead-end street.

  She no longer doubted there’d been someone in her house. More than once. A closet door not quite shut was the most recent event.

  A few times this week, Samson had prowled around, sniffing the floor like he was on the trail of something. Either a mouse or the intruder.

  She scanned the woods, listening, but the wind and rain would muffle the sound of anyone approaching. Like from behind that boulder, or that clump of small spruce trees. There were a lot of places for someone to hide. She shivered again, but not from the icy cold seeping into her jacket.

  Breaking into a run, she imagined him behind her, getting closer, about to grab her, fling her to the ground.

  Coming out of the woods at the edge of her property, she stopped running and looked into the shadows, backing slowly, breathing hard.

  Next you’ll believe in werewolves.

  She crossed the yard toward the big house and saw that Tony’s car was gone. He was probably out taking pictures of ice.

  Not that it was her business what he got up to, as long as he paid his rent on time. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

  The old house sure did look sad, from the peeling paint to the missing shutters. She suspected it had been beautiful fifty years ago. Long before her dad bought the place.

  Had he been planning to fix it up? He certainly hadn’t spent any of his millions doing so before he died.

  Darn it, what had he done with all that money?

  She walked around the house, admiring the intricate trim, frowning at the missing glass in the attic window. She so did not want to go up there. Once was plenty, and she’d stayed just long enough to determine the space was empty.

  At the entrance to the cellar, she hesitated for a second before grabbing the handle of the large door. Surprised that it rose easily on its hinges, she saw that the lever that should have kept it locked shut had rusted away. Whoever bought this wreck of a house had better have a crapload of money. She crept down the steps. The third step from the top wobbled, pitching her forward, making her grab at the railing.

  Another thing to fix.

  Heck, at this rate, she’d be lucky to give the place away.

  She turned on the light before closing the heavy door behind her. No sense letting rain and sleet get in.

  The basement was pretty much empty. Shivers traveled over her scalp as she contemplated the dim reaches of the room. Never overly fond of spiders, she knew they loved dark corners. Squaring her shoulders and summoning her inner warrior, she slid behind the giant furnace. A jumble of old wooden chairs, a mattress losing its stuffing, and a dusty trunk took up most of the space. She raised the lid of the trunk and dug through the contents, uttering a short scream when her hand came in contact with something furry.

  “Gah!” She threw the old hat to the floor. “You’ll get a proper burial in the spring.”

  Suppressing a shudder, she slammed the trunk lid on the old clothes and paperback novels from the 1950s.

  This had been a colossal waste of time. Everything of value had been sorted through and donated. The remaining bits of her dad’s sorry life were in those boxes in the gatehouse. And she knew exactly how worthless they were.

  The murky light from the lone bulb hanging in the middle of the room did little to brighten her mood. She pulled cobwebs from her hair and tried to flick the sticky strands from her fingers. Time to go back to her little house and bake some cookies. That would cheer her up. She’d share some with Tony and maybe they could be cheerful together.

  She put a foot on the bottom step and froze.

  Voices.

  Tony was right outside the cellar door talking to someone. She leaned closer and realized he was talking to Delilah, explaining that with the intruder breaking into the gatehouse, and someone taking potshots in the cemetery, he wanted to be careful. He was installing a big, shiny lock on this door, and he wouldn’t even make their pretty landlady pay for it.

  Heather grinned. He said she was pretty. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

  She took another step up, about to call out, then slapped her hand over her open mouth. No, bursting out of the cellar at this moment would not be a good idea.

  Remember? She’d promised to stay out of his way, and out of this house, in exchange for him painting the bedrooms.

  She waited. Listened to the sounds of a big, shiny lock locking her in.

  A grin tugged at her mouth when she heard Tony swear, a long string of interesting words. He’d dropped the key in the snow. Probably wouldn’t find it until spring, he told his dog. Hopefully he’d be out of the frozen north long before then, he added.

  Heather stepped down onto the cra
cked cement floor and looked at the steep set of stairs leading up to the kitchen. She pictured the heavy padlock she’d installed on the door at the top of the stairs to keep the tenant away from the furnace and water meter. As had been recommended in her Google search of how to be a landlord.

  Crap.

  She was doomed.

  Chapter Ten

  Heather pulled one of the chairs from behind the furnace and sat, contemplating her options.

  None of the windows was large enough for her to crawl through, if she could even get one open. They looked like they’d been painted shut during the last century. She could wait until Tony discovered her, but he didn’t use the basement. Thanks to the lock she’d installed.

  It was only a matter of time before nature took its course and the smell of her decomposing body gave her away.

  There was only one option. She took her phone from her pocket, scrolled through her contacts to the Ts, and hit call.

  “Hi, Heather.” His deep voice flowed through her, taking away some of the damp chill. “You there?”

  Taking a deep breath, Heather put her fate in the hands of whichever deity looked out for dumb blondes. “Hi, Tony.”

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  She muffled a laugh. He was standing directly above her, in the kitchen. She could hear the rumble of his voice coming down through the floor. If he looked through a gap in the floorboards, he’d see her.

  “I seem to be in something of a jam.”

  “Where are you?” He sounded concerned, slipping into his take-charge mode. His footsteps traveled toward the front of the house, no doubt heading to the door to come to her rescue. Which was kind of sweet. Her knight in shining armor. Except that he was going in the wrong direction.

  “Don’t leave your house. Just hear me out.”

  “What’s going on? Are you in danger?”

  “Um…no, I’m in no immediate danger.” Although what he would do once he discovered her location, she hadn’t a clue. She had a hunch he wasn’t prone to violence, although how she was so sure, she couldn’t say. Something about the way he behaved around his dog.