4

Tessa ducked. A floor lamp whooshed past her head. She pivoted, sweeping her handgun around as she moved, but she couldn’t shoot what she couldn’t see.

The hooded figure rushed at her like a bull. She turned to evade his charge but wasn’t quick enough. Tessa was five seven and very fit. Outnumbered by male cops on the Seattle PD, she’d made a point of lifting weights, running, and hiking to stay in top shape. She was strong for her size. Her attacker wasn’t overly big, but he had momentum. Their shoulders collided, and Tessa stumbled backward.

Dropping one hand to the floor, Tessa recovered and spun on the balls of her feet. But he was already looming over her.

An arm swooped down. With no time to bring her weapon around, she raised a hand over her head to block the blow. The blade of his hand struck a nerve on her forearm. Her fingers opened on reflex. Her gun dropped to the floor and skittered across the wood planks.

Tessa grabbed for her attacker’s arm with both hands. She couldn’t grip the slippery leather of his jacket. She drove an elbow hard into his rib cage.

He grunted, and the air rushed out of him. He spun behind her and grabbed her in a bear hug, his black-gloved hands linked at her waist. He pinned her arms to her sides and lifted her off the floor. Her feet kicked in the air.

She went limp, maximizing the effect of her weight. Then she smashed her head backward and struck his face. Something squished, but no blood spurted, so she must not have hit his nose. He twisted his face out of reach.

There was no space between their bodies. Tessa could not strike him. There was only one vulnerable area she could attack. Reaching behind her, she closed her fist around his testicles and squeezed hard.

He dropped her as if she were on fire. “Bitch!” he wheezed.

Tessa fell to her knees. The impact with the hard floor rang her bones from her kneecaps to her teeth.

The man turned and scrambled for the open door.

She stumbled to her feet. By the time she made it to the doorway, her attacker was fifteen yards away and limp-running for the woods.

She could catch him.

She dug into the floorboards and pushed off. She managed exactly one stride. Then her feet tangled with an object, and she went down hard. Her lungs expelled air like fireplace bellows. Something tugged at her trousers, and pain sliced through her leg.

“What the—?” Her pants leg was caught on a nail protruding from a floorboard. She pulled it free.

In the doorway, the cat arched its back and hissed. With an angry yowl, it bolted around the barn and disappeared. She’d tripped over the damned cat.

Tessa levered a knee under her body and stood.

Where is he?

She scanned the meadow. The figure had disappeared into the trees. She’d smooshed his balls. He wouldn’t be moving too quickly. She broke into a jog, intent on catching him.

The high-pitched whine of a small motor cut through the air.

Tessa stopped. He was on a dirt bike or ATV. Leaning on her thighs, she caught her breath. The sound of the engine drew farther away. She rapped a fist against her leg.

Damn it.

She entered the woods. About twenty feet inside the tree line, she found ATV tracks. There was no way she could catch an ATV on foot. She went back out of the trees to the barn.

“Hey, Tessa! What’s wrong?” Jerry shouted as he ran out of the house and across the backyard toward her.

“There was someone inside,” she said. “Wait here.”

She slipped through the door, found a light switch, and flipped it. An overhead light turned on. She scanned the living room and kitchen. Sofa cushions were overturned. Drawers hung out of a small desk. Books littered the wide-planked wood floor.

The intruder had been busy.

She recovered her gun from the corner. Even knowing the intruder had fled, she systematically cleared the rooms anyway. The high-ceilinged space had been divided loft-style into a few large rooms. The living room and kitchen were one giant open space. The single bedroom had an attached bath. A large, sunny room served as an art studio. There was one more room next to it, where it appeared Dante stored his paint supplies and drying canvases. The bedroom and studio areas were tidy, so the intruder hadn’t finished his search.

Bruce was still tied up reviewing evidence. Kurt hadn’t called, which meant he was still on the mainland. Tessa pulled out her phone and dialed Logan’s number. He answered on the first ring.

“Are you busy?” Tessa asked.

“I was just going to call you and see if you needed help,” he said. “Murder investigations are your expertise, but the state park is my turf. I’d like to work with you on the case.”

“That’s perfect.” Tessa told him about the intruder at the barn.

Logan swore under his breath. “You’re not injured?”

“No.”

“He was looking for something.”

“Seems like it.”

“I’ll be right there.” Logan ended the call.

She returned to the main room. The window in the eating nook overlooked the woods. She walked closer, noting the broken latch.

Jerry stood in the doorway. “Hey, Tessa. You’re bleeding.” He pointed at her leg.

A dark stain colored her uniform pants below the knee. She returned to the little porch, lowered herself to the front stoop, and rolled up her pants leg. Blood ran from a gash across her calf. The minute she saw the cut, her leg began to throb.

