The Art of You

East Hampton, New York

Good vibes only, my favorite mantra, had quite literally once been written in the sand a few hundred feet away from where I quietly stood next to Hudson.

It was so peaceful there. Natural ambient noise offered a quiet companion to the sound of waves in the distance. Some were as gentle as a whisper, others more like the rolling boom of thunder. Then there was the slight whistle of the morning wind coasting along the shores beneath the sun.

I’d always loved this place while growing up. I mean, who wouldn’t feel inspired here? And it was the perfect spot for us to hide out until things calmed down.

Deciding we needed to escape the city, Hudson and my brothers had figured out a way to elude the press stalking the hospital, whisking us all away to a space of relative safety.

The quintessential Hamptons residence, my parents’ summer home, was a three-story, grand shingle-style cottage estate on the beach, offering stunning panoramic views of the Atlantic. Six acres of lush green land cradled the rest of the house, with two wraparound porches to take in all of the gorgeousness.

Aside from the beach, my favorite spot was the garden and the large brick patio. It was the ideal setting to dine beneath open skies on warm summer days with my family. My whole family.

But without Bianca there, we weren’t really whole anymore. So, as “perfect” a place as this was to escape to, even with security guards buzzing about doing perimeter checks and keeping the site secure, perfect was no longer achievable.

The good vibes were long since gone. And no amount of peaceful sounds, beautiful sights, and fresh air would stamp out the memory of what used to be compared to what was now. My sister was gone, and fourteen years later, someone was using a photo to throw her death back in my face.

At the sudden whooping of blades, I turned to see the helicopter that dropped us off back in the sky over the helipad. The pilot was returning to the city to pick up my parents, who would join us later today. My siblings and Callie had driven here a few hours ago to prepare everything for our morning arrival.

Callie had also packed a bag for me while Alessandro retrieved the photo and checked the security cameras. He’d pulled a partial image of a man slipping the envelope through the small mail slot in my door around seven on Friday night, but the image wasn’t clear.

I still believed Kit was behind it. Of course she’d have someone run her errands to keep her hands clean of it.

Since our facial recognition software couldn’t produce a match for the man, my brothers delivered the security footage, along with the photo and original envelope, to Adelina late last night. Hopefully her access to some high-caliber FBI tools would yield better results.

“You’re awfully patient with me today,” I admitted to Hudson, needing a break from my heavy thoughts. It was the first time I’d said anything since we’d boarded the helicopter at the hospital, using their helipad.

I glanced at the statue of strength at my side, wearing a backward baseball hat and Ray-Bans. Unlike me, he had no lightweight jacket to keep him warm, just a white tee for a top.

“Would you prefer I not be?” Without facing me, he hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans and continued to stare off toward the ocean.

The bruises on his face and the bandage around his right arm distracted me from answering with equal amounts of sarcasm. His injuries were a harsh reminder of why we were here. And why a sniper was perched on the roof behind a long gun.

My brothers never half-assed anything, especially not regarding my safety.

“I just need one more second before we join everyone inside.”

“Take as many seconds as you need.” If patience were something tangible, it would feel like a blanket of Hudson’s words. His typical sarcasm was completely absent, because he knew how hard it was for me to be here.

Fidgeting with the buttons of my jean jacket, I finally got my feet to move, but in the wrong direction. Leaving the house behind me, I ventured to the garden instead.

Hudson caught up with me, matching my steps. I slowed down a bit, remembering he’d needed a cane to walk just last night, and I didn’t want him feeling unnecessary pain because of me.

I did my best not to react when I felt his hand go to my back as he switched spots with me on the trail like we were by traffic instead of walking along a pond. Knowing him, he was worried I’d fall in.

I stopped once we arrived in the garden cocooned by Mother Nature. Trees, flowers, and vines crawled over every inch of the space.

“How much time do you think I have before my brothers come looking for us?” I blew out my cheeks before allowing the pent-up air to sputter free. “They’d have seen the helicopter land, and surely one of those security guards radioed to let them know we’re walking the property.”

“I texted them that you need a moment.” He removed his Ray-Bans and hooked them at the front of his tee.

A moment was much more generous than the second I’d requested. Also more realistic. It could be an hour’s worth of seconds before I found my way inside the home, where I’d probably hear the echo of Bianca’s laughter ring through the hall walls.

“You’re stealthy. I didn’t see you with your phone.” Must have speed-texted en route to the garden.

“Part of my SEAL training. I can do a lot of things fast.”

“Hopefully, you slow down for some things.” It took me about two and a half seconds too long to realize how that sounded.

Based on the slight smirk sitting on his lips, it took him even less.

You’re great at distracting me. My heart rate was no longer at a NASCAR-worthy speed. My skin was warming up despite the crisp, cool air. That was probably partly from embarrassment at implying I hoped he wasn’t quick between the sheets. But most notably, I wasn’t filled with as much sadness as when we first arrived.

