Every Day (Brush of Love 2)

“In fact,” he said as he stroked my cheek, “I’ve got the stuff to replace the window if you’d like me to take care of that.”

“You just carry extra glass with you everywhere you go?” I asked.

“When you called me up crying, I had a feeling as to what might’ve happened. I may or may not have grabbed some things from the workshop before I headed this way.”

I looked into the eyes of this wonderful man and threw myself at him. Our lips crashed together while my arms wrapped around his neck, my headache gradually subsiding as his fingers ran through my hair. He slowly stood us up, planting me on my feet and holding me until I could steady myself, and by the time the kiss was over, so was my headache.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Much,” I said, whispering.

“Police. Anyone here?”

“Officers,” he said as we turned toward them, “I’m the one who called. Bryan McBride, B.D. Construction.”

“Hey! I’m familiar with you. Your Drew’s friend,” one of the officer’s said.

“Friend and business partner,” Bryan said.

“Officer Shernhorn, but you can call me Mike. Drew and I catch waves from time to time together when the wife lets me off the hook for the day.”

“Nice to meet you, Mike. Your name sounds familiar. You the one Drew talks about who got eaten by that wave and spit out farther into the ocean somehow?” Bryan asked.

“The one and only. Still don’t know how it happened. Anyway, I can tell by the looks of the place that there aren’t any cameras we can draw from, but you’re in luck. The telephone pole across the street has a camera on it. It’s old, but it’s footage we can pull nonetheless.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said.

“You must be Hailey Ryan,” Mike said.

“I am,” I said as I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too. Word’s gotten around fast about your gallery. It kills me to see it like this, though it looks like the damage is pretty minimal.”

“So I’ve been told,” I said as I eyed Bryan.

“I’m actually going to head out and start replacing the window so the chill doesn’t ruin anything else,” Bryan said. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

“Officer Shernhorn, thank you so much for coming so quickly.”

“Call me Mike, please. My wife’s been out here a few times. We’ve got a couple of your wonderful paintings hanging in our house already. Has anything been taken?” he asked.

“Actually, no. That’s what’s so confusing. My laptop and cash register were here all night, and they haven’t been touched. But my paintings have all been sliced up,” I said.

“So, we’re looking at vandalism instead of theft. Got it. Mind if I take a look at the paintings on the floor?” he asked.

“You can look at anything you need,” I said.

I watched him walk over to the pile of paintings as he crouched down. One by one, he picked up the beautiful paintings I’d slaved over, and it made me sick to see the way they’d been cut and sliced and destroyed. I took deep breaths as I tried to keep my nausea at bay, and soon, the sounds of Bryan replacing the window could be heard as the officer stood to his feet.

But he was holding a painting in his hands that didn’t look to be destroyed.

“This one of yours?” he asked.

He turned the painting around, and I felt my blood run cold.

“No. No, that’s not mine,” I said. “It’s a painting by one of the artists I lend out some space to.”

“They pay you a monthly fee or something?” he asked.