Chapter 2
2
FIONA
“What Monet?” I demanded, looking from Detective Goodwin to Detective Harrison in confusion.
“Don’t play dumb.” Goodwin leaned over the table, getting closer to me. He was obviously the bad cop in this scenario. “You stole a priceless Monet from the Windy City Gallery, and we want to know where it is.”
My mouth dropped open. “You’re out of your minds.” I glanced at the voice recorder, reminding myself not to say anything they could consider verbal assault. “I didn’t steal a Monet.”
Holy crap. What would I do with a Monet? I mean, I loved to study them, but it would hardly look at home on the wall of my small apartment. Not that I’d be able to display a stolen painting anywhere, and I had nowhere to hide one. I didn’t have any rented storage containers, just a closet with way too much already stuffed inside.
“Where were you last night?” Harrison asked.
“At home.” Even to my own ears, it sounded weak. “I left work at six, took the L home, and ate dinner while I watched Cupcake Contest. ”
“Uh-huh.” Harrison’s expression was skeptical. “Was anyone with you?”
“No.”
“What about during the day?” Goodwin asked.
“I was at work.” I relaxed a little. At least that could be easily proved. “I didn’t leave the building, and we have good security camera coverage. I’m sure they’ll approve you reviewing the footage to confirm that I didn’t leave.”
“Hmph.” Harrison shifted forward, mimicking Goodwin’s position. Elbows on the table. Jaw set. Expression hard. “And before that?”
“I was at home, then got a coffee from Bean Bonanza and took the L to the office.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.” My teeth clenched. “Alone. Although I’m sure someone on the train would have seen me.”
“Hmm.”
I hated those stupid thinking noises. They were trying to unnerve me.
“So, you spent the night alone, took the subway to the office, spent the day there, returned home via the L and spent the evening alone?” Goodwin clarified.
“That’s right.” I felt like squirming but made myself be still. If I fidgeted, I’d look guilty, and I had nothing to hide. “Couldn’t you check my phone’s location history to show where I was? The GPS is enabled.” I knew Zeke, the arrogant and infuriating director of cybersecurity at King’s Security, would be able to have that data in minutes, so surely they could too.
Goodwin shrugged one shoulder. “All that proves is where your phone was, not where you were. You could have left it behind or loaned it to someone else. ”
My chest tightened. He made a good point. People generally went everywhere with their phones, but someone who intended to commit a crime would probably make sure there was no means of electronically tracking them. If I was actually the mastermind behind the theft, I’d probably have arranged for someone to take my phone and my credit card and use them in a different area of town from where the crime was occurring, to give myself an alibi.
“When was the last time you were inside the Windy City Gallery?” Harrison asked.
I opened my mouth to answer but then closed it again and took a breath. “I won’t answer any more questions without my lawyer present.”
They gave me matching looks that said they thought asking for an attorney looked guilty as hell, but last time I hadn’t and I’d ended up spending a night in a holding cell because they’d still thought I was guilty anyway. I had no intention of letting that happen again.
Harrison pulled her phone out and checked the screen. “Looks like you’re about to get your wish.”
A moment later, the door flew open and Ariadne stormed into the room, a little over five feet and 90 pounds of furious Harvard-educated woman. She pulled out the chair beside me and sat, crossing her legs and glaring at the detectives.
“Have you been questioning my client?” she demanded.
“Only informally,” Goodwin replied. “She isn’t under arrest.”
Ariadne glanced at the voice recorder. “Looks official to me.”
Harrison pocketed the device. “That’s just for my personal records. Miss Ryan gave permission.”
“I did,” I admitted, my face flushing when Ariadne arched an eyebrow at me .
“Well, permission is now revoked.” She reached into the bag she’d dropped beside her chair and withdrew a notebook and a pen, then opened the book to a fresh page. “On what grounds have you brought my client in for questioning?”
Goodwin rolled his eyes. “It’s just a conversation.”
“I suggested talking at the office,” I told Ariadne. “They refused.”
“Uh-huh.” She made a note in shorthand. “So, detectives?”
Harrison shifted on her seat, growing visibly nervous. “A Monet was discovered missing from the Windy City Gallery early yesterday evening. We’d like Miss Ryan to share any information she may have about that.”
Ariadne pursed her lips. “And why do you believe Miss Ryan would have any relevant information?”
Hesitating, Harrison exchanged a look with Goodwin, then moistened her lips. “The theft has certain similarities to the Black Swan case from four years ago.”
My stomach dropped. I’d expected as much, considering they’d dragged me in, but hearing it was still a blow.
“My client wasn’t charged for that crime,” Ariadne said.
Goodwin scoffed. “We’ve seen the case file. It was solid.”
“Yet the district attorney’s office decided there wasn’t enough evidence to press charges.”
