“There are plenty of successful artists who live outside New York City.”

“Of course. But they all have established careers and a solid market for their work. You’re not there yet.”

Marisol got up from the worktable and walked back to the kitchen to fetch the pitcher of limeade. She refilled Sascha’s glass, then sat down on her stool. “I’m not just staying for him,” she said.

“You aren’t?”

“Maybe I am,” Marisol admitted. “But what’s wrong with that? I want to see where this all leads. We have this incredible chemistry. When we’re together he can’t keep his hands off me. I’ve never had that with a man before. Do you know how good it feels to be desired like that?”

“What about David?”

“No,” Marisol said. “This is different. With David, everything was so predictable. We were the perfect couple, but he didn’t want me. Not the way Ian does.”

“So this guy is good in bed,” Sascha said. “How good could he be?”

Marisol smiled slyly. “Very, very good. No, unbelievably great. Fabulous. I don’t know. There isn’t really an adjective to describe it. It’s just-wow!”

“Magnificent? Astonishing? Extraordinary?” Sascha prompted.

“All of those. And really, really hot. Intense. And his body is just to die for.”

Sascha sighed as she plopped back down on her stool. “Every woman’s dream man?”

“Yeah,” Marisol said.

They silently stared across the room at the painting she’d done of Ian, both of them lost in their own thoughts. When the front buzzer sounded, they both looked toward the door.

“I suppose that’s him,” Sascha said.

“Can you give us a minute?”

She nodded, grabbed her bag and walked to the back of the gallery. Marisol hurried to the door and pulled it open, expecting to see Ian. But David stood outside.

When she tried to slam the door, he stuck his foot inside, then shoved the door so hard, she had to step back. He stalked into the gallery, letting the door slam behind him. Slowly, he took in the paintings and the sculptures scattered around the room.

“Where is it?” he muttered. “I want the painting. I know you have it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marisol said. “Just leave, David.”

“Your father sent you the Colter. I need it. And if you don’t give it to me, I’m going to let the authorities know your father is back to his old tricks again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marisol repeated.

He spun around and grabbed her arms, his fingers biting into her flesh. “I have a buyer who wants his painting. If I don’t give it to him, he’s going to be very angry. He might just decide to hurt me.”

“Then I guess you shouldn’t have gotten involved with him,” Marisol said.

“Tell me where it is,” he muttered.

“Go ahead,” Marisol said. “Search the place. I don’t know where it is or where my father is. I haven’t heard from him in weeks. And if he is involved in some scheme with you, then I don’t want to hear about it. He’s an adult, he makes his own choices. And I’ve made mine. Look for your damn painting and then get out, before I call the police.”

“Marisol?” Sascha slowly walked toward them, her eyes fixed on David. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, fine.”

“Hello, David. You’re looking…flushed. Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes, fine,” he replied.

“Well, then, we’re all fine. Can I get you something to drink?”

David shook his head. “Would you excuse us? Marisol and I have important matters to discuss.”

“I’ll just be in the back,” she said, “in case I’m needed.”

When Sascha had disappeared, David grabbed Marisol again and cursed beneath his breath. But this time, she yanked out of his grasp, crossing her arms in front of her.

“Find your father and convince him to bring back my painting. Or all the trouble that’s going to rain down on me is going to come down on him, too. And you.”

“I’ll see if I can find him,” Marisol said, keeping her tone cool and indifferent. “I’ll call you.”

He nodded curtly, then turned for the door.

“David?” Her voice stopped him and he faced her. In three short strides she was in front of him. Without thinking, she drew her hand back and slapped his face, the sound echoing through the silence of the gallery.

“You can’t protect your father,” he said.

“That wasn’t for my father. That was for me. For making me believe I didn’t deserve anything more than you gave me. I know differently now.”

He opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it and turned on his heel, stalking to the door. A few moments later, it slammed behind him and Marisol released a tightly held breath. “We can’t wait,” she called.

Sascha appeared by her side. “Wait for what?”

“We’re going now. To the Templetons’.”

“We can’t,” Sascha said.

“You said she wanted us there for cocktails. Well, call her and tell her we can make it. And we’re coming right now. We just have to pick up the painting from Ian’s place and we’ll be on our way. After we switch them, I’m going to give the forgery to David and he can give that to his buyer. Hopefully, that will be enough to appease him.”

“Maybe we should wait and think this out a bit,” Sascha said.

But Marisol was through thinking about this. She needed to grab this opportunity now and solve her problem, instead of worrying over it for the next day and a half. As she dragged her decoy painting toward the back of the gallery, she tossed Sascha her car keys. “Bring your car around to the back. And don’t forget the heat gun.”

After struggling to fit the crate in the back of Sascha’s Volvo wagon, they finally wedged it in and slammed the hatch shut. Then Marisol ran back inside to grab the tools she’d packed in her favorite bag. When she was settled inside the car, she took a deep breath.

“I can see why art thieves do what they do,” she said. “It’s kind of a rush, all this excitement and nerves. Will we get caught, won’t we get caught, who knows-”

“Shut up,” Sascha said as she started the car. “Let’s not talk or I’m going to get out of this car and walk back to New York.”

“All right,” Marisol said. “No talking. Just drive.”

Marisol directed Sascha through the streets of Bonnett Harbor, watching carefully to see if they were being followed. She wouldn’t put it past David to be lurking in the shadows, watching her every move. But after taking a circuitous route through town, she decided that David had retreated to lick his wounds and revise his strategy.

“Turn down this street,” she said. Sascha drove to the middle of the block, then Marisol pointed to Ian’s house. “I’m going to go inside and get the painting. Circle the block a couple times and I’ll run out. If you see anyone on the street, don’t slow down, just keep going.”

