Page 73 of The Shop on Hidden Lane

“You don’t want to confront him, Sophy. Not here. Not now.”

She stopped but he knew she hadn’t done so willingly. He could feel the rage in the charged energy around her.

“Give me one good reason,” she said, staring at the man in the doorway.

“I gave you one earlier. We need answers.”

“Damn it to hell. He’s gone.”

Luke checked the doorway. Grant had vanished.

“Yes, but we now have more data,” he said. Satisfied that Sophy wasn’t going to do anything rash like grab a knife off the buffet table and go after Grant, he released her arm. “We know for sure he’s here at the colony.”

“We had already figured that out.”

“We also know it’s a good bet he’s the sixth artist, the one who didn’t show up for the meet and greet today.”

“So?”

“Now I know where to look for him. He’ll be staying in one of the casitas.”

She frowned. “You’ve got a new plan, don’t you?”

“I need to know more about him before I go into the gallery.”

She accepted that. “How are you going to figure out which casita is Vincent’s?”

“That won’t be difficult. The aurora show is the big event this evening. You and I and Bruce will join the crowd in the sculpture garden to watch it. I’ll disappear for a few minutes to search Grant’s place. You and Bruce will be safe as long as you stay with the crowd.”

“I’m not sure I like this plan,” Sophy said.

“Got a better one?”

“No, unfortunately.” She brightened. “I’ll use the time at the event to chat with the other guests. I may be able to pick up some more information.”

He got a familiar frisson on the back of his neck—the equivalent of a flashing yellow light—courtesy of his intuition. “The idea is to keep a low profile, remember?”

“Don’t worry, I can be subtle.”

“Really? When was the last time you tried subtlety?”

“I didn’t scare Vincent to death this afternoon, did I?”

“Only because I stopped you.”

She smiled her brilliant smile, the smile that made him catch his breath. “Bruce and I will be fine tonight while you play cat burglar.”

The flashing yellow lights went red.

He thought he heard a faint voice saying something along the lines ofWhatcould possibly go wrong?but he told himself to ignore the warning. It wasn’t like he was a real psychic. He just had some good night vision and he could connect dots.

Thirty-Four

It wasn’t difficult to figureout which of the casitas was Grant’s. One of the other resident artists, a moody twentysomething man named Mark, was happy to point out the small house. He did not bother to conceal his disdain for the occupant.

“The one at the end of the garden, closest to Hatch’s place,” he said. “The guy doesn’t hang with the rest of us. He never shows up in the studio. Seems to be pals with Hatch, though.”

“HisSuccubusstruck me as rather cartoonish,” Luke said.