Love Unlocked (12 page)

He started pacing around the studio. “I bought this house, built this studio thinking I’d come back someday, settle down, raise my kids alongside Will’s and Stephanie’s. But Stephanie wasn’t going to have any kids. I couldn’t seem to make up for that by picking up a paintbrush.”

“So you started volunteering at the hospital. And the nursing home. And the community garden.”

He stopped in front of his easel, on which a small cloth-covered canvas rested. He forced himself to meet her gaze, but he didn’t see any judgment in her eyes. “Yeah. I haven’t painted since. Well, not until last week.”

“Last week?” She didn’t understand the significance until Hudson lifted the cloth off the canvas to show her. Her face stared back at her, unfinished but unmistakable. He’d painted her with a smile and shining eyes. And not her standard-issue Cheshire cat smile, but a real one, as if he’d captured the moment right after she’d opened a colorfully wrapped gift to find a puppy inside. She looked happy.

Eve didn’t know what to say. The art critic inside her was fascinated by seeing Hudson Cleary’s technique applied to a portrait. The same bold strokes and defined lines were there, but it was pleasantly surprising to see them create representational art.

As a woman looking at the work of a man she respected, admired, desired, she was overwhelmed, seeing herself reflected in his eyes, in the work of his hands.

The tears that welled up embarrassed her. She managed a calming breath.

“What do you think?”

She forced out a laugh. “A loaded question if I ever heard one.”

He smiled. “Fair enough.”

“Quite simply, it’s beautiful. Surprising, yes. But beautiful. Why haven’t you ever painted portraits before?”

“It’s as if I never thought of it. My hands started doing their thing and my brain was only involved tangentially. For two years, my brain was in charge and my hands were frozen. They’re thawing out, and this is the result.”

“Well, on a professional level, it’s good, Hudson, it’s really good.”

“Thanks.”

Did she detect a hint of relief in his voice? It didn’t surprise her that he’d be a little insecure after being creatively stopped up for two whole years.

“On a personal level, it’s breathtaking. You made me look....”

“Happy?”

“Yes, but...soft is the word I was thinking of.”

“You always try to be hard,” he said. “Soft looks good on you.”

“Oh.” He’d stymied her the way he had the first time they met. And the second time they met. He kept coming up with ways to take her breath away and make her want him more with each second.

Why did things have to be so complicated? She wanted, desperately, to show him how soft she could be for him, for him alone.

Since things were complicated, she did the only thing she could. “Let’s go get some BLATs.”

Maude’s was one of those diners that had steadfastly refused to be updated at any point in the last thirty years. The neon sign in the window was missing the u, the red vinyl booths were cracked, and the floor had been mopped so many times it was amazing the checkerboard linoleum pattern hadn’t been worn clean off.

After they’d ordered and had their coffees topped up, Eve watched Hudson doctor his with three sugars and a splash of cream. She must have looked incredulous, because he shrugged. “This is how I like Maude’s coffee.”

He’d taken her espresso straight, and the night they’d shared coffee in his brother’s kitchen, he only used the cream. She never knew anyone to be so changeable when it came to caffeine delivery systems. Then again, after she tasted the diner’s bitter brew, maybe she could understand.

He smiled but made no comment when she reached for the sugar packets. They were properly caffeinated, so they could get down to business. Before she could launch into her carefully prepared speech, Hudson leaned back in the booth.

“So how are we going to steal ourselves a Mondrian?”

“Not so loud!”

“I don’t think there are any FBI agents in Chelsea.”

“You can’t be too careful.”

“Sure. Sure. Tell me the deal.”

He was awfully composed for a civilian. He probably imagined Cary Grant-style glamour.

“I will, if you’ll let me,” she ground out. When he continued to be silent, she took a calming breath and went on. “First, I appreciate your offer to help. I’m a little out of my element here, both being back in the States without my usual network, and being forced into this job. Since it wouldn’t be wise to simply walk away, I have to lean into it, and that means I have to use what assets I have, and unfortunately, you’re one. So, if you’re still up for it, I’d like to have your help. In other words, what are you doing Friday night?”

“Helping you steal a painting.” He grinned like a school kid contemplating a snow day.

