Twenty minutes later, I was parked a few doors down from Valencia’s stone house, gathering my dwindling courage. I jerked my knee up and down, my hands getting clammier by the second, my nerves faltering. I needed to get out of this car right now, before it was too late and Amadeo made a move on Jack.
I’d quit smoking two years ago, but I was craving a cigarette badly.
There was a light in the basement window. That was probably where Amadeo had set up his studio. His atelier, as Valencia had called it. I could picture what that place looked like.
And Jack was down there.
Posing.
Man, I hoped he was dressed or my heart would break.
I stared at that lighted window, chewing on my thumbnail.
I wasn’t going to chicken out. I wouldn’t be able to live with the regret of losing Jack tonight
