“Get this area marked off for the crime unit.” Lennox carefully places the Armande in a painting tube. “It looks like my search is over. Spencer Crawford, you’re under arrest.”
He pulls out a pair of handcuffs and slaps them on Crawford’s wrists. As he sputters and yells and threatens all the cops, including Lennox, he feebly struggles like he might run away, before he’s placed in the back of a police car. “You won’t get away with this!” are the last words he roars before the door is shut.
Another car races up the drive and screeches to a stop beside us. St. Clair rushes out, and sweeps me into a hug. “Are you okay?” he demands.
“I’m fine,” I laugh, pulling away. “You’re late. You missed all the action.”
St. Clair looks around at Crawford in the back of a police car, handcuffed, and at Lennox standing not too far away, watching us with an unreadable expression.
“Seems you finally found the real culprit, Lennox,” St. Clair says. “Congratulations. This is a career-making bust.”
Lennox closes the short distance between us. “Seems that way,” he says, the suspicion still in his voice. “But you know as well as I do that things are not always as they seem.”
“The evidence never lies, right, detective?” I say. “Like I said, you were chasing the wrong guy.”
Lennox cocks his head to the side and considers, looking at me and St. Clair standing close together, his arm around my waist, protective, both of us straight faced and unblinking under the weight of his stare. He finally nods. “You’re right. I apologize.” He appraises us one last time, his mind working through something he decides not to say.
He turns on his heel and heads back inside – to the cellar full of valuable incriminating evidence.
Crawford’s car leaves his own driveway with several cop escorts as many more uniforms patrol the ground, setting up police tape, taking photos and doing whatever else cops do at a crime scene, but I’m not worried. The proof is in the paintings, and they are all sitting in Crawford’s estate.
St. Clair squeezes my hip, pulls me a little closer. He kisses me, full of victory. “We did it!”
We did it. I almost can’t believe it. If Lennox weren’t here, I think I would jump for joy as high as I possibly could, but instead I nuzzle into St. Clair’s neck and sigh with contentment. The risk paid off – and now we’re free. No more looking over our shoulders, no more waiting for Lennox to pounce and snatch St. Clair away from me or send us both to jail.
There’s nothing standing in our way now. Our happily-ever-after can finally begin.
“Where do you want to go now?” Charles asks, taking my hand as we stroll back to his car.
“I don’t know…” I tease. “Didn’t you say something about the Caribbean?”
EPILOGUE
I feel like I must be dreaming.
A sparkling turquoise sea fills my vision, swirling like paints on a living canvas I could watch for hours. White crests of waves crash gently on sugary smooth sand just a few feet in front of me, sending cool sprays of saltwater into the air, pleasantly misting my warm skin. If I couldn’t wiggle my toes and feel the soft sand between them, or smell the coconut scent of my tanning oil, I could easily believe I’d slipped into a fantasy.
Especially when St. Clair, shirtless and sexy with his perfect abs and sculpted shoulders, appears at my elbow with a fruity drink complete with a tiny, festive umbrella.
“Have I died and gone to heaven?” I ask him, running my fingers down his chest and tugging playfully at the waist of his swim trunks.
His eyebrows shoot up. “It seemed like you went to heaven last night…” He bends his head to kiss my belly button above my bikini bottoms. Heat not at all related to the Jamaican sunshine rushes between my legs.
“Mmm,” I say, pulling his face to meet mine. “I didn’t hear any complaints from you.” His luscious lips are salty from the air and sweet from the cocktails and he sinks into the kiss, leaning into my body, our sweaty skin sticking together as our mouths explore each other. I wonder if we’ll ever get tired of each other’s bodies, but I only want him more with every touch, every night of passion, and he seems to feel the same.
St. Clair finally pulls away and inhales a deep breath.
“Did I take your breath away?” I ask innocently.
“Always,” he responds, kissing my hand. “Here, I have something to show you.”
He pulls the London Times out from under his arm. There’s a story about Crawford’s arrest and trial. The picture shows Crawford, his face pinched with anger, being escorted by lawyers down the courthouse steps. The headline reads: Art Collector Turned Thief Found Guilty.
“It’s over!” I let out a little squeal of delight and kiss St. Clair.
St. Clair nods, smiling. “He’s going to prison. Just a couple of years, but it’ll teach him a lesson.”
“And no one can come after us now.” I feel so relieved.
“Yes. I can finally relax,” he agrees. He puts a strong hand, the hands I’ve come to love, on my bare knee and I feel a little spark. “I couldn’t have done this without you.” He looks into my eyes. “I never wanted to get to this point with anyone else.”
St. Clair’s eyes are gleaming with a tempting glow; he’s up to something. Are we going to plan another adventure already? “What point, Charles? I’m not sure I’m ready for another…scheme just yet. ”
He laughs, his dimples showing. “I just have one more ‘scheme,’ Grace, and I’ve been waiting my whole life for a woman who could pull it off with me.”
My heart starts pounding as he moves from my lounge chair to kneel at my side. “I love you, Grace. You are the most amazing woman I have ever met; you make me feel like the best version of myself, and I want to spend the rest of my life trying to be my best self for you.”
He pulls a little velvet box out from under the newspaper, and my heart clenches in anticipation. Butterflies swarm my stomach, but they are happy nerves and I wait, looking into the beautiful blue eyes of the man I adore. He opens the box and a small gasp escapes my lips. A huge glittering diamond, surrounded by two rings of smaller blue diamonds, winks at me in the bright light. “Grace Bennett, will you marry me?”
I jump up and wrap my arms around his neck. “Yes!” I whisper.
“Yes?” He pulls back to gaze in my eyes, and to me he looks like an optimistic little boy, giving me a glimpse of what our future might hold. The possibilities are as open as a blank canvas, just waiting for the first lines of color.
“I love you so much, Charles.”
He picks me up and spins me around, and I’m full of joy and faith and wonder at this life, at my life, at where I’ve ended up. I look at St. Clair, his blue eyes reflecting the same love and hope I feel in every fiber of my being, and I know, the adventure is just getting started.
THE END
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ONE
So a girl walked into a bar.
It wasn’t a joke, it was my life.
Which, actually, now that I think about it, sometimes feels like the same thing. No comments, please.