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“You do that,” she said, lifting her chin into the air and stalking toward the villa. She could feel his gaze burning into her backside. He’d looked scared back there, as if he couldn’t bear what he’d done to her—but she would bet if she glanced back, he’d be looking at her butt. Landry, everything else aside, was all male.
She cursed his black heart silently as she passed through the archway and ran up the stairs. She heard Odell come out of his apartment to go down and get the supplies he’d ordered, but she hurriedly unlocked her door and rushed in before he could call to her.
She went straight to the tub and stood under the spray, washing away the sand and the scent of Landry Jones. If only it was that easy to wash away the feelings. They had come on her so quickly. But spending time with a man under a dock under these kind of circumstances put feelings on fast-forward. At least that was her excuse.
It didn’t help that he was so darned handsome. Or often pretty witty. And that grin—
She shut off the water and heard the door to the apartment open. She’d left it unlocked so he could come in when he returned from the dock. The painting was in the box. Evan had said it was. So there was no more looking for the disk. Soon, no reason to be together.
She heard Landry cutting into the box and reached for a towel. Within moments, Landry would have what he wanted, and if she knew him the way she thought she did, he would be gone.
She leaned against the wall and waited for the sound of the front door closing. Maybe he’d already left and she just hadn’t heard the door close. He could be halfway to his boat right now.
The bathroom door opened. Her heart did a little leap inside her chest. At least he had come to say goodbye.
He drew back the shower curtain, seeming a little surprised to see her standing in the tub holding a towel to her. She met his gaze and felt another start.
“The disk isn’t in the painting.”
“What?” She plowed past him out of the shower and into the living room, still holding the towel in front of her, indifferent to her otherwise nudity.
The box was open, a half-dozen of her paintings standing up along the front of the couch. The one painting, the one that Simon Renton had supposedly hid the disk behind, was on the floor, the back ripped, revealing the space under the paper. It was empty.
She bent down and picked up the painting, seeing at once where the paper backing had been slit. The disk had been inside it.
She turned to stare at Landry. He looked like he’d been kicked in the gut as he lowered himself into one of the chairs just feet from her.
“Where is the disk?” she said stupidly.
He shrugged. “Maybe it fell out. Maybe Simon lied. Who knows?”
She felt chilled suddenly. Putting down the painting, she went into the bedroom, closed the door and dressed. The ramifications were just starting to hit her. Without the disk, Landry could never clear himself. Both of their lives would remain in danger.
Unless someone already had the disk and that was why she and Landry were almost killed last night. They had become too much of a liability.
As she came out, she found Landry sitting in the chair, his head in his hands. She desperately wanted to ask him what he was thinking of doing now. But she was afraid to hear his answer.
“Okay,” she said, unwilling to give up, needing something to do, to say. “What if the disk did fall out?”
He looked up at her as if she had to be kidding, even thinking there was somewhere to go from here.
“Seriously, what if it did?” She went over to the box and looked inside, although she was sure Landry had already done that. “Then it must have fallen out before it left my studio, so it would be…” She glanced toward the box the police had packed, knowing the disk wasn’t in the bottom of it. Both she and Landry had gone through that box, as well.
A thought struck her. “Why didn’t the police know about the disk?”
“What?”
“You said the police didn’t know about the disk so they wouldn’t have been looking for it,” she pressed. “But if you and Simon were working undercover to get information out about organized crime—and who the dirty cop was—then why wouldn’t the police be on the lookout for a disk?”
“Because the disk just kind of fell into our laps from one of Freddy D.’s disgruntled associates. The guy contacted me but Simon insisted he be the pick-up man because I was too visible in the organization. He hadn’t been in long and was low on the totem pole.”
“So neither you nor Simon had told your bosses that you had the disk?” she said.
He nodded. “We hadn’t gotten a chance. Then after what went down… The cops had no way of knowing how you were really involved. They would just assume you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“So…” she said, glancing toward one of the boxes that the police had packed for her. “If one of them picked up the disk, they would just think it was mine. All this time, we’ve been looking for a painting. Not a disk.”
Landry watched her with interest now.
