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CHAPTER 8
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It was just after twelvewhen Gavin parked his SUV in a parking garage in downtown Missoula. He’d never been here before, but Brooke obviously knew her way around and could direct him. They’d made two stops along the way. She’d been silent since the last one.
“Missoula is a beautiful city,” he said conversationally as they got out of the car. “Surrounded by mountains, forests, and the views I’ve seen of the river that runs through it, it’s something else.”
She smiled, although she was fidgeting, a sign, he knew by now, she was apprehensive. “The Clark Fork River. And the mountains are the Rockies, five different mountain ranges, I’ve read somewhere. Inhabitants like to tell you how deer pass through their front yards. Sometimes, you can see moose from the road, and I’ve heard even bears venture downtown to Greenough Park.”
“Sounds like a great place to live.”
“I agree. It’s also a tourist favorite. Apart from the scenery, there is a variety of choices for the culturally minded local or tourist. Whether it’s art or music being created in the street, or a gala event at a local museum, Missoula has what it takes to satisfy even the most avant-garde individual.”
Looking down at her, he smiled. Mmm, a perfect place to bring Brooke to for that dirty weekend she’d talked about. He sobered quickly. By next weekend, he’d be on his way to Seattle, and by the time he returned to Alisson, they would carry on as friends only.
“The person you have to see—are they close by?” he asked as they walked toward the elevator.
“Yes, quite close. There’s a diner nearby where you can meet me once you’ve seen your...person.” And with a knowing smile, she stepped into the elevator.
She clearly suspected he wasn’t really seeing anyone, but she wasn’t asking any more questions.
She pressed a button, and the elevator moved. They were alone, and shifting to stand behind her, he put his hands on her shoulders. Her muscles were tense, confirming how on edge she actually was. He dug his thumbs into her hard muscles, and a low groan escaped her lips.
“You’re so tense,” he said. “Anything to do with the person you’re about to see?”
“I’m fine. It’s probably from standing in front of an easel most of my days.”
“I can come with you if you want me to? All you have to do is ask.”
“I told you I can handle my own mess.”
So there was a mess to be handled, but of course, she wasn’t about to tell him. She was really sticking to her guns about managing her own life, even if she was clearly dreading meeting whoever she was about to see.
The elevator stopped. He took her hand as they walked out of the building.
She pointed to her right. “Over there is the diner I spoke about. I don’t know how long your meeting will be,” she said with a slight emphasis onyour, “but I shouldn’t be longer than half an hour.”
He pulled her closer and kissed her. Her mouth was shivering slightly. “Babe, you okay?”
She pulled her handbag closer to her. “Of course. I’m not used to someone kissing me in the middle of a busy street. See you later!” With a wave of her hand, she walked in the opposite direction of where the diner is.
He waited until she’d disappeared around the corner before he followed her.
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By the time Brookeentered the gallery, she was clutching her bag tightly, holding on for dear life. She was more nervous than she’d cared to admit, even to herself. Maybe she should’ve asked Gavin to come with her; she was not looking forward to confronting Bill Norton. She hadn’t even let him know she was coming; he might not be here.
A quick glance around the gallery made it clear her paintings had been taken down. She walked farther into the big room before she spotted Bill. So he was here.
He’d been talking to two clients but the moment he saw her, he excused himself and walked toward her with a big, creepy smile. “Brooke, darling. What a lovely surprise. I—”
“I’m here to get my paintings, Bill. If you’d given them to the people I’ve arranged to pick them up, I wouldn’t have had to waste a whole day driving to Missoula. I’ve also emailed Lynda, so she’ll learn about your behavior as soon as she’s able to read her mails.”
His creepy smile didn’t waver. “Why so hostile? Getting an attorney to send me threatening letters—it is all so unnecessary! Lynda is on her cruise; we don’t have to bother her with this. I just wanted to see your lovely face again. I told you I like to have a more...intimate relationship with my artists.”
“I am not ‘your’ anything. My paintings, please?” She didn’t want to make a scene, but if that was what it was going to take to reach her goal, she had no qualms doing so.
“Of course, darling,” he said and put a hand on her shoulder. “I just have a form you need to sign. You do realize I couldn’t just hand over your paintings to anyone?”
