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We both raise our hands to the sky, wide-eyed. I don’t have to fake my fear or shock here—this is quite a turn out. It’s crazy: cops everywhere, the noise from the chopper, and even the sound of barking as a group of police search dogs are let out of the back of a van. At last, the chaos seems to calm, and a familiar voice comes striding out of the crowd.
Le
Crawford sees him, too. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?!” he bellows. “This is private property!”
“And I have a badge and probable cause,” Le
Crawford stutters. “St. Clair? I don’t understand.”
“He’s not here,” I say, i
Le
He snatches the painting tube out from under my arm faster than I can react. “All I need is this evidence,” he says, opening the tube. He pulls out the canvas and unrolls it. Then his face changes.
“What is this?” he demands.
“Not what you were expecting, detective?” I smile sweetly.
“Is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on?” Crawford butts in.
“This isn’t the Armande.” Le
Men push past us, heading inside with the police dogs. Le
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That painting—an O’Brien from St. Clair’s own private collection, by the way—is supposed to be a gift for Mr. Crawford.” I turn to the man I loathe and smile. “Mr. St. Clair sympathized with your loss, having just lost one of his own paintings to a heist as well, and wanted to offer you a little consolation. St. Clair isn’t the monster you think he is,” I tell Le
Dogs start barking from inside. Le
I follow, with Crawford hot on my heels. “What the hell?” Crawford is still complaining angrily. “Be careful! Those are antiques!”
The dogs cluster around a door, barking wildly.
“What’s behind there?” Le
“That’s the wine cellar,” Crawford blusters. “I keep a priceless collection, you mustn’t disturb the bottles—”
Le
Crawford is livid, his face red. “Expect a lawsuit tomorrow! You, this whole department!” He gestures wildly and shouts at Le
“Owww!”
Crawford reels back, scurrying outside. “Where is my assistant? Natalie? Natalie!” he bellows.
She comes around the corner from one of the guest cottages. “You yelled?” she asks.
“Who are these people?” he demands. “Get me my lawyers, right now!”
“Good idea,” Le
Crawford looks confused. “Where did that come from? I thought you said it had been stolen.”
“That’s what we thought.” Le
Le
“This is ridiculous!” Crawford explodes. “I’ll have your badge for this! Natalie!”
She stands there calmly. “I had no idea,” she says. “Agent Le
“Thank you, that would be very helpful.”
Natalie catches my eye for a moment, and we share a secret grin. It wasn’t hard to recruit her to our cause: she’s seen first-hand the damage Crawford has done. She was more than willing to give us access to the estate, so St. Clair could sneak in and plant the incriminating stolen art early this morning.
“Get this area marked off for the crime unit.” Le
He pulls out a pair of handcuffs and slaps them on Crawford’s wrists. As he sputters and yells and threatens all the cops, including Le
Another car races up the drive and screeches to a stop beside us. St. Clair rushes out, and sweeps me into a hug. “Are you okay?” he demands.
“I’m fine,” I laugh, pulling away. “You’re late. You missed all the action.”
St. Clair looks around at Crawford in the back of a police car, handcuffed, and at Le
“Seems you finally found the real culprit, Le
Le
“The evidence never lies, right, detective?” I say. “Like I said, you were chasing the wrong guy.”
Le
He turns on his heel and heads back inside – to the cellar full of valuable incriminating evidence.
Crawford’s car leaves his own driveway with several cop escorts as many more uniforms patrol the ground, setting up police tape, taking photos and doing whatever else cops do at a crime scene, but I’m not worried. The proof is in the paintings, and they are all sitting in Crawford’s estate.
St. Clair squeezes my hip, pulls me a little closer. He kisses me, full of victory. “We did it!”
We did it. I almost can’t believe it. If Le
There’s nothing standing in our way now. Our happily-ever-after can finally begin.
“Where do you want to go now?” Charles asks, taking my hand as we stroll back to his car.
“I don’t know…” I tease. “Didn’t you say something about the Caribbean?”
EPILOGUE
I feel like I must be dreaming.
A sparkling turquoise sea fills my vision, swirling like paints on a living canvas I could watch for hours. White crests of waves crash gently on sugary smooth sand just a few feet in front of me, sending cool sprays of saltwater into the air, pleasantly misting my warm skin. If I couldn’t wiggle my toes and feel the soft sand between them, or smell the coconut scent of my ta
Especially when St. Clair, shirtless and sexy with his perfect abs and sculpted shoulders, appears at my elbow with a fruity drink complete with a tiny, festive umbrella.
“Have I died and gone to heaven?” I ask him, ru
His eyebrows shoot up. “It seemed like you went to heaven last night…” He bends his head to kiss my belly button above my bikini bottoms. Heat not at all related to the Jamaican sunshine rushes between my legs.