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  “Everything’s fine. You just surprised us,” Addison hurriedly moved to assure him. “Is it fishing night?”

  “It’s drinking night,” he announced, and then seeing Harper there, he amended his statement. “Root beers are best enjoyed on a fishing boat. I’ll let the others fish. If they catch anything decent, I may even let them feed me.”

  Addison smiled. “Have a good night.”

  He nodded and walked toward the front of the store, doubling back slightly when he saw her handiwork on the easel display. He stood there for several long seconds. “That looks a hell of a lot like a Dali to me. You know, maybe we should send them to Tampa for examination.”

  “No, I was playing with it, that’s all.”

  “You did this?” He seemed surprised. Shel’s heart skipped a beat as he continued to admire her work. “Good strokes, solid figures, nice space.” He removed his eyes from the painting and wagged his pudgy finger in Addison’s direction. “You could make great trouble for the art industry, young lady.”

  “I promise I will not,” she said. When he’d gone, she quietly added, “Again.”

  Shel was practically bursting. “You tell me how well this would work.”

  “Okay.” Addison motioned toward the dimly lit main gallery and two old rattan chairs where she could still keep an eye on Harper. They sat down opposite each other. “What’s your idea?”

  “Milford and I were talking about it. The best way to get and keep you and Harper safe is to get a confession out of your ex. He’s not going to do that for just anyone—”

  “But you think he’ll do it for me,” Addison interrupted. She automatically wrung her hands, touched her neck, all the things she did when she was nervous. Her neck reddening by the second, which didn’t do much to strengthen Shel’s confidence in a plan she was formulating on the spot.

  “Perhaps. If you return to him, throw yourself at his mercy, maybe we could get a full confession out of him, then you’d be off the hook.” Shel rolled her hand, an indication that she was shortcutting many important things. “The government has been dealing with art fraud for ages. They’ll take the bigger fish over the smaller.”

  “But I performed the actual forgeries.”

  “Under duress,” Shel reminded her. “You could ask for, and probably get, immunity for cooperation and your testimony.”

  Though she didn’t look at all certain of what was being explained, Addison quietly said, “He doesn’t want me back, he wants me dead.”

  Shel tried not to let the words rattle her, for there was much explaining to do, tremendous work ahead of them. “He would listen to you if you had the money or other leverage that was of value to him.”

  “I don’t have the money, I told you, and there are not enough fake Dali drawings to come close to making up for that. Then there’s a matter of finding a very sketchy auction house to fence the art even with decent fake documents, and he knows that. The return is small and it’s risky.”

  “Everything about this is risky,” Shel said, silencing her. She thought about the multiple drawings that were ready for discard. “Could you do the same thing for a few of those, just enough to show him you’d still do that? I’ll worry about how to fake the money. Maybe together it’ll make a nice package he can’t say no to. Can you try it?”

  Shel sympathized with her, knowing how hard it was to go back once you had your heart set on living a life with some integrity. She hated like anything asking her to forge one more piece of art. At last Addison quietly said, “I can do it.”

  “Good.” Shel leaned toward her, planted a kiss on her forehead. “I need you to trust me on this, okay sweetheart? We’re going all in. Now, let’s get that stuff in the car.”

  “The drawings?”

  “And the pencils and the easel—all of it.” Shel was already gathering the drawings, putting them in a stack. “Whatever it takes to make this happen and quickly.”

  Ten minutes later they’d loaded the car with supplies and were headed home. Addison was right, this much Shel knew. The risk was huge with no guarantee of payoff. The night ahead of them would be a long one.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Harper’s down for the count,” Shel proudly announced when she reentered the living room of Addison’s home. “It took three reads of The Little Engine that Could, but she’s finally asleep.”

  Addison had abandoned the easel and was now seated, hunched over the tiny kitchen table. Shel was only just noticing how frustrated she looked.