“We should be doing this at night,” Sascha said. “Not in broad daylight.”

“Well, we don’t have a choice.” Marisol hopped out of the car, glanced both ways and ran up the driveway to the side door. She grabbed the doorknob and turned it, but to her surprise, the door wouldn’t open.

“No,” she moaned. “It can’t be locked.” Frantically, she pulled up the mat and searched for a key. She couldn’t blame Ian for locking the house, considering the valuable painting under his bed. Or maybe he’d done it to prevent her from retrieving the painting without his knowledge.

Marisol walked around the back of the house, then noticed a window open in the breakfast nook. She grabbed a lawn chair and pulled it over to the house, balancing on it as she tore off the screen. A few moments later, she raised the sash and crawled inside.

She raced upstairs and found the painting where she’d left it. Dragging it from beneath the bed, Marisol tucked it under her arm and hurried back outside, this time using the kitchen door. She saw Sascha circle the block, then waited for her to appear again before running out to the street.

When she was safely inside the car, Marisol screamed, unable to control her nerves. Then, a laugh erupted and she couldn’t seem to stop the emotions bubbling to the surface. She wasn’t happy or amused or even frustrated. She was just scared.

“Are you all right?” Sascha asked.

“I will be,” she said. “Once this is all over.”

“FIRST OFF, YOU CAN’T TALK to women, so how can you be honest with them? They have no capacity for logical reasoning. They’re driven by emotions. Let me tell you, getting into a real conversation with a woman is like stepping on a land mine. One stupid move, one offhand comment or misplaced adjective and, boom, you’re dead.”

Ian waited for his brothers to respond, knowing what he’d said was complete bullshit. At one time, he believed that women were incapable of logical thought. But then he’d met Marisol. He didn’t have to work hard to figure her out. She was just…Marisol.

“And you can’t depend upon women,” Declan commented. “They may have your back now, but the minute you don’t agree with them, they’ll cut your legs out from under you. You want someone who’ll have your back? That’s what brothers are for.”

“Women are not the enemy,” Marcus said.

Ian stared at Marcus for a long moment, grinning. “Did you break the pact?”

“No!” Marcus said. “I’ve just figured out a few things for myself.”

“So, are you planning to share with us?” Declan asked.

Marcus shook his head. “Not at the moment.”

A long silence descended on the group as Ian and Dec stood at the grill and stared into the fire. Ian dumped a bit of beer onto the flames that licked at the burgers. He listened distractedly as Dec and Marcus discussed the search for Eden Ross, but his mind kept wandering to Marisol.

“Louise Wilson over at the diner mentioned there were a couple of guys wandering around Bonnett Harbor asking if anyone had seen her,” Ian commented. “They’re promising a big payday for information. Ten thousand for a tip that leads to a photo of Eden Ross. I’m thinking I ought to be out looking for her.”

“She must be close by, then,” Dec said.

“Why do you say that?” Marcus asked.

Ian walked over to the picnic table and grabbed another beer from the cooler, taking the chance to glance at his watch. Dinner would be ready in a few minutes, a half hour to eat, another half hour to hang out and he could be over at Marisol’s by six or six-thirty.

“I gotta go,” Marcus said.

Ian frowned. “You haven’t had anything to eat.”

Marcus shrugged. “The wind is supposed to pick up later tonight and I’ve got to set another anchor.”

“So how’s the job going for you?” Dec called. “What did Ross think about the work?”

“He thought it was great,” Marcus yelled.

“He’s an odd one, that boy,” Declan said, staring after their younger brother.

“I can never quite figure what’s going on in his head,” Ian commented. “You really think he’s found himself a girl?”

“Nah,” Dec said. “All Marcus cares about is his work. Besides, who would he meet staying out on the boat?”

They sat outside for the next hour, enjoying their dinner and chatting about work. Ian avoided talking about Marisol and the painting, and instead, pumped Dec for information on Eden Ross. In the end, Dec enlisted Ian’s help in the search, asking him to keep an eye out for Eden, as well.

He finally left at seven and Ian hurried upstairs to change out of his uniform, pulling on a fresh T-shirt and a pair of jeans. He noticed the covers on the bed had been tossed back, and smoothed them in place with his hand. Slowly, Ian realized someone had been in his bedroom.

He dropped to the floor and peered under the bed. “Oh, hell,” he muttered. The painting was gone. And it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know who had it. She must have been here before he returned home from work. He tugged on a pair of Nikes, tucked his badge in the back pocket of his jeans, then raced downstairs.

If Marisol had any thought to switch those paintings tonight, then it might already be too late. He jumped into his car and threw it in gear, backing down the driveway and swinging the Mustang out into the street.

A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of Gallerie Luna. Marisol’s car was parked out front, but she wasn’t answering the buzzer. For a brief moment, he felt a prickle of panic, then decided that there was no need to jump to conclusions. Maybe she’d gone for a walk, maybe she was waiting for him at his house right now.

He tried the buzzer once more, then returned to his car, double-parked in front of the gallery. He’d just take a drive over to Newport and check in with the Templetons. And if she wasn’t there, he’d put out an APB on her and have the rest of the Bonnett Harbor police force helping in the search.

As he sped across the Newport Bridge, his thoughts returned to the meeting in Declan’s office. Though he didn’t want to believe the worst in Marisol, there was a tiny voice that told him she could be lying about the painting. For all he knew, she was aware that the painting in her possession was a fake and her intention all along was to steal the real painting. Hell, she could be working with David Barnett on this scheme.