Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

shop.”
    The twists and turns Lacey took them through showed Ian a bit of the pre–World War Two California he found in old Westerns. He had to stare past rows of parked cars to see it, but at least it was there.
    “Look at that little cottage,” he said. “Isn’t it great?”
    Lacey glanced at the run-down place that someone had turned into a tattoo parlor. The picket fence was more memory than reality. The tiny window gardens were bare of all but a few tough weeds. The small wooden porch sagged at one corner. So did the steps leading up to the door.
    “Heaven help them if the termites all sneeze at once,” Lacey said.
    “It has great lines,” Ian said.
    “So does a mummy. Turn left into the alley, then right.”
    “Are you saying you don’t feel the poetry in that old cottage?” Ian asked.
    “That’s what I’m saying.”
    “Thank God.”
    She gave him a questioning look.
    “I was afraid you were perfect,” he explained.
    Susa laughed and decided January Marsh was right—Ian should come with warning labels.
    “If Shayla isn’t here, you can park in back,” Lacey said. “Otherwise, just let me out.” She stretched to look around Ian’s wide shoulders. “She’s still here.”
    “You sure you won’t have dinner?” Ian asked.
    She hesitated, then sighed and did the right thing. “I have to help Shayla with inventory. But thanks.”
    Ian double-parked and put on the emergency flashers so that he could help Lacey unload her gear.
    “You stay with the truck,” Lacey said as she slid across the bench seat. “Newport supports itself on parking tickets. I’ll be right back.”
    She made several trips into the store with fresh field studies while Ian sorted out the rest of her things from Susa’s. When it was down to an easel and a box of brushes stacked against a box of oils, Lacey ran up and gathered everything into her arms. “Thanks for everything.”
    “Wait. Don’t forget these,” Ian said, holding out two bottles of champagne.
    “What? They’re not mine. They cost a fortune!”
    “Susa has two more in her suite refrigerator, compliments of the management,” he said.
    “Then you take them.”
    “Champagne and side arms don’t mix.”
    Lacey blinked. She kept forgetting that this easy-laughing, gentle-smiling man wore a gun beneath his denim jacket. She shifted on the sidewalk, getting a better grip on her gear—and herself.
    He tucked the two bottles of expensive bubbly into her arms. “Don’t drink it all it once.”
    She tilted her head and looked at him with clear brown eyes. “Do you always wear a gun?”
    He smiled slowly. “I’ve been known to take it off for close friends.”
    “Here.” She nudged one of the bottles out of her arms. “Go get close to a friend.”
    He caught the bottle before it hit the sidewalk and became a pricey pile of foam and broken glass. “How long will you and your partner be working on that inventory?”
    “Until it’s done or we go nucking futz.”
    “Now that I’d pay to see.” He brushed her stubborn shiny curl aside and kissed the spot on her eyebrow where the curl had been. At the same time, he tucked a piece of paper into the pocket of her wildly colorful jacket. “If you decide you need help, that’s my cell phone number.”
    “Help with the inventory?” she asked, shivering at the warmth of his breath feathering over her temple.
    “With anything at all. Okay?”
    Hesitantly she nodded.
    “Call me, no matter what the time,” he said. “I’m used to it.”
    “Women calling you?”
    He smiled and wished the time and place were different. But they weren’t. “No. Odd calls at odd hours from odd people.”
    “Are you calling me odd?”
    “Yeah.”
    She blew back the stray curl. “Good call. And good night.”
    Ian waited until Lacey went through the shop door before he slid behind the wheel of the truck, turned to Susa, and said, “Well?”
    “She didn’t forge those three paintings.”
    He let out a long breath. “Thank you, God.”
    “Didn’t want to seduce a crook in the line of duty, even an appealing one?” Susa asked, partly joking and mostly not.
    Ian turned off the flashers and drove carefully down the narrow street.
    Susa waited for an answer.
    “I’m real picky about who I get naked with,” Ian said in a level tone. “So you’re saying she isn’t good enough to have painted those Martens or whatever the hell they are?”
    “She’s talented, no doubt about it. If she keeps painting,