  “What’s wrong? You need more coffee?” Shel started toward the kitchen counter which now held the coffee machine she’d robbed out of her own rental house. “I can get you anything you’d like.”

  “I must say, you’re a lot more pleasant to forge for than my ex,” Addison said, raising smiling eyes to her girlfriend.

  Shel grimaced. “Please don’t…” Her painful-sounding voice trailed off. She shook her head. “This is for a good cause—the very best. We’ll never, ever do this again.”

  “I know.” Addison’s eyes returned to the paper laid out before her. “I’m struggling with some of the finer points. I think I’m just so tired.”

  “I know,” Shel quickly acknowledged. She took a seat next to her, shrugged and quietly said, “If there was anything I could do to help, I would.”

  “I know you would.” Addison grinned at her in the semi-dark house, another issue that wasn’t positively contributing to the extensive process. “We’re only on number three. I need a break.”

  “Take a break,” Shel said, secretly hoping it wouldn’t be a long one.

  “Can you go over this plan of yours again?” Addison sounded less than hopeful and Shel wondered if it was just tiredness. She prayed it was. “I just need time to get used to it. The idea of seeing him again…”

  “I know, honey,” Shel said. She cupped her fingertips over her lips for several minutes, deep in thought. At last she spoke. “It depends upon what kind of cooperation Milford can get us, but you’ll be wired when you pay him a surprise visit. You’ll appeal to his ego, tell him you’ve had a taste of the real world and you realize how good you had it.”

  “He won’t buy that.”

  “That’s when you show him your bag of money.”

  “That I don’t have,” Addison quickly put in.

  Shel half-heartedly nodded. “You’ll have…something.”

  “It better be real money because Richard doesn’t know much about detecting fake art, but he knows everything about real money.”

  “I can appreciate that, thank you,” Shel quietly said. It had been on her mind constantly. She continued, “I have a little bit of money, not much, but it’s in hundred-dollar bills in a backpack at home.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t trust banks.” She neglected to mention that the money also belonged to her ex. She continued, “I’m thinking we can band bundles of ones with hundred dollar-bills on the tops.”

  “He’ll flip right through it,” Addison quickly interjected.

  “The stack you hand him will be solid hundreds. You’ll give him a peek of the rest, but nothing more. You’ll tell him the rest is somewhere else—the same place you’re keeping Harper. That’s your leverage.”

  “This is a long shot.”

  “This whole plan is built on long shots. Let’s not focus on that aspect of things.” Shel felt troubled, but continued. “You’ll give him the money then you’ll show him the drawings which won’t speak to their value as much as it will to your willingness to keep up his ridiculous charade. Your drawings are nothing without his document skills and you’ll tell him that you need him. That should appease his fucked-up ego.”

  “He does want me to need him,” Addison quietly confessed. “I think if I’d have acted needier for him, I could have escaped some of his beatings.”

  Shel internally cringed, but tried not to let it sidetrack her from their plan.

  “Hopefully, he’ll buy the story, see the dra
wings and money—plus he’s got his pretty wife back—maybe he’ll see it as a winning package. You know Fortier better than I do.”

  Addison tipped her head slightly, a look of confusion coming to her face. “How do you know his last name?”

  Shel’s heart nearly stopped and she wondered if her luck had reached the end of the line. She blinked, smiled, stammered, “Y-you told me.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Honey, that first night with the wine…” Shel chuckled, more nervously than convincingly. “You told me a lot.”

  Addison seemed to consider this. She seemed to relax some. “Go on.”

  Still perturbed about her doubtful expression, Shel forged ahead with gusto. “If anything goes wrong, we’ll be nearby.”

  “Who? Can we count on the cops or the FBI?”

  “At very least you can count on Milford and you can definitely count on me.” Shel leaned close to her, whispered, “Please know you can count on me.”

  “I do,” she whispered back.

  “Good,” Shel said. She kissed her. “Good.”

