Kate Hoffmann - Ian

“There is no other way. Not without involving my father. He’s a convicted art forger. If he gets caught again, he’ll probably spend the rest of his life in prison.”

“All right,” Ian said. “There has to be another way. I need a little time to think about it. Just don’t do anything rash.” He paused. “Where is the painting now?”

She smiled. “I shouldn’t tell you.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “But you will.”

“It’s under your bed,” she said.

He stared at her in disbelief. “What?”

“I brought it over here the other night and left it in the kitchen. After you were asleep I put it under the bed. It seemed like the safest place and David would never think to look here. By the way, there’s a lot of dust under there. You really should vacuum once in a while.”

“So now I am in the middle of this, right along with you?”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t know what else to do. And I wasn’t going to tell you, so if you hadn’t handcuffed us together, you would have never known.”

“And you just planned to keep sleeping with me until it came time to retrieve the painting?”

“I wasn’t using you,” she insisted. “Believe it or not, I like sleeping with you-and all the other stuff, too.”

Ian laughed. “Do not try to sweet-talk me.”

“If you want, I’ll take the painting back to the gallery. You can forget it was ever there.”

“No,” he said. “Barnett tried to get it once. Who’s to say he won’t try again? I want the painting here and I want you here. I don’t trust him, Marisol. He’s got himself in deep shit and a man like him can get desperate. If he goes down, he’s going to take you and your father with him. We have to figure out a way to stop that.”

“We?” she asked.

Ian nodded. “We. You and I.”

A smile curled the corners of her mouth. “I like the way that sounds.”

Ian rolled on top of her, pressing his hips against hers, his shaft hard between them. “And I like the way you feel,” he teased. “All soft and sweet.” He nuzzled her neck. “Promise me you won’t do anything until you give me a chance to help you. Maybe I can work something out.”

“I promise,” she said, giggling. “Do you think you can unlock the handcuffs now?”

“No way. I’m keeping you in this bed as long as I want. In fact, I may just call in and take a day off.”

“Are you sure this isn’t against the law?” Marisol asked.

“Yes,” he murmured, kissing her neck. “But what I’m about to do to you just might be.”

IAN STOOD at the conference table in Declan’s office, staring at the painting he’d pulled from beneath his bed. It wasn’t much to look at, at least not compared to Marisol’s paintings. This seemed like a bunch of splotches on canvas.

All this fuss for something a kid might have painted. Though he’d learned to appreciate fine art, he still didn’t understand why it was worth so damn much. After all, this was maybe thirty dollars worth of materials. A nice car had more in it in parts, yet sold for a lot less.

“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Both Ian and Declan stared in disbelief at Richard Christiansen, an art expert Declan had called in to meet with them. “What?” Ian gasped.

“Two hundred and fifty thousand,” Christiansen repeated. “If it were an original Emory Colter. But it’s not.”

“Of course not,” Ian muttered, covering his surprise. “What would I be doing with a painting worth that much?”

Dec watched from nearby, his gaze darting back and forth between Christiansen and the painting, his mind obviously intent on figuring out what was going on.

“What can you tell us about it?” Dec asked.

The expert bent over the painting and examined it through a magnifying glass. “Where did you get this?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,” Ian replied. “It’s part of an ongoing police investigation.”

The elderly man stepped back and rubbed his goatee thoughtfully. “Well, it’s definitely a forgery. A very clever forgery.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m quite familiar with Colter’s work. In fact, I knew him very well before he died. He spent his summers in Newport and did some of his finest work there. I don’t want to brag, but I’m considered the leading expert on Colter’s early work.”

Ian smiled tightly. He’d asked Dec to find him an art expert, and as always, Dec had known exactly who to call. Leave it to him to find the one guy who just might ask too many questions along with the answers he provided.

“You know, it’s funny, but I was called upon to authenticate this very painting just last year. I couldn’t. I was out of the country.”

“So, you’re sure this is a forgery?” Ian asked.

Christiansen nodded. “Although I can’t tell you whoever did the painting had malicious intentions. Some collectors, especially corporations, have a copy done and they hang that in their corporate offices. The insurance is simply too high to put a valuable painting in a place that isn’t as secure as a museum. The public gets to enjoy what they believe is an original while the original is tucked away in a vault for investment purposes. I can’t say I approve of the practice, but it is done.”