“I have a few conditions.”

“Of course you do,” he said.

“Number one, you have to do everything I say between now and Friday without asking questions. I’m not going to ask you to do anything illegal—or at least, anything you can’t plausibly deny your involvement with. However, I might have to ask you to do something you won’t like, such as stay put when I need to go somewhere. I need to trust that you’ll follow my directions. Otherwise, I can’t keep you safe.”

“I’ll try.”

Eve sighed. She’d have to accept that. “Fine. The second thing is, we can’t have sex.”

“Ever?”

Hudson looked so crestfallen that she hastened in with an awkward reassurance. “No...I mean, until this job is finished. Not that we...um, let’s take that off the table right now.” He quirked an eyebrow and she rushed on. “If we have sex, I have a feeling my brain will turn to mush and I won’t be able to concentrate on the important stuff, like getting a deranged thief off my back, okay?” She felt her cheeks grow hot and she took a sip of Maude’s awful coffee. Hudson chuckled, but she thought more in solidarity than in fun.

“I can live with those terms,” he said, “and I have one of my own.”

She lifted an eyebrow.

“I’ll help you get into that party, I’ll follow your instructions, I’ll even keep my hands off of you.” Eve was pleased at how disgruntled he sounded over the last item. “When it’s all over, you’ll model for me. One session, a few hours at most. And you have to do what I tell you. It’s only fair.”

She sucked in a breath. She’d been afraid he’d bring that up again. She wanted to do it, if she was really honest with herself. But saying yes was like saying they had a future together after this debacle was resolved, and that was even scarier than the prospect of Deacon’s threats.

“Okay.” She could figure out how to handle what she’d promised when the time came. Hudson’s mouth relaxed into a smile and she lost her train of thought.
Those lips are off limits
. She cleared her throat. “Let’s go over the schedule, then. I’ll make sure we have all the gear we need and make the travel arrangements.”

“Eve,” he interrupted. “That all sounds fine and I have no doubt that you have everything beautifully arranged, but do we have to go into details now? I’m starving.”

“Oh, sure.” Plates loaded with sandwiches and fries arrived as if on cue. Hudson’s appetite didn’t seem to be affected by stress, or perhaps this all seemed like a game to him. Eve was jittery and picked at her meal. Things were moving so quickly. She’d barely processed Hudson’s reasons for his artist’s block when he’d stunned her with the painting of herself. He was born to make beautiful pictures with his hands, and she was thrilled to see him on the cusp of such new territory, but it scared her to be so invested in him, to be working with him side by side. Not only because she wanted to literally be physically near him, bodies entwined, but because she felt connected on a different level, souls united, fates locked, and quite simply, she couldn’t believe he was meant for her. She was terrified that she would let him down.

“I have to get to the nursing home,” he said. “Let’s meet up later and you can give me the full download.”

She should embrace his help, maybe even use his expertise, but she needed space.

“I think I’m going to go up to San Francisco for a night or two, get some things I need,” she said casually. “Why don’t we do it later in the week?”

“All right,” he said.

They walked out to the street together, and Hudson held her arm to prevent her from walking away. “Be careful.”

Eve swallowed the lump in her throat. She was way past that. “I will,” she lied.

Hudson stuffed his phone back into his pocket and picked up the wheelbarrow handles. He guided the load of rich brown compost from the storage area to the raised vegetable beds where a handful of middle schoolers were harvesting early cherry tomatoes and watering the soon-to-be enormous zucchini plants.

“Hey, buddy, watch the green ones. Let’s leave those on and we can pick them when they’re ripe,” he called out to a gangly boy who was indiscriminately picking anything round off the bush.

He was relieved that he’d finally heard from Eve. She’d waited until Wednesday afternoon to text him to confirm dinner at her place, where they’d go over the plan for Friday. She’d messaged him yesterday to say she was in San Francisco, and that she’d heard from John and everything was still a go. But that was it. He tried not to worry about her, but it was apparently a permanent condition. At least worrying about her safety kept his other worries at bay, like what had he been thinking telling her about Stephanie and his artist’s block. He’d agonized over showing her the painting he’d done of her, but she seemed to like it, which gave him hope. Not that he’d been able to do any more work since Eve had left. Her energy seemed to be the only thing giving him the strength to paint. Which was ridiculous. He didn’t really believe in the idea of a muse. Besides, she wasn’t exactly clamoring for the job.

