Sea Haven 02 - Spirit Bound

permanently,” he announced firmly. “I’ve asked Judith to marry me and she’s said yes.”
    Judith’s hand tried to slip from his, but he held it tight. “You didn’t exactly ask me.”
    “Do you need me to go down on my knees? Because, for you, I could manage it.”
    Judith blushed. He’d been down on his knees in her kaleidoscope studio and there was no way to forget it. “No.” Her eyes went wide. “Thomas, I have to get back to my painting studio immediately. Otherwise all this artwork will be ruined.”
    “The paintings are insured,” Inez said soothingly. “It’s such a terrible desecration of your work, Judith, but if you’re worried about Frank and me, that’s the one thing we made certain of—that we kept up the insurance.”
    “I don’t understand,” Blythe said. “What happened?”
    “Someone broke in and vandalized the gallery,” Frank explained. “They took all of Judith’s artwork out of the frames and off the stretcher bars.”
    “I have to put them back on or the paint will be ruined,” Judith said.
    “Are you really going to marry Mr. Vincent? Because if you are, I’m calling him Thomas,” Inez said.
    “She’s going to marry me,” Stefan said. “She’s just being difficult because I haven’t found the perfect ring yet.” He carried Judith’s left hand to his mouth, his thumb pressing into the center over his mark on her.
    “I don’t care about the ring,” Judith said. “It’s just that you’ve swept me off my feet so fast I haven’t had time to think.”
    “Always the best way with a woman, right Frank?” Stefan looked for help.
    Frank reached over and took Inez’s hand. “I’ll have to agree with that. It took me quite a few years to reach the point where I realized if I was going to get my chance with this woman, I was going to have to just take it.”
    Inez blushed. “Silly man.” But she sounded pleased.
    “I’ll get Judith home so she can work on these paintings,” Stefan said. His hand slid down her spine to rest on the curve of her hip a bit possessively.
    “I don’t know how you’re going to get to your car without everyone mobbing you,” Blythe said. “Give me your car keys and I’ll bring it around for you.”
    When he’d stripped off his clothes, he’d tossed his wallet and car keys on the desk. He kissed Judith’s hand and moved around the counter to the other side of the desk. His wallet was in plain sight, but the keys had fallen between a stack of papers and a book. He reached for them, his gaze running a quick scan of the desk. It didn’t seem right to him. He’d looked at the books with Judith a few nights earlier, but when they’d left, everything had been stacked neatly. None of the officers had come around behind the counter.
    “Frank, did you or Inez touch anything on this desk today?”
    Frank shook his head. “When we came in and saw the paintings, we checked all the inventory after we called Jonas, and the safe, but we didn’t have money here and there isn’t anything of value in the desk. I just glanced at it.”
    “Someone’s gone through the papers since I was here the other night.”
    “Are you certain?” Judith asked, coming up behind him. She wrapped an arm around his waist and peered over his shoulder.
    “Yes.” He pushed her hand away when she reached for a paper. “Let me. After what happened earlier, I’m not taking any chances with you.”
    Using the end of a pencil, he pushed the papers around, separating each one. In the middle of the pile of invoices was a single photograph. Judith and Stefan were locking the door of the art gallery, Stefan’s body only inches from Judith’s, looking every inch possessive.
    Across the picture was a single line written with a black fine-point marker. Who is he, Judith?
    Stefan felt her shock. Her body stiffened, fingers curling hard into his shoulder, nails biting deep.
    Oh God, Thomas, it’s him. I know it’s him.
    Her voice trembled and stark images of her brother’s death pushed into his mind. At once the room filled with overwhelming sadness and sheer terror. Judith had gone pale, but Frank and Inez actually staggered, reaching out for chairs.
    Easy angel. Take a breath. Focusing and breathing through that sudden violent storm of emotion was difficult.
    He palmed the photograph and casually turned, pulling her into his arms and sliding the picture into his pocket with practiced smoothness.
    Jean-Claude’s in France. In prison. Who could