  Their kissing escalated until they parted breathless. Shel collected the art tools with businesslike precision, neatly placing them on the kitchen countertop. She switched off the overhead light, leaving the room to the dim shadowy glow of the hallway nightlight. She patted the tabletop. “Come here.”

  Addison obediently did as she was told, gently perching her bottom on the wooden edge, waiting. Shel wrapped her arms around her, kissed her deeply. When their lips again parted, Shel sat down in the chair, quietly moving it close until she could nestle her face in her lover’s bosom. She kissed her there, slowly unbuttoning the paint shirt and shoving it down Addison’s bare shoulders. She gazed lovingly at the woman’s beauty.

  “Trust me,” she whispered. Addison nodded. Shel gently lifted and placed the palms of Addison’s hands on the tops of Shel’s thighs. She parted her legs in order to pull her close as possible, kissing everything within her reach—breasts, neck, belly, breasts again. Shel slipped a hand under Addison’s bottom and was pleased to find she was wet.

  They kissed slowly, deeply, all the while with Shel flicking teasing circles with her fingertips, not fully entering her. Addison’s movement against her grew more purposeful, leaning against the heel of Shel’s steady hand.

  “Come to me,” Shel whispered. “Trust yourself to let go.”

  Addison’s eyes closed, her rhythm slowed, her movement more thoughtful. Shel watched as each breath brought a sense of renewed trust, evidenced by the slow-growing intensity with every thrust. In moments she tensed and her stomach visibly quivered. Her breath caught, frozen until a small cry of release emerged from her lips until the last hard-earned orgasmic ripple passed through her. An invisible cloud of trust and love wound around them as Shel pulled her closer still. Addison’s body pitched forward, softly collapsing. Weeping, she rested her cheek against Shel’s shoulder.

  “I’ve got you. I’m here,” Shel whispered.

  After several minutes, she clasped her hand and assisted her down from the table. Thoughts of artwork long forgotten, she led Addison to the couch and shook out two soft throws draped there.

  “This will work. You’ll be safe,” she whispered. “I will keep you both safe. You’ll see.”

  With Addison curled against her side, they fell asleep in a nest of blankets.

  * * *

  A pounding on the front door awakened them too early. Shel leapt up, realized she was only partially clothed, and scrambled to assemble her wardrobe. Addison did the same behind her as Shel opened the front door as much as the chain guard would allow. It was Milford.

  “What time is it?” Shel asked.

  “Early,” Milford grunted. She glanced over her shoulder at the empty green house across the street. “Are we playing musical houses?”

  Shel closed and unchained the door to let the cop inside, but she didn’t leave the doorstep. In a gruff whisper, she said, “I need to talk to you. Pronto.”

  “Alone?” Shel was simultaneously surprised and concerned.

  “I have to get back to the station for roll call. Meet me on the patio of the Palm Pub in half an hour.”

  “Palm Pub…” Shel looked confused as to why she was meeting her at a bar.

  “Away from eyes and ears,” Milford told her. She started away, but turned back and locked eyes with Shel. Her expression was deadly serious. “Those girls go nowhere today, you hear? Not school, not work.”

  Shel’s stomach bottomed out as she heard herself say, “Understood.”

  She closed the door and turned to see Addison setting up her artwork at the table. Shel went to her, wrapped her in a surprisingly tight hug and whispered, “I have to go somewhere. Do something for me, no questions asked, promise?”

  Addison drew back slightly to see her girlfriend’s troubled expression. “Okay.”

  “Stay home today and don’t take Harper to daycare.” Shel touched her chin. “Work from home. Promise me?”

  It appeared for a moment as though Addison had planned to protest, but the look on Shel’s face instead had her agreeing. “Okay.”

  “That’s my girl,” Shel whispered, pressing a kiss on her forehead. She glanced at her watch. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

  Shel hugged her tightly once more before heading to the door. She turned with one last plea. “Promise me?”

  Addison nodded and watched her go.