Still, they had a connection. He knew she knew it. Which was maybe why she was making herself scarce. He had to admit he appreciated her taking temptation away from him, since he’d agreed to that no sex rule. What a great idea that was turning out to be. He poured the load of compost out with so much force the wheelbarrow flipped over, too.

“Woah!” Rue, Eve’s neighbor and one of the other adult volunteers, appeared and knelt to help him right the barrow. “Watch it, Hercules.”

“Sorry.” He didn’t need to take his frustration out on defenseless gardening tools.

“One more load ought to do it,” she said, waving off the apology. “Hey, I wanted to let you know that Jess and I are having a few friends over for Sunday Supper this week and I thought you might want to come. Maybe bring our mutual friend, Eve?”

“Sunday?” By Sunday, he’d have helped Eve commit at least one felony and hopefully severed her ties to her old life for good. By Sunday, maybe life would be returning to normal. Except normal was the last thing he wanted since he’d met Eve. “I’ll do my best to make it.”

***

“And then we’ll hand off the painting and head home. Barring unforeseen circumstances.” Eve finished outlining the plan and pushed away the rest of her Cobb salad.

“What kind of unforeseen circumstances?” Hudson asked. He’d already finished his second portion.

“Well, that’s sort of the idea. I don’t know. So we stick to the plan but stay flexible.”

“It’s a solid plan. I can see why you were so good at this.”

“Really?” Why did his compliments always blindside her? “Well, it’s the best I could come up with on such short notice. Normally, I’d have a lot more lead time than this.”

“What would you do if you had more lead time?” He seemed genuinely curious.

She poured herself another half glass of wine and moved to the living room. “It depends on the kind of job. A basic smash and grab requires a little reconnaissance, maybe two weeks of staking out the locations, figuring out the weaknesses in the security system, whether it’s a museum or a private home. For a switch, we had to have access to the original so we could have a duplicate made, then we had to plan a time to make the switch. Those were more delicate operations, but ultimately less dangerous.” She settled into a corner of the sofa.

Hudson followed her, but took up residence a safe distance away in an armchair, leaving the entire sofa to her.

“Because the owners wouldn’t know for a while that they had a copy?”

“Right. It gave us time to distance ourselves from the scene. Sometimes, they never figure it out.”

“Really?”

“You have no idea how many reproductions are hanging in museums, being passed off as the real thing. Not only copies of well-known works, while the originals sit in a warehouse somewhere or in some rich guy’s castle, but fakes in the style of a certain artist, which can sometimes sell for as much as a real one, if they’re good enough to pass authentication. Our forger was the best.”

“So, if you had the time, you’d rather make a copy of the Mondrian and somehow change the real out for the fake?”

“It’s not a perfect system, but yeah, it usually keeps the heat off for a while. Also, fewer people get hurt that way. The owner of the original is none the wiser and the buyer is happy because the item isn’t considered hot, and it won’t raise eyebrows if he’s associated with it. He tells people his is a fake, and everyone is happy.”

“Then why not sell the buyer the fake and skip the hassle of stealing the painting in the first place?”

“The kind of people who want to buy real artwork are not to be trifled with. They want the originals, and they have no scruples.”

“So what kind of guy is Deacon?”

“He’s the worst. An ambitious thug with delusions of grandeur. He fancies himself a gentleman thief but he’s really hardly more than a gopher. Unfortunately, the people he gophers for are very unpleasant, the Italian Mafia. Plus, he’s kind of crazy. He’s got it in his head that I owe him, and he’s not rational enough to take a payoff and be done with it.”

“Do you owe him?”

“Of course not! That’s why this amounts to blackmail. If I don’t deliver what he wants, he’s going to tip off my location to Interpol. Not that he or they have a shred of evidence against me in any open investigations, but the reason I came back to America was to leave all that behind. I wanted to start over.” Eve was desperate for this episode to be behind her. Then maybe she wouldn’t have to keep Hudson out of reach.