Free Nightsong by Karen Toller Whittenburg Page A

inspiration.
    “Mom, do I have to take a bath?” A.J. asked in preparation for the usual nighttime battle.
    It was a serious question that demanded her immediate attention, and with a soft sigh she went inside and closed the door behind her.
    Phillip stared at the rectangle of light visible through the curtains at the kitchen door. There was no getting around it, he thought. He had just walked head on into a serious complication. And if he were fool enough to kiss her again....
    His tongue glided over his lips, and he tasted the warmth of her mouth. The wind circled him, and he smelled the lingering fragrance of a delicate scent. His hand touched the wooden railing, and he remembered the silky feel of her skin. He was a fool to think he wouldn’t kiss her again – at the first opportunity.
    The wisest course of action was to run like hell. But he couldn’t. For reasons that were becoming more incomprehensible by the moment, he had to find that painting. It wasn’t just the money or the satisfaction of following a hunch to its logical conclusion. It was turning into a matter of principle. A principle that had something to do with words like love, sharing, commitment.
    And betrayal.
    And that that had everything to do with his own peace of mind.
     

Chapter Five
     
    “Of course, I know what month it is, Sylvie.” Phillip gripped his cell phone in taut irritation and used his free hand to turn up the collar of his coat. “I also know the day, the year, and the correct time. But I’m standing outside, and it’s too damn cold to argue facts with you.”
    “Cold? In March?” Sylvie clicked her tongue in sad commiseration. “And all these months I thought you were enjoying springtime in Missouri.”
    “I’ve been away from the office barely six weeks,” he stated flatly. “That hardly qualifies as all these months. I don’t know why you’re complaining about my absence. If I were in the office, you’d be asking if I didn’t have somewhere to go.”
    “I haven’t said I wanted you back underfoot. I mentioned – innocently, mind you – that as a partner in this business you should check in once a week or even once every two weeks. Just to make sure I haven’t had you declared legally dead, liquidated the corporation of Smith-Kessler, and absconded with the company treasurer to the lower Decadent Islands.”
    Phillip grinned despite his ill humor. “There isn’t a company treasurer.”
    “There wasn’t one when you left ... all those months ago.”
    He shifted the phone from one hand to the other and let his icy fingers burrow into the warm lining of his coat pocket. “Sylvie, it’s blasted cold, and my disposition is not sunny at the moment, so why don’t we—”
    “—just admit that you’re wasting our time? You won’t hear a whimper of disagreement from me about that.” Her tone became suddenly serious. “Phillip, if the painting was there, you would have found it by now. No one expects you to do the impossible.”
    He frowned as a car in need of a muffler roared down the street. The air was thick with gassy fumes, and frustration was an unpleasant taste in his mouth. “Sylvie, I’m not leaving. The van Warner is here. It’s just a matter of figuring out where Mark hid it. I’ve scoured every square foot of the studio. And I mean that literally. I’ve examined each scrap of paper I’ve come across on the outside chance it might lead to some tangible evidence. There’s nothing of any interest stored in the garage, and I haven’t seen enough of the house to ferret out all the possible hiding places. But I will.”
    “Have I ever told you how pigheaded you are?”
    “Many times.” With a halfhearted smile Phillip absently watched the corner traffic signal turn from amber to red. “Almost as many times as you’ve had to eat crow for saying it.”
    “We’re straying from the point of this conversation, Phillip,” Sylvie said in her best let’s-not-go-into-that voice. “Which is