When that dried, she’d remove the mother mold, cut the rubber away from the clay. She would have the negative image, and could pour the wax replica.
She decided she’d wait until she reached that stage before booking the foundry she used on the mainland. Pouring the wax replication took several steps, then she’d need to chase that—repair imperfections, remove seams and mold lines.
Painstaking, but she preferred doing her own wax chasing as she’d learned in Florence.
But by then, even with the steps that followed, she’d have a good sense of when she’d be ready to have it poured.
Sipping water, she turned toward her board, and the faces that waited. Time, she thought, to get back to her mission. A walk on the beach to clear her head, then she’d go back to work.
*
Reed walked Barney home in air soft with spring. Buildings, many freshly painted for the season, stood in soft roses, bright blues, quiet yellows and greens. Sort of like a garden, with touches of more in baskets of pansies or window boxes spilling with—he didn’t really know, but it looked nice.
Walking instead of driving reaped benefits. People along his stroll knew him now, stopped to have a word, ask a question. The best way, in his mind, to weave yourself into the fabric of a community was regular visibility—and compliments on flowerpots, paint, a new hairstyle didn’t hurt.
Barney still shied, but not as much, and not with everyone. The dog had his favorites on their comings and goings.
Barney’s top favorite—and Reed’s—got out of her car in his driveway as they approached. Barney let out a happy yip, wagged all over, so Reed unclipped the leash and let him go.
“Perfect timing.” Simone bent down to rub and stroke. Her gaze tracked up, amused. “Nice hat, Chief.”
“I like it. Donna gave it to me.”
“Donna?” Now her brows shot up as she straightened. “Well, well. You are accepted.”
“Seems like it.”
“Congratulations,” she said, moving in, winding around him, and capturing his mouth in a long, deep, steamy kiss.
“Wow. That’s an amazing way to end the workday.”
“I had a really good workday myself, so.” She kissed him again until he fisted a hand on the back of her shirt.
“Why don’t we just—”
“Mmm-mm.” She gave his bottom lip a quick bite. “Things to do first. You can carry in the supplies.”
“We have supplies?”
“We have pasta salad—another draw from my limited culinary repertoire— and some marinated chicken breasts—courtesy of CiCi. She says if you don’t know how to grill chicken, Google it.”
“I can do that, and supply the wine.”
He got out the bag as she took a square package out of the other side. He’d seen enough of them now to recognize a wrapped painting.
“What’s that?”
“Your mermaid, as promised. Get me that wine, I’ll unveil her.”
“Hot damn.” He smiled over at her as they started inside—across the porch he’d—with Cecil’s and Mathias’s help—painted orchid. “You must’ve had a really good workday.”
“I did. How about you?”
“Let’s get that wine, then we’ll talk about it.”
He’d started to develop a taste for wine, so he poured two glasses while she unwrapped the painting.
It was maybe eighteen inches square, and full of light. Blue skies blurred pink and gold at the horizon, blue water streaked with those rich tones.
But the mermaid was the star.
She sat on a stand of rocks at water’s edge, her tail a treasure of gleaming blues and greens with touches of iridescent gold. She ran a gold comb through waving masses of red hair, which spilled over bare breasts, back, torso. Her face was turned toward the onlooker.
And that face, he thought, eerily beautiful, exotic, bold green eyes all-knowing, the perfect lips curved in a sensual smile as water sprayed white against the rocks.
“She’s … wow. One sexy mermaid.”
“CiCi framed her—she’s better at that than I’ll ever be. Let’s go put her up.”
“In a minute. First, one more wow, and thanks.” He set the painting down, drew her in for another kiss. Held her an extra moment.
“I think you didn’t have such a good workday.”
“That depends on your perspective. I want to get this said and done so we can put it aside, and just be.” He eased back. “I got another card this morning.”
“Oh God.”
“Wait now. What this tells me is: She’s still hung up on me, and has lost her main focus. She’s letting emotion and personal bitchiness get in the way. She’s given us that trail, Simone, communicating rather than concentrating on evading only. That’s a plus for us.”
“She wants to kill you.”
“She tried once,” he reminded her. “I always knew she’d try again. Now, instead of letting it all lie, then coming at me when I’m unprepared, she’s giving me a trail and a time line. Not just me, but the FBI. Jacoby’s all over this.”
“If you’re trying to placate me—”
“I’m not. She’s one dangerous, crazy, bloodthirsty psychopath. You’re not only on the island, too, you’re with me on the island. She wouldn’t know that second part yet, but she’ll figure it out, and she’ll want both of us. I’m not placating you.”
“That’s clear now.” Simone blew out a breath. “Tell me about the card.”
“This one was a ‘Thinking of You’ deal,” he began, and ran it through, took out his phone, showed her.
“And the lock of hair again,” Simone added. “It’s not McMullen’s, is it? That’s been too long a gap.”
“McMullen, for whatever reasons, hit another category for her.”
“It’s poor Tracey’s, isn’t it?”
“That’s my take. Forensics will confirm.”
“I barely knew her, and only through Mi, but…” She had to take a moment, steady herself. “That link to me, links her to me. It’s harder than the others because of that.”
He brushed a hand over her hair. “I love you. This island’s my home—I even have a dog to prove it. The people who live here, who come here, they’re my responsibility now. I need you to trust me, trust I’ll take care of all of it.”
She thought of the sculpture, the heart of it. She’d created it because she knew who he was. “I do trust you. You’ll make her pay for Tracey and all the others, and that makes it easier. I’m glad you told me first, so we can put it away.”
“Good. Let’s do that. Put this away, and have a normal evening.”
“Normal sounds just right.”
“Okay then.” He scooped her off her feet, heading for the stairs.
“What’s this?”
“This is me, Rhett Butlering you up the stairs and into bed.”
“That’s a normal evening?”
“That’s how I see it.”
He made the turn, dumped her on the bed, dropped down to cover her. “You started it. Driveway kiss. So now I have to finish it.”
Barney, who’d witnessed this behavior before, padded over to his bed with his toy, settled down to wait it out.
“Big talk. Maybe I like to finish what I start.”
“You’ll get the chance.” He lowered his mouth to hers, let the kiss spin and spin and spin out.
Everything she wanted, Simone thought. Too much what she wanted. All these feelings and needs, the weakness and power rising and whirling inside her.
She held on to him and let herself fall.
He undressed her, slowly, piece by piece. No hurry, not when he felt drunk on her already. He glided his hands over bare skin, felt it heat under his touch, trailed his lips over it, felt it quiver.
Time seemed to slow; the air thickened. Every sigh, every murmur, soft as moth wings, floated out and away as they moved together, came together.
He loved everything she was, had been, would be. She loved, he knew, so he could wait for her to look at him, into him, and say the words. Because here and now, she showed him, and no words were needed.
He opened her; she couldn’t explain it. He unlocked things in her she hadn’t known existed, and he held those secret things so carefully.
She ran her hand down his side, over the scars. The Protector, she thought, but who protected him?
I will. She cupped his face, rose up to him. I will.
He slipped inside her, slow, slow, with his eyes on hers.
I will, she thought again, and surrendered.