Page 24 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

“Stained glass.”

“You make stained glass?”

“Create with it—or I did.”

“Why don’t you anymore?”

“Because I can’t.”

“How come?”

“I have no idea,” she said, jerking her shoulders in an agitated shrug. “I just can’t. I woke up one morning and— nothing will come to me. I don’t know how to do it anymore.”

His curiosity was more than piqued as the fun, energetic woman he’d spent the last few hours with became more nervous and her words edgier and laced with despair. “Wanna talk about it?”

She shook her head adamantly. “I should go. Molly’s expecting me in the morning.”

Which hadn’t been a problem five minutes ago. “Let me drive you. It’s late.”

“No, thanks.” She pulled away from him. “I have a headlight on the bike. I like the fresh air.”

“I’ll take you anyway.” He reached for her again but dropped his hand when she evaded. “We can keep the windows rolled down.”

“I’m fine. Truly.”

He wanted to call bullshit. She was anything but fine, but what could he do when he could tell that she was struggling to finish their conversation instead of bolt? “You be careful. Make sure you use the bike path. It’s well lit.”

“I will.” She walked off, then stopped abruptly and turned. “Thank you for tonight—for the fun.”

“You’re welcome. We’ll do it again.”

She nodded and turned.

He watched her walk across the park and into the dark, more than half-tempted to take her home whether she liked it or not. He wasn’t necessarily concerned about her physical safety. Shawn was out on patrol, making an endless loop on Route 1 until the festivities ended, but he wanted to make sure she was okay. He sighed, scratching his head. She’d made it clear she wanted space. Growing up with two sisters had made him wise to the ways of women—or at least, he wasn’t completely clueless.

Deciding against going after her, he turned back toward the sheriff’s station, let himself inside, went straight to his office, and sat down at his desk. He wiggled the mouse, waking up the computer, and typed Callie Davis stained glass into Google. Immediately a page of articles and a row of pictures popped up in a box on the right. He clicked on more images and his screen filled with hundreds of pictures of Callie and her stunning art. “Holy shit,” he said as he glanced from a shot of her sitting in a chair next to Jimmy Fallon on The Tonight Show to another of her posing with the crew from Good Morning America.

He clicked back to the article links, found the most recent write-up in The New York Times, dated six weeks ago, and read about Callie being “one of the greatest artists of our time” and the ludicrous prices she was able to command for her work. “Holy shit,” he muttered again, selecting the link that took him to the ribbon cutting at JFK International, where four huge, vivid circular pieces hung from the ceiling in the new terminal. Each had a different color scheme—reds, greens and yellows, blues and purples, and the last was black and white. He wasn’t quite sure what they were, exactly, but they reminded him of looking through a kaleidoscope.

Moving on, he found another picture and could only stare at the absolute beauty of a spiraled glass ceiling in the pediatric wing of some London hospital—panes upon panes of vibrant-colored dragonflies and butterflies twisting hundreds of feet into the air that looked as if they flew off into the sky. The details were so intricate and alive, it was hard to believe she’d created her pictures with glass and solder. Somehow her art looked as if it actually moved on his screen.

He clicked back to the shots of Callie and studied her in a cap and gown standing by the Columbia University School of the Arts, flashing her pretty smile. He skimmed the caption about Callie signing with Marion West, agent and world-renowned art dealer. There were more pictures of her—some at gallery exhibitions and others at charity events. He found paparazzi images of her out to lunch with Tatiana Livingston, but it was the dozen or so pictures of her with Josh Moore that made him wonder most. He clicked on one and it took him to a gossip rag where questions swirled about a hot romance between the Hollywood A-lister and the beautiful artist. He raised his brows and pulled at his collar, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that the woman he’d held in his arms tonight was a big fucking deal.

Scrubbing at his jaw, he focused on the other images and couldn’t help but notice that as he followed the picture timeline of her career, her smiles seemed more forced and her eyes dimmer as each year passed. In numerous more recent shots, she didn’t even try to hide the fact that she was attempting to avoid the cameras as she walked the streets of Manhattan.

He tipped back in his chair and turned toward the window, remembering the way she’d laughed with him on the dance floor, then how she’d all but run off after the couple from the city stopped her on the sidewalk. Clearly, Callie was looking for quiet and privacy. Unfortunately, he couldn’t guarantee her the latter, especially if people started figuring out who she was, but he could offer her tours of the island and more fun like they’d had tonight. He could admit that the last few minutes of their evening had thrown him for a bit of a loop, but that didn’t mean he was any less interested in Callie Davis.