Ian smiled, clutching his hands in front of him. “See, I told you everything would be all right.” It took every ounce of his determination not to reach out and touch her. Her fingers trembled and he fought the urge to gather her hands in his and press them against his body. “You’ll do fine. These agents know what they’re doing. You’ll be safe.”

“Are you going to be there?”

“I don’t know,” Ian said. “I hope so.”

“After I do this, it will be over, won’t it?”

He nodded and smiled. “And then you can get on with your life.”

“My life,” she repeated. “What if they change their minds? What if David tells them my father-”

“It’s all right. I heard them make the offer. Once you do this, there will be papers to sign. You won’t have to worry, your father will be safe.”

“The FBI thinks David’s been running this scam for years, selling bogus art. He started out with small stuff, then gradually moved on to the more valuable pieces. My father will have to testify about the art he copied, but that should be the end of it. I’m not going to let them know where he is until everything is official,” she said. “They can’t make me.”

A single tear trickled down her cheek and she brushed it away. Ian needed to take her into his arms, to soothe and protect her. He was the one who had talked her into this and now he was watching her crumble before his eyes.

“You’d tell me if they were trying to trick me, wouldn’t you?”

He nodded, then shoved his chair back from the table. “You look like you could use some air, Miss Arantes,” Ian said. “Would you like to step outside for a few minutes?” She shook her head, but Ian persisted. “Really. You look pale, Miss Arantes.”

“I-I guess I could use some air,” she finally said, meeting Ian’s gaze. She stood up and Ian followed her out.

They passed Agent DiMarco in the hallway and Ian pulled him aside. “She’s feeling a bit overwhelmed. I’m just going to take her out back for some fresh air. She’ll be fine.”

“I’ll take her,” DiMarco said.

Marisol held up her hand. “No, I’ll be all right with Chief Quinn. I just need a moment to myself. I’m not going to run away.”

Agent DiMarco considered her request for a long moment, then nodded. “Just for a few minutes. Then we need to go over a few more things and get you wired up.”

Ian rested his hand on the small of Marisol’s back as he steered her toward the back entrance of the police station. The rear parking area was fenced and completely hidden from the street. The moment the door closed behind them, he took her hand and pulled her over into the shadows. “Are you all right?” he murmured, cupping her face in his palms.

Marisol nodded. “I’m a little nervous. What if I can’t do this? I’ve never been very good at lying.”

Ian bent close, then kissed her, his fingers furrowing through her hair. It was the only way he knew to reassure her, and himself. She leaned into his body as his tongue delved into her mouth, so sweet and warm.

“It’ll be all right,” he whispered against her lips. “After it’s over, it’ll just be us again.”

Those words seemed to calm her nerves and she surrendered herself to his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. Ian’s hands skimmed over her back and then circled her waist, lifting her up off her feet until her whole body was pressed against his.

“Take me away from here,” Marisol pleaded. “I don’t want to do this.”

Ian drew back and looked down into her face, just barely illuminated by the lights from the nearby parking lot. “I will,” he said. “If you really want me to, I will.”

She blinked in surprise at his response. “But you’d get in trouble. Wouldn’t you lose your job?”

“Maybe. I’d probably be arrested, too. But you’re more important to me than my job.”

“Don’t say that,” she murmured, shaking her head. Marisol took a deep breath, then straightened. “I can do this. I’ll be all right. You don’t have to worry.”

“And why can’t I worry?” he asked, aware of the sudden distance between them. Why was she suddenly pushing him away?

“This is my problem and I’m the one responsible. I don’t want you to bear any of the consequences.”

“Damn it, Marisol, we’re in this together now. The moment you told me the truth, it became our problem.”

“And this is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you,” she shouted, yanking out of his grasp. “I didn’t want it to be your problem.”

Ian cursed softly, leaning back against the brick wall of the station. “So what? Then I’m not allowed to care about you? This is what a relationship is about, Marisol. We help each other, we support each other. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” she murmured, refusing to meet his gaze.

He reached out and tipped her face up to his. “You’re allowed to care about me,” he said. “It’s all right. This stopped being all about sex a long time ago. I think you know that but you’re afraid to admit it.”

