Marisol looked into Ian’s eyes, searching for the truth in his words. She’d trusted him once and he’d helped her. She had to trust him again. “But how will we do this?” she said. “Don’t I have to tell them what he did?”

“No,” Ian said. “I have a plan.”

Marisol moaned, shaking her head. “Not another plan. I can’t do another plan. I like my plan. It’s so simple. Call David, give him the painting. One, two, it’s over.”

“It won’t be difficult,” he assured her. “I’ll be with you the whole way. It will be the right thing to do.”

“What is the FBI going to say when they find out the police chief of Bonnett Harbor has been sleeping with the daughter of an infamous art forger?”

“We’re not going to tell them that part,” Ian said.

“What are we going to tell them?”

He reached down and hooked her chin with his finger, then kissed her gently. “We’ll leave all that to later,” he murmured. “I have other things on my mind right now.”

“What?”

Ian traced a line along her shoulder, down her arm to her wrist. “I was thinking you might want to crawl into bed with me and see what happens?”

A tiny smile twitched at her lips. Things had changed between them. The trust between them had been tested and it had survived. And for the first time, she could see a future with Ian. She needed him, now more than ever. “I know what will happen,” Marisol said, taking his hand and leading him to the bedroom.

“You’re not going to let me sleep. You’re going to keep me awake all night long. And tomorrow, I’m going to be too tired to talk to the FBI.”

“Now there’s a plan,” she said.

“You don’t think I can control myself?” Ian said. “I can have you in my bed and do nothing but sleep.”

“Well, that would be a waste, wouldn’t it?” Marisol asked.

“All right, let’s see who has the most self-control.” Ian grabbed the towel she’d wrapped around her and tugged it off her body. “Come on,” he said as he dried himself with her towel. “Let’s just go to bed and see who falls asleep first.”

Marisol knew he was just teasing, but she decided to go along with the game. If he was determined to prove a point, then she’d do her best to disprove it. It wouldn’t take more that a simple caress to shake his resolve.

She snatched the towel from his hands and dried her wet hair, then crawled into his bed. He lay down beside her, tugging the sheet up around his waist.

“See, no problem.”

“You’re not asleep yet,” she said.

Marisol rolled over on her side and watched him, but Ian refused to look at her. “I see you’re very determined.” She held her hand over his chest, hovering just above his skin. “I won’t touch you then.” She ran her hand down, holding it over his crotch. Then, Marisol began to move her palm back and forth, as if she were stroking him.

It took no time at all for him to react, his growing erection pressing against the sheets. She smiled in satisfaction. “Oh, my. What could that be?”

With a low growl, Ian reached out and grabbed her, pulling her on top of him. “You are a bad, bad girl,” he said.

“Just remember, you touched me first,” she countered. “So I guess I win.”

“Can I give you your prize now?” Ian asked.

Marisol giggled. This was what she loved about Ian, these moments when she could be completely herself, when the world fell away and it was just them. She was falling in love with him, and every day, the feelings simply grew stronger and stronger.

Bonnett Harbor was supposed to be a fresh start for her, a place to escape a relationship gone bad. But instead, it had been a destination, a place for her to find something special, something real. And maybe something lasting.

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND what to do if you feel your life is in danger, Miss Arantes?”

Ian watched from behind the one-way glass, his gaze fixed on Marisol’s face. She was scared and he had serious doubts she’d heard anything the two FBI agents had said to her since they’d sat down in the small interview room earlier that afternoon. Her fingers kept fluttering to her throat, as she kept her eyes on the microphone set in front of her.

“David Barnett is a desperate man,” the female agent explained. “We don’t know how far he’s willing to go to get what he wants. We believe the buyer waiting for this particular painting is a highly placed member of the Japanese mob. If Barnett doesn’t deliver, then he’d be in serious danger.”

“I-I don’t think he would hurt me,” Marisol said, looking up at Agent Phillips.

“But if he does try, what do you say?” Agent DiMarco asked.

She turned to the male agent. “I say, ‘My father is a good man.’ And then I wait for you to come in. When you do, I duck for cover as fast as possible.”

“Good girl,” Ian murmured to himself. But would she remember once she was alone with Barnett? Did she have the courage to pull this plan off? And did he have the fortitude to sit back and watch as she did it?

