“What does that mean?”
“Nothing, he’s very touchy with you, that’s all.”
“That’s just his personality.”
“I don’t like it.”
Kate rolls her eyes. “He’s a friend, Elliot.” She opens the car door. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Okay.” I nod and hold my tongue about her touchy-feely, fuckwit roommate.
I’ll deal with him later.
My phone rings and the name Tristan lights up.
“See you soon.” She kisses me quickly and jumps out of the car.
“Hey.” I answer my phone on speaker.
Kate turns and waves and I sit and watch her walk inside.
“Can you talk?” Tristan asks.
“Uh-huh.”
The front door closes behind Kate and I pull out into the street.
“How was last night?” Tristan asks.
“Good.” I smirk.
Incredible.
“And?”
“And what?”
“Well, it must have been fucking good to make you leave New York a week early. Anyone I know?”
I smirk again. You could say that. “Nope.”
“Are you seeing her again?”
“I’m going away with her today for a week, actually.”
“What? Didn’t you say last night was the first date?”
“It was.”
“Your second date is a week away?” He gasps. “Fuck me dead, it must have been some fucking date.”
I smile as I turn the corner. “Don’t get excited, she’s not Mrs. Miles.”
He laughs. “Famous last words.”
“It’s just a week, I don’t have to worry about paps then.”
“Fair enough. Where are you taking her?”
“No clue, any ideas?”
“What are you after?”
“Something private, hot, and beachy. Cocktails and restaurants.”
“Hmm, St. Barts?”
“No, I’ll run into someone I know there at this time of year. Under the radar if possible.”
“I’ll have a look now.”
“Okay. Thanks.” My phone beeps as another call comes in. “I’ve got another call, I’ll call you back. Elliot Miles,” I answer.
“Hello Mr. Miles. It’s Peter from Strathborn Investigations.”
“Ah.” I’ve been waiting for them to get back to me. “How are you?”
“Very well. I have some good news.”
“Great.”
“We finally have a lead on your artist, Harriet Boucher.”
“What is it?”
“We think we’ve located where she is.”
I listen intently. I’ve been searching for this woman for over a year.
“And?”
“If it’s the right woman, and we think that it is, she’s currently in the South of France.”
I frown as I listen. “Are you certain it’s her?”
“I’ll have confirmation this week. She flies completely under the radar.”
“When you have confirmation, I’ll book a flight. I want to meet her in person.”
“Mr. Miles, do you mind me asking what your business is with this woman?” he asks.
“It’s of a personal nature,” I reply curtly.
“Okay, I’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you.” I hang up and turn the corner. I don’t know what my fascination with Harriet Boucher is . . . but I need to find out.
She’s calling to me through her paintings . . . and I don’t know why.
But I keep coming back to her, I can’t drop this.
One word describes her.
Extraordinary.