Tessa limped to her vehicle. On the way, she called Bruce, told him about the break-in, and gave him a description of the suspect. “Male, approximately five feet, ten inches tall, wearing jeans and a dark-colored leather jacket layered over a hoodie, possibly riding an ATV or motorcycle.”

“Do you want me to come out there?” he asked.

“Is Kurt back?”

“No. His daughter had a complication.”

That didn’t sound good.

“Then I need you to keep sorting through the evidence.” Tessa would not drag Kurt back if his family needed him. “I’ll manage.”

In Seattle, she would have issued a BOLO alert. Every patrol car would have been looking for the suspect. But she and Bruce were the only deputies on Widow’s Island today. She debated calling the ferry terminal and giving the operator a description of the man so they could keep him on the island, but she hadn’t seen his face. She wouldn’t recognize him if she saw him again. She doubted he’d ride up to the ferry terminal on a quad.

After opening the cargo area of her SUV, she unzipped the first aid kit. With her boot propped on the bumper, she applied a disinfectant wipe to her wound, breathing through the eye-watering sting. Then she covered the gash with a thick layer of gauze and bound her whole calf with an Ace bandage. She’d need a few stitches, but at least for now she wouldn’t bleed on the crime scene. She gathered the wrappers, removed her gloves, and stuffed the trash inside one of them.

When she set her foot on the ground, pain shot up her leg. For a wound she hadn’t known she’d had five minutes ago, it hurt like it was on fire.

Donning fresh gloves, she went back to the barn. She put her hands on her hips and scanned the mess.

“Tessa?” Logan’s voice called.

“In here,” she said.

Logan walked in. He’d showered and changed since the previous night. His face was freshly shaved, and he smelled good. Really good. Like fresh cedar and citrus.

Tessa resisted the urge to lean closer and inhale.

He’d think I was nuts.

She thought she was losing it.

This felt nothing like the innocent teenage crush she’d had on him. Their relationship dynamic had shifted, and the sniff she wanted to give him was nothing like the one she’d given Bruce. But then, she and Logan had both changed.

His gaze roamed over the room. “Looks like someone gave the place a good toss.”

More comfortable with the case than her sudden notice of Logan, she agreed. “It seems I interrupted him before he got to the bedroom or studio.”

“Do you know how he got in?”

“He jimmied the kitchen window.”

“Prints?”

Tessa shook her head. “He was wearing gloves.”

“Assuming he was still inside because he hadn’t found what he was looking for, we should probably start in the rooms he didn’t have a chance to search.”

“Agreed.” Tessa limped into the master bedroom.

“What happened to your leg?”

“Just a cut. It’s not a big deal. I’ll stop and see Henry when we’re done here.”

Tessa started with the nightstand and dresser, checking in and under drawers and behind the furniture. They worked their way around the bedroom methodically. Logan lifted the mattress, then the box spring. He pulled the bed away from the wall and looked behind the headboard. In the closet, Tessa checked the pockets of coats and clothes.

Logan emerged from the bathroom. “So far, I don’t see anything unusual.”

Just inside the closet, a hamper overflowed with dirty clothes. Tessa began lifting pants and shirts and checking pockets. Underneath the dirty laundry, she found a duffel bag. She unzipped it. The bag was stuffed with bundles of cash, each bundle about an inch thick.

“Now this is interesting.” She crouched, picked up a bundle, and removed the rubber band. Fanning the bills, she whistled. “Mostly twenties, and there are a lot of them.” She did a rough count of the cash. “Looks like about three thousand in this stack.” She reached into the bag and flipped through the ends of a few more bundles. They seemed to be the same mix of bills. “Assuming the other stacks are about the same, there could be a hundred thousand dollars here.”

Logan’s brow rose. “Then he wasn’t a starving artist.”

“I doubt he made that much money painting landscapes of Widow’s Island.” Tessa rocked back on her heels. “No one except a major drug dealer would keep this much cash on hand. I wonder what Dante was up to.”

She set the duffel bag aside to be logged in to evidence, then stood and walked through the doorway into the studio. Light streamed in from a bay window. A chaise lounge stretched out in the patch of light that fell in front of the window.

Tessa turned in a circle. There were a dozen paintings lined up against one wall. An orca surfacing in the bay. Ruby’s Island in the center of a sparkling Widow’s Bay. Waves crashing on rocks below Widow’s Walk.

An easel stood in the center of the brightly lit space. It held a half-finished painting of a cove. Moonlight shimmered on the water and rocks. Tessa stopped in front of the painting. A half dozen photographs of the same beach were pinned to the wall next to the easel.