It had taken every ounce of his resolve to walk away from her, to leave her in the care of the two FBI agents. But he and Marisol had agreed on the story they would tell. It was the truth, they could both swear to it, although it wasn’t the whole truth.

He’d convinced her of the strategy late last night, lying in bed with her wrapped in his arms. After she’d agreed, they’d carefully mapped out how they were going to make it work. Everything depended on Marisol reacting exactly as she should have the day she opened the painting.

Ian had left for the station early that morning, and an hour later, Sascha had arrived with her car. She and Marisol had loaded the painting and driven it to the Bonnett Harbor police station, where Ian had been waiting.

Like clockwork, Sally had called him from his office, announcing that Marisol Arantes was waiting in the lobby with a rather large crate. And from there, Ian did everything a good police chief would do. He interviewed Marisol, asked pointed questions about the painting and her father, checked out her facts and wrote his report. And then, right on schedule, he had called in the FBI.

Ian had expected to wait at least a day or two for a response, but to his surprise, the mention of David Barnett’s name brought instant interest. Within three hours, two agents had arrived from the New York office, anxious to interview Marisol.

She’d been with them for almost two hours now and Ian could see exhaustion in every expression, in every movement. Agent DiMarco pushed back from the table and walked out of the room. A few seconds later, the door to the observation room opened. “We’re going to go on this tonight,” he said.

Ian gasped. “Tonight? Come on, you can see she’s exhausted. Give her a chance to calm down and get some sleep. You can do it tomorrow.”

Agent DiMarco shook his head. “The longer we wait, the more Barnett is going to suspect it’s a setup. Her nervousness can work to our advantage. Agent Phillips is going to get her wired up and then we’re going to have her call Barnett and ask him to meet her at the gallery.”

“He’s in town,” Ian said.

Agent DiMarco frowned. “And you know this because?”

“When she mentioned his name in our interview, I figured I better find out where he was and what he was doing. So I put out an APB on his car. He’s staying across the bay in Newport. I’ve got an unmarked car watching his room. If he leaves, we’ll know about it.”

“Good,” Agent DiMarco said, smiling appreciatively. “I wish all local law enforcement was as thorough as you’ve been.”

Ian felt a prickle of guilt at accepting the compliment. If the FBI had any idea what Ian really knew, he’d be in that interview room and the questions would not be friendly. In any other situation, Ian would question his ethics. But the fact was, Marisol hadn’t been guilty of anything more than loving her father and wanting to protect him. And Ian hadn’t been guilty of anything more than feeling the same toward Marisol. Going in, he knew the potential consequences if they were found out, but he was willing to risk his career for Marisol.

“I ordered something for her to eat,” Ian said. “Can I take it to her?”

“Sure,” DiMarco said. “We’ll have her call Barnett and set up the meeting for 9:00 p.m. at her gallery. We’ll take her back there and get her set up after she’s eaten.”

Ian grabbed the paper bag Sally had delivered from the diner and walked out of the observation room. He nodded at Agent Phillips as he passed her in the hallway, then heard Sally call him from the door of his office.

“There you are,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know that Delaney and Wilson answered a call last night at the Sandpiper about a supposed car theft. Turns out Eden Ross was staying there.”

Ian frowned. “Eden Ross?”

“Yes,” Sally said. “Remember you told me to tell you if any of us heard anything about her? Well, she was-”

“Did Delaney and Wilson write up a report?”

Sally nodded. “It turns out that the car that was the object of the theft belonged to Trevor Ross and the suspected thieves were really tabloid photographers. We tracked the call through the motel switchboard and we’re sure it came from her room.”

“I don’t have time for this now,” Ian said. “Call Dec's cell phone an give him the info. He’s the one who’s looking for her.”

Ian entered the interview room and sat down across the table from Marisol, his back to the mirrored window. Tears swam in Marisol’s eyes as she gazed at him.

“They’re probably watching us,” he whispered. “And listening.” Ian pulled a can of soda pop from the bag, opened it and placed it in front of her. “How are you doing?”

“They knew all about David Barnett,” she said. “They’ve been building a case against him. And they knew my father was involved. And they thought I was involved, too, because of my relationship with David.” She took a quick sip of the soda. “If I help them, they promised not to prosecute my father.”