“So who could do work like this?” Ian asked.

“There’s a number of artists. Do you want the artists operating on the right or the wrong side of the law?” he asked.

“Start with the wrong,” Dec said.

“No,” Ian interrupted. “I really don’t need to know. All I wanted was to learn if the painting was an original. I have my answer.”

“Ah, yes, well back to that. I’m afraid there’s more. In most cases, the insurance company will take a photo of the borders for comparison when determining provenance and authenticity.”

“The borders?” Ian asked.

“The edges. When a painting is framed, the public can’t see the border. These are also hidden from view if the painting is reproduced or photographed. However, if the forger is in the presence of the real painting or a photo of the unframed painting, then a comparison of the borders is useless. In my opinion, this forger, or copyist, if you will, was working from the real painting, which might lead one to believe this had been commissioned by the owner of the painting.”

“So how can you tell it’s a forgery?” Dec asked.

“Because I have one bit of knowledge other appraisers don’t. It’s something Emory Colter told me long ago, something he always adds to each of his paintings, so he himself can recognize an original from a copy.”

“What’s that?” Ian asked.

“I can’t tell you. If I did, I wouldn’t be the foremost expert on Emory Colter. Suffice it to say I am positive this is not an original Emory Colter. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

“What is it worth?” Ian asked.

“Maybe three or four thousand,” he said. “Whatever the commission was and a good reproduction doesn’t come cheap. However, if you do decide to sell it, you should-”

“Sell it?”

“Yes. If you plan to sell it, you must make sure the copy was authorized by the artist or his estate. If Emory Colter sold the reproduction rights to that painting, the owner can make all the copies he wants and it doesn’t break the law. If someone other than the owner makes a copy, that’s a different story.”

Ian reached out and shook the elderly man’s hand. “Thank you. I appreciate your help. I’d ask you keep this information confidential. This is an ongoing investigation.”

“Of course, of course. I’m a bit of a crime buff myself. Always fancied I’d make a good detective. You will let me know what this was all about after you’ve arrested the perps, won’t you?”

Ian held back a chuckle. “Yes, after we catch the perps, I’ll be sure to call you.”

Dec showed the appraiser out of the office and, a few moments later, returned with a grim expression on his face. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

“That guy watches too many cop shows. The perps? I usually just call them the suspects. Skells, perps, scumbags. Makes them sound so glamorous. They’re criminals.”

“Speaking of criminals, where did you get that painting?” Dec held up his hand. “Never mind, I can guess where you got it. Why did you bring it here?”

“I needed to know what it was,” Ian murmured. With a frustrated groan, he rubbed his eyes with his hands. “Just give me a moment or two to think this out.”

Everything that he thought he knew had suddenly been turned upside down. Marisol intended to switch the original for the forgery. But she was in possession of the forgery, so that could only mean, she was after the original. Unless, she wasn’t aware that the painting in her possession was the forgery. Perhaps, she thought it was the original.

“Did you get this from Marisol-”

Ian looked up. “Don’t. The less you know, the better. I’m already in deeper than I care to be.”

“I read the file. I know that Hector Arantes was convicted of art forgery and served ten years. He’s out of prison now, and from the looks of things, he’s up to his old tricks again. But how you got one of his forgeries, well…I figure his daughter must be mixed up in this. And you’re mixed up with his daughter.” Dec chuckled. “I saw the photo in the file. She’s beautiful, I’ll give her that.”

“I’m not mixed up with her. Do you really think I’d be stupid enough to get involved with someone I suspect is breaking the law?”

Dec considered the question, then shook his head. “No,” he finally said. “If I know one thing about you, Ian, you follow the rules, to the letter. So how did you get the painting?”

“She hid it, I borrowed it. I had to check it out for myself. I just didn’t expect it to be a copy.”

“You thought it was the original?”

Ian nodded. “She said it was. I guess either she was lying to me or she doesn’t really know.”

“You’d better find out.” Dec clapped him on the back, then walked over to a low cabinet set against the wall. He opened a door to reveal a small refrigerator, then pulled out two bottles of orange juice, tossing one in Ian’s direction. “So, why don’t you tell me about the girl,” he suggested.