“This is the beach where he was murdered,” Tessa said. “It looks like he painted from photographs. He had a camera with him. Maybe he was taking pictures when he was killed.”

“Makes sense.” Logan leaned over her shoulder. “He was no Van Gogh, but he had talent. Do you have any idea how much he asked for one of these paintings?”

“The last time I was in the art shop, I believe the price on a canvas this size was around five hundred dollars.”

“How many did he sell a month?” Logan asked.

Tessa pulled out her phone and called Rachel Abbott, the owner of the art store. “Hi, Rachel. This is Tessa.”

Logan walked into the adjoining storage room.

“Oh, my God,” Rachel said, sobbing. “I heard about Dante. How did this happen? He was such a nice young man.”

Tessa heard the sound of Rachel blowing her nose. “Did you know of anyone who didn’t like Dante?”

Rachel sniffed. “No. Everyone liked him. He was sweet and thoughtful.”

“How well did his art sell?”

“Tourists loved it. I sold twenty paintings last summer.”

“What about during the off-season?” Tessa asked.

“You know it’s slower in the winter. Maybe two or three a month at best, depending on the tourist traffic.” Rachel’s breath hitched. “I can’t believe he’s dead.”

“It’s horrible,” Tessa agreed. “Thanks, Rachel.”

She lowered her phone and relayed the information to Logan. Dante definitely hadn’t accumulated $100,000 by selling local landscapes.

Logan emerged from the storage room. “Have you looked in there?”

“No.” Tessa followed him in. Canvases leaned on the wall. Tessa had assumed they were blank canvases, but Logan turned one around. It was a portrait of a woman, reclining on the chaise in the studio, clad in nothing but a long string of pearls. It was a tasteful depiction, with her legs strategically angled. Her hair cascaded over her shoulder and across her breasts, showing just a hint of flesh.

Tessa recovered from her shock to look at the subject’s face. “That’s Shannon Moore.”

Logan stared at the opposite wall, as if uncomfortable looking at Shannon’s portrait. “Is Shannon still married to Brad?”

“Yes, and they still own the Naked Sheep Winery.” Tessa linked her hands behind her back and studied the painting. “The painting is amazing. I mean, Shannon looks great for her age, but . . .”

Dante had made the most of her best traits. He hadn’t made her look younger or super skinny. He’d smoothed and accentuated her curves, but he hadn’t painted away her flaws. Tessa could see the edge of a stretch mark along Shannon’s hip and a spider vein on her leg. But the small imperfections didn’t detract from her beauty at all. Dante had made her look as if they didn’t matter. Her sexiness came from within. On the canvas, her skin glowed. Her gaze was sensual and direct, as if she knew exactly how incredible she looked. It wasn’t a come-hither gaze. It was powerful, even demanding.

Logan nodded. “There are more.”

“What? How many more?”

“Three.” Logan moved to the other canvases and began turning them around.

Tessa didn’t know the next two subjects, but then Logan spun the final painting.

“That’s Pam Rhodes,” Tessa said.

Like he had done in Shannon’s painting, Dante had portrayed each woman as realistic—and yet incredibly beautiful. Pam’s cesarean scar peeked out from behind her bent leg, and a bit of cellulite mottled her thighs. All three were attractive women in their mid- to late forties, all were nude, and their portraits were stunning. It was the look in their eyes, Tessa decided. It was confidence.

“This was his real talent,” she said. “Making women see themselves as beautiful.”

Logan frowned at Pam’s painting. “I don’t know her.”

“Pam owns Shiny Objects, the jewelry store in North Sound.”

“Is she married?” Logan asked.

“Yes. Her husband, Steve, is some Hollywood big shot. They bought a place here a few years ago, but I don’t see him around much.” She glanced around the studio. “This case has taken some interesting turns. We have an artist using a fake name, with a big bag of cash hidden in his laundry hamper, and paintings of naked local women.”

“I wonder if their husbands knew. Jealousy is an excellent motive for murder.”

“A definite possibility.”

“Tessa.” Logan’s voice was filled with warning. “I found another painting.”

She turned and nearly tripped over her own feet. Her mother.

Thank God, her mom was wearing a long flowered dress in the painting. Her gray-and-blonde hair fell in waves to her shoulders, and her feet were bare. She looked like the aging hippie that she was. But it was the look in her eyes that stopped Tessa cold.

The blue eyes that gazed out of the painting were soft and clear.

Dante hadn’t lived on the island for an entire year. Mom was already starting to decline by the time he’d arrived. Yet he’d managed to paint her exactly how she’d looked before her eyes had gone vague and watery.

“Did you know he was painting your mother’s picture?” Logan asked.

“No.” Tessa wondered what else she didn’t know about her mother’s relationship with the dead man.