  * * *

  Early as it was, the Palm Pub was still closed and Shel wondered why Milford would pick the place for their meeting. She selected a seat on the empty back patio and waited. Minutes later, Milford showed up bearing cups of coffee. She set one in front of Shel before taking a seat.

  Shel’s hands were unusually clammy and the coffee cup felt oddly hot against them. Milford peeled her plastic lid off and began dumping packets of sweetener in her cup. “We’ve got problems.”

  Shel didn’t answer, only nodded for her to continue.

  “I know you’re having a good time across the street in la-la land and all, but your girl is in trouble. A BOLO came across my desk today for Kathleen Fortier out of Louisiana. Kidnapping and extortion, believed to have fled to Florida.” She paused long enough to take a sip of coffee that was obviously too hot. She grimaced then continued. “Won’t be long before somebody recognizes a pretty face like hers. Interstate, federal offense—this is big-time.”

  “I’ve got to get her out of here,” Shel numbly said. She wiped the white out of the corners of her mouth. Her eyes darted from side to side. She wondered if they were truly alone.

  “Kid, listen to me. She can change her name and address as many times as she wants, but she can’t change a fingerprint. She’ll never own anything—not a house or a car or—”

  “I’ve thought of all that. I can find a way.”

  “Get real.” Milford found herself glancing around the vacant patio as well, her paranoia a reaction to Shel’s. “I hate to rain on your love parade, but what if she really is the nutjob her old man claims she is? Meanwhile, I find no real evidence against this Fortier guy. It’s not looking good.”

  “What about the underground network. You said they could be subpoenaed.”

  “They can’t offer a qualified opinion about her mental health.” Milford squared with her, shrugged. “Reality is that anyone with a good enough sob story can get into one of those networks. We both know it.”

  “And the dead clerk?” Shel was grasping. “Coincidence?”

  “Only he knows for sure, and he’s obviously not going to corroborate her story.”

  “But the paintings and the anonymous money showing up—”

  “Where’s your proof? It’s called anonymous for a reason. Now, you know how hard we’ve been trying to cobble a reasonable theory, but maybe there isn’t one. I hate to be the one to spell it out, but mentally off folks are very manipulative.” Milford’s tone dropped and she refused to release Shel from her stare. “And be
fore you cite her obvious change in income, know that crazy people need attention more than they need money.”

  Shel’s gaze locked with hers. “What about my instincts.”

  “You sure your instincts aren’t slightly tainted right now? It’s an attractive package, I admit, but you’re one of those types who want to swoop in and save the day, no offense.”

  She rubbed the creases in her forehead, felt a headache coming on. “You say her picture is circulating?”

  Milford nodded. “I wasn’t even looking for it.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Isn’t that enough?” Milford asked. She looked exasperated for her friend. “Look, kid, so you didn’t get your payday and you didn’t get your happy ending, but it’s not all bad. You got the heck outta Shreveport. Get yourself a job, pay your taxes, start over on the up and up with the world. I’ll handle Addison or Kathleen—whoever she is—from here. It’s off you. This is a brand of distressed damsel you can do without, no offense.”

  “And if I choose not to?” Then, although a clarification was wholly unnecessary, she added, “I…like her.”

  It felt like the understatement of the year.

  “Do we really need to have that conversation? All the like in the world can’t change a person’s guilt or innocence. It is what it is.” Milford sat up straight. “Naturally I’m obligated to uphold the law, so call this a little courtesy between friends. I’m decent like that.”

  Shel hadn’t touched her coffee, she felt dazed. “I need some time to think. Can you give me a couple of hours?”

  “You’re going to run for it, aren’t you?” For the moment, Milford looked like she hated herself. Her internal conflict was obvious. “I’ll give you until five. I’ll stop by for your answer. If you’re gone, I’ll know what it is.”

  “I know this goes against everything you believe in, Milford,” Shel muttered. She ran her hands through her hair. Her eyes were unfocused when she looked at the cop again. “I know that.”