“Bianca would hate this,” I murmured, switching from accidental sexual innuendos back to tragedy. “She’d hate how her death changed the way I feel about this place.”

“She would definitely hate that.” He gestured to the beauty surrounding us. “If I remember correctly, Bianca used to sit here and write in her journal, while you⁠—”

“Tried to capture my feelings through drawing instead of words.” I sighed, my lips fighting to smile at memories because they still hurt to think about. “Bianca was often the subject of a lot of my art.” I peeked over at the bench as if she were sitting there now, a pencil behind her ear and another in her hand as she scribbled her stories in a notebook.

I startled when Hudson abruptly stood before me and brushed a few wild strands of hair away from my face. When our eyes locked at the intimate gesture, he jerked his hand back as if shocked by what he’d done.

Ray-Bans back on, he hid both his black eye and his emotions. “I know you quit drawing when she died, but do you think you’ll ever paint again?”

“I’ve tried to pick up a pencil and a paintbrush since, but my heart was never in it.” I went over to a bush and plucked a flower. “I doubt I’ll ever stand behind a canvas again.”

“That’s too bad. You were a damn good artist.”

“I was young. It was more of a way to keep myself busy and out of trouble than anything else.”

“Yeah, I’m not buying that, even if you were quite the rebel back in the day.” With his index finger, he shifted his glasses down his nose so I could read the look in his eyes that said, Yeah, I know about that.

“Who told you I was such a bad girl?”

His mouth tightened, and he pushed his glasses back over his eyes, shaking his head. “Anyway.”

“Nice redirect.”

“I thought so,” he tossed out casually while removing his phone from his back pocket. “Constantine texted. He’s worried. What do I tell him?”

“Mmm.” I plucked a petal and let it go. “That we’re in the garden, and you’re comforting me. Dot. Dot. Dot.” I pointed at his phone with the flower. “Be sure to add the ellipsis. The sentence loses its meaning without it.” Holding a straight face while saying that was hard, but I managed it.

Hudson laughed, and that sound trumped all other ambient noises surrounding us.

“I’m sure that’ll go over well.” He typed something back to my brother, lifting his chin toward the house. “Bet that sniper on the roof will take me out the second he sees us exit the garden.”

“You and I have very different ideas of comfort, I guess.” I was on a roll; why stop now? “I was simply thinking about an innocent little hug. Your mind went to the gutter, sir.”

He didn’t give me the satisfaction of a smart-ass response to my comment. I’d consider the smirk continuing to fight for space on his face a win, though.

I freed another petal into the air, and Hudson focused on it as it drifted to the pavers between us. “How much time did you buy me before the grump finds us?”

He made a zero with his hand, then pocketed his hand. “He just sent another text. Security alerted him that Adelina just pulled up to the gate. Took a friend’s car instead of her FBI-issued Chevy.”

Ohh. At the news, I let go of the flower. I knew she was on her way, but I hadn’t expected her quite this early. Like before-coffee early. “Well, hopefully, she has news she didn’t want to share over the phone.”

“If she has nothing now, she’ll turn something up soon. This is her area of specialty, and⁠—”

“You said she handles kidnapping cases. Lola’s safe, and I wasn’t kidnapped . . .” I didn’t catch his drift. Maybe coffee was required for drift catching.

“Many of Adelina’s cases have involved women who were stalked before becoming victims of an abduction.” He gestured with his good arm to start walking, and I obeyed his command, hoping he’d explain on the move.

When his words sunk in, I halted and spun around to face him. He lowered his chin to where my hands now rested on his chest. When did that happen?

“You think I have a stalker and someone planned to kidnap me? Just because of that photo and my overactive imagination about the fourth-floor window across from my house?”

He circled my wrist but didn’t force away my touch. “Let’s just hear what Adelina says, and we’ll go from there.” He freed his hold of my wrist, and I lowered my hands to my sides. “Someone left you a photo, crashed into the Porsche, killed two men, and we have no idea what’s connected to what, but we’re going to figure this out.” He appeared far more confident this morning without the pain meds in his system. The SEAL was in front of me now, a fighter. “We won’t let this asshole win.”

“What if there’s more than one asshole?” I blurted what was on the top of my mind, doubtful my photo issue was tied to the dead security guards.

“The world’s full of assholes, nothing we can do about that. We just have to figure out which ones are out to get us and stop them before they do.”

He was right, I supposed. “Yeah, okay.” I went to turn, but Hudson stopped me, wrapping his arm around my waist. “What are you doing?”

“What I wanted to do yesterday, but didn’t.”

“And that is?” I stared at him, not blinking.

He drew me into his arms so our bodies were flush, and rested his chin on my head. “That innocent hug you needed . . . well, I need it, too.”