To the fading sound of the snowmobile, he walked back to his rental SUV. Placing the painting in the backseat, he called his cousin’s husband, the marshal.
* * *
THAT HAD BEEN too close. As Obsidian “Sid” Forester pulled the snowmobile around to the back of the cabin, she glanced over her shoulder. No headlights. No lights at all. She hadn’t been followed.
She’d taken a longer route through the trees. At first she’d thought the man who’d tackled her was the owner of the house. But she’d done her research on him and knew he was much older than the man she’d just encountered.
So who was that cowboy with the Southern drawl? Moonlight on snow did strange things to one’s vision. But she had gotten a good look at him—a better look than he’d gotten of her, she assured herself. Thick dark hair. Ice-cold blue eyes. Handsome, if you liked that clean-cut, all-business kind of man. She did not.
The only thing that had thrown her was his accent. Definitely from down South. Definitely not the New Yorker who owned the house.
That wasn’t all that had thrown her, she had to admit. The kiss. It had worked just as she’d planned and yet... She touched her tongue to her upper lip, remembering the electrical shock she’d felt when they kissed. Worse was the tingling she’d felt in her belly. True, she hadn’t kissed a man in... She couldn’t even remember when, but she’d never had that kind of reaction. She certainly hadn’t expected to feel...anything.
Her pulse was back to normal by the time she entered the cabin. The air smelled of oil paint, turpentine and linseed oil. She shrugged out of her boots and coat at the back door, hung up her coat and kicked her boots aside as she moved to the painting she’d been working on earlier that day.
She gave it a critical perusal before moving into the small kitchen. Unfortunately she hadn’t been to the grocery store in several days. She was always starved after one of what she called her “night jobs.” With a bottle of beer—her last—a chunk of cheese and some stale bread, she stepped into the living area where a half dozen paintings were drying.
The cabin was small with only a living room, kitchen, bedroom, small bath and a storage room off to one side at the back. The moment the owner had shown it to her—and told her about all its peculiarities—she’d had to have it and had quickly signed the papers.
Sitting down now, she considered each of her paintings as she ate her snack and sipped her beer. It was hard to concentrate after what had happened earlier, though. She’d come close to getting caught before, but nothing like tonight. What would the man do?
Go to the marshal.
She considered that and decided she wasn’t worried about the law catching up with her.
What did worry her was that he had the painting.
Taking another bite of cheese and bread, she chewed for a moment before washing it down with the last of the beer. She really did have to go to the store tomorrow.
Just the thought of going out in public made her wonder if she would run into him. That was the other thing about her cabin. It was nestled in the woods, far from urban Big Sky.
What if she did see him again? She had no doubt that she would recognize him. She’d gotten a good look at him. He had high cheekbones, a patrician nose and generous mouth. She felt that ridiculous stirring again over that one stupid kiss.
She assured herself that there wasn’t any way he could recognize her since she’d had the black ski mask on the whole time. Nor could he recognize her voice since she hadn’t spoken above a whisper.
Shaking her head, she tried to put him out of her mind. There was more than a good chance that she would never see him again. Obviously he was a tourist, probably only here for the holidays. Once the holidays were over, he’d be on a jet back to wherever he’d picked up that Southern drawl.
Still, she wondered who he was and why he’d driven up to the house tonight. Probably lost. Just her luck. What other reason could he have had to be there?
But while she’d gotten away, it hadn’t been clean, which upset her more than she wanted to admit. She prided herself on her larceny skills. Worse, she’d failed. She didn’t have the painting.
Losing her appetite, she tossed the crust of stale bread in the trash and put the cheese back into the fridge before she returned to her work in progress. She always did her best thinking while she painted.
* * *
“SO, YOU DIDN’T see her face?” Marshal Hud Savage asked as he looked up from his report at the marshal’s office later that night.
“She was wearing a ski mask with only the eyes and mouth part open. Her eyes were this amazing...bluish-silvery color.” Laramie frowned. “Maybe it was the starlight but they seemed to change color.” He realized the marshal was staring at him. “Just put down blue. If I ever see those eyes again, I’ll recognize her.” Or those lips, he thought, but he wasn’t about to tell Hud about the kiss.
It had taken him by surprise—just as she’d planned. But for a moment, his mouth had been on hers. He’d looked into her eyes, felt something quicken inside him, then her warm breath on his cheek and...
He shook his head, reminding himself that it had only been a ploy and he’d fallen for it, hook, line and sinker. He’d kissed a thief! What annoyed him was that he had felt anything but disgust for what she’d done.
“How about height and weight?” Hud asked after writing down blue.
Laramie shrugged. “Small. Maybe five-five or -six. I have no idea on weight. Slim. I’m sorry I don’t have a better description. It all happened too fast. But I have the painting. Maybe you can get her fingerprints—”
“Was she wearing gloves?”
He groaned.
“And you say she got away on a snowmobile?”
All he could do was nod.
“Did you get a make or model?”
Another shake of his head.
“And she overpowered you? Was she armed?”
Laramie groaned inwardly. “Not armed exactly. She was much stronger than I expected and she moved so fast... She caught me off guard.”
Hud nodded, but he appeared to be trying hard not to laugh.
“You wait until you find her. She’s...wily.”
Hud did chuckle then. “I’m sure she is. Here. Sign this.”
“So what are the chances you’ll catch her?” Laramie asked as he signed the report.
“With a description like the one you just gave me...” Hud shook his head. His phone rang and he reached for it. “Marshal Savage.” He listened, his gaze going to Laramie. “Okay. Yep, that’ll do it.” Hanging up, he picked up the signed report and ripped it in half before tossing it into the trash.
“What?” Laramie demanded.
“I just spoke with the owner of the house. He hadn’t planned to come up this holiday, but apparently McKenzie called him yesterday and told him you would be looking at the house. Seems he’s anxious to sell, so he flew in tonight.” Hud met his gaze. “When I called the maintenance service and asked them to check the house, they found him there. He looked around to see what was missing and found nothing out of order.”
“There wasn’t anything missing? Was he sure?”
“It seems he has a painting, just like that one...” He pointed to the one leaning against the wall on the floor near Laramie, the painting the cat burglar had dropped. “It isn’t missing.”
“That’s not possible.”
Hud