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Landry was motioning to her. “Evan, was there one painting that didn’t get hung at the show?”
“Oh, sweetie, I just feel awful about that. I found it later when I went to pack up the others. Do you hate me?”
“Of course not.” She nodded to Landry. Relief washed over him, softening the hard lines of his face. He couldn’t have been more handsome.
“Can you just describe the painting for me?” she asked, and listened while he confirmed that it was the one they had all been looking for.
“It had a tear in the backing, I guess that’s why my assistant didn’t put it up,” Evan said. “I am just sick about it. I’m positive it would have sold, sweetie.”
“It’s not a problem, really. I have a terribly big favor to ask of you. Would it be possible for you to send me the paintings without anyone knowing? I could give you an address.”
“Not on his home line, in case it’s tapped,” Landry whispered.
“Could I call you back on your cell and tell you where to send them?” she asked.
“Oh, such intrigue. I’m just shivering all over,” he cried. He rattled off his cell number, Willa repeating it.
“I’ll call you right back.”
“I’ll get a pen and paper. Don’t worry, sweetie, I’ll destroy the evidence. I’ll shred it. Or burn it. If you want, I’ll shred it and eat it with a nice marinara sauce.”
She hung up, half shaking her head. Evan was such a trip. She adored him. She just prayed that she wasn’t endangering him.
“Wait,” Landry said as she started to dial Evan’s cell. “The safest way to do this is have Evan send the box by special courier to the marina so Bull can bring it out tomorrow when he brings the rest of the supplies. If he does it tonight, it will get here in time.”
She nodded and called Evan’s cell, gave him the address for Bull. “Address the box to Cara Wilson. That’s the name I’m using.”
“I’ll do it right now. Not to worry. You really must let me know how this all turns out. I’ll just be on pins and needles until I hear.”
She promised, hung up and looked at Landry. This was almost over but she knew her life would never be the same.
There was one regret she was determined she wouldn’t have when it was all over, she told herself as she leaned into Landry and kissed him.
“You all right?” Landry asked, seeming surprised.
She just looked at him. Was she all right? He had to be kidding. She was soaked to the skin, half-drowned, some kind of seaweed stuff in her hair and at least one person was trying to kill her—more than likely more.
He smiled and picked something green from her hair. “Think you can make it back to the boat?”
Like she had a choice. She nodded. The sky behind them paled as they reached the boat. She’d half expected someone to be waiting for them in ambush but apparently no one knew what Landry’s boat looked like, and there were dozens of boats tied up along the canal.
She climbed in, surprised that she was starting to get her sea legs. He untied the boat and stepped in after her, quickly starting the motor and turning the bow out toward the watery horizon.
He tossed her an old towel from the bottom of the boat. It smelled of gas and oil. She didn’t even care. She wrapped it around her and slid down in the boat. Sleep took her at once, dragging her down into a dreamless cold darkness.
She woke with a start, blinded by the light and jarred awake as the boat hit the sand. Struggling to sit up, she looked around. They were back on the island. She was awed and surprised that Landry had managed to get them back here alive. Daylight broke over the tops of the mangrove islands to the east. She felt as if she’d been dragged through the mud, like an alley cat sneaking home after a rough night on the streets.
As she turned to look at Landry, she saw the blood. “My God, you’re shot!”
Landry smiled at the concern in her voice. “It’s all right,” he said as he stepped out into the water and pulled the boat partway up on shore. “It’s just a flesh wound.”
She climbed out, looking unsteady and a little green around the gills. “Why didn’t you tell me you were shot?” She sounded angry now.
“It’s no big deal. Anyway, what would you have done? You aren’t one of those women who faint at the sight of blood, are you?” He reached for her as she seemed to wobble. “Oh, hell,” he said as she sank to the sand.
He dropped beside her and forced her head between her knees. “Take deep breaths.”
She was crying softly, gasping for breath. “My mother wanted me to be a nurse.”