“I-I should go back in,” she said.

“Yes,” Ian said. “You probably should.”

She turned and hurried to the door. Ian faced the wall, bracing his hands over his head and drawing a deep breath of the warm night air. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to care the way he did about Marisol, but he sure as hell couldn’t stop himself.

He strode to the door, then paused before he opened it. When this was all over, he planned to let Marisol know exactly how he felt about her. And if she still refused to see him as anything more than a lover, then he’d have to find a way to change her mind.

MARISOL’S HEART slammed in her chest as she reached for the lock on the gallery door, fighting back a surge of nerves. She resisted the temptation to glance back at the rear of the gallery where Agent DiMarco had hidden himself in the storage room. Outside, Ian and Agent Phillips were parked a half block away in an unmarked car, recording everything her microphone picked up.

She felt completely alone and vulnerable. In truth, she’d wanted Ian inside the gallery, but the FBI agents had said no. She reached for the door again, then drew a deep breath to calm her nerves. She’d only have one chance at this, once chance to make it all right, one chance at a future with Ian Quinn.

Gathering her courage, she swung open the door. David waited on the other side. “Hello, Marisol.” He leaned forward to kiss her, but she avoided his touch, stepping aside to let him enter. “I’m glad you called. I knew you couldn’t stay angry at me forever.”

“This isn’t a social call,” she said. “You’re here on business.”

“What are you talking about?” David asked.

“I have what you were looking for,” she replied. “It arrived by messenger last week.”

David chuckled, but there was little humor in the sound. “So you were lying to me when I was here last?”

“I didn’t know what I had until I unwrapped it. The minute I did, I realized that it was the Emory Colter from the Templetons’ house. So, is it an original?”

“That depends,” he said. “On whether you decided to switch it with the painting in Newport. You see, that’s what I was counting on. I suspected your father had sent you the painting. He never had the stomach for my little intrigues. And I knew, once you received it, you’d figure out what you had. And I hoped you’d exchange it for the one in the Templetons’ library.”

“Because this is the fake,” Marisol said.

“Is it?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t switch the paintings. See, you don’t know me nearly as well as you thought you did.” Marisol drew a deep breath, knowing that she’d have to get him to talk more. The agents had pressed her to get as much from him as she could, but questioning him about what he’d done seemed so clumsy. “Why did you do it?”

“Come on, Marisol. The Templetons, and people like them, are the kind of collectors artists hate. They don’t collect for the love of art, they collect because it’s the fashionable thing to do, a way to keep up with their billionaire friends. They’re only interested in how good the investment is. They don’t appreciate the beauty of what they’ve just acquired.”

“So that’s why you swindle them? Because they deserve it?”

“Well, don’t they?”

“Why did you give my father the painting?”

“Because I knew he’d send it to you. And if it was intercepted, I could deny ever knowing anything about it. He makes quite the dupe.”

Marisol knew this was the moment when she’d have to keep it together. She’d never been much of an actress, but she tried to imagine how she’d react if Ian hadn’t gotten to her first. “How much did you pay him?”

David laughed. “Nothing. He wanted to do it for you. We were engaged and he wanted to give you a beautiful wedding. Of course, any money I made I promised would go back to you. He was silly enough to believe me. But in the end, it didn’t make a difference. The painting he gave me was unusable. I had to find someone else to make the copy.” He paused. “You know, the funny thing was, he never even noticed. He couldn’t tell the difference between what he’d painted and the painting I sent him. Lucky thing or he might not have been so anxious to help me.”

Marisol tried to contain her relief. Her father hadn’t been involved. He was safe, and in a few moments, she would be safe, too. She pointed to the crate sitting up against the wall. “Take it and get out. I don’t ever want to see you again. And if you ever try to contact my father, I’ll call the authorities.”

He grabbed her arm and pinched it so tightly, Marisol cried out. “Don’t threaten me,” he warned. With that, he released her, then grabbed the crate and dragged it to the door. “Nice doing business with you, Mari.”

When the door shut behind him, Marisol slowly sank to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest. A shudder raced through her body and she swallowed back a surge of tears. “He’s gone,” she said, knowing that Ian and the agents were listening.