I felt a swell of satisfaction at their matching hangdog expressions. “Have you talked to Bergen?” I asked them.
If the theft had similarities to the one that had upended my life four years ago, that’s who I’d be looking at.
“We can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with you,” Harrison said.
“Isn’t that exactly what you purport to be doing?” Ariadne asked. She folded her arms. “Do you intend to charge my client? ”
“No,” Harrison replied reluctantly.
“Is she free to go?”
“Yes,” Goodwin ground out. “We’re not holding her.” He turned to me. “But we’ll be at your door the instant we have enough evidence.”
Ariadne stiffened. “Is that a threat?”
“Of course not,” he said quickly.
“Come on.” Ariadne stood, tucked her notebook back into her bag, and touched my shoulder. “We’re getting out of here.”
I got to my feet, surprised by how shaky my legs were. Ariadne yanked the door open and waved me through, ignoring the angry mutterings behind us.
“Thanks, Ari,” I murmured as she steered me down the corridor.
In the waiting area, two men near the exit caught my attention. Zeke was slouching in a chair, looking at something on his phone. His black hair was messy, as if he’d run his hands through it, and he wore his ever-present leather jacket. He tapped his phone screen, his tattooed fingers moving agilely and light glinting off his chunky rings. Give him a cigar and he wouldn’t have looked out of place backstage at a rock concert.
Part of me was surprised to see him there. It wasn’t as if we were friends. But another part of me had expected it. After all, he never had been any good at minding his own business. Ronan stood nearby, reading a poster attached to the wall.
“Miss Ryan?”
I glanced over my shoulder at Detective Harrison, who’d called down the corridor. “Yes?”
“Don’t leave town.”
A gasp of indignation escaped me, but thankfully, it wasn’t loud enough for anyone other than Ariadne to hear .
“Ignore them,” Ariadne whispered.
“Easier said than done.” I cleared my throat, which was thick with emotion. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“Anytime.” She flashed a tight smile at me. “Next time, don’t say a word until I get here.”
“I won’t.”
She glanced at the men by the door. “Are you okay if I leave you with them?”
“Yeah.”
“Great.” She gave me a quick hug. “I’ll see you at our next spin class… if not sooner.”
“See you there.” I watched her leave, noting that Zeke had looked up from the screen and his dark eyes followed her. He probably thought he’d found his next bed-warmer. He seemed to take it as a challenge to charm every woman he met. I was sure plenty of them ended up beneath him.
“No orange jumpsuit?” he asked as I approached.
I ignored him. “You didn’t have to come,” I said to Ronan.
“Of course we did.” He smiled, and the expression softened his stern features. The man was gorgeous, although it had only been since he got together with his fiancée, Willow Lennox, that he’d smoothed over some of his rougher edges. “We’ll drive you home.”
“No.” I said it so quickly they both seemed startled. I winced. “I mean, you should take me back to the office. I have plenty of time to do more work today.”
Ronan considered this. “Don’t feel like you have to. You must need a bit of quiet to get your thoughts together.”
That’s exactly what I don’t want.
There was no one to distract me at home. I didn’t want to mull over everything that had gone wrong today, and the myriad ways this could mess up my life.
“I’d rather be at work. ”
Zeke rose from the chair. “Let Fifi be a workaholic if that’s what she wants.”
I narrowed my eyes. “My name isn’t ‘Fifi.’”
“Fifi” sounded like a dog.
He smirked. “Why not? It’s cute. You’re cute. It fits.”
“Just no.”
Ronan jerked his head toward the exit and we followed him out. It was a short walk to the car and I slumped onto the back seat, feeling more drained than I’d realized. When we arrived at King’s Security, Ronan indicated for us to join him in his office. He sat at the collaboration table, Zeke sat opposite him, and I claimed the seat at Ronan’s side, more out of habit than anything else. A good assistant was always at their boss’s right hand.
“I’ll call Kade,” he said. A few minutes later, the last of the directors sauntered into the room, his broad shoulders nearly filling the doorway.
He came over to me. “How are you doing?”
I tried to look more put-together than I felt. “Been better, been worse.”
He lowered his huge frame onto the chair closest to Zeke. “Run us through everything that’s happened.”
I glanced between them, suddenly feeling intimidated. Except for Zeke, these men had never been anything but kind to me yet, for some reason, I hated the thought of unloading my baggage on them. I worked my ass off to be excellent at my job. Their respect meant something to me. I didn’t want to lose it.
ZEK E
Fiona was too pale. I didn’t like it.
Even though she was a classic redhead, with richly colored hair and alabaster skin—except for the smattering of freckles across her nose—she always seemed vibrant. Now, she was wan, and it was wrong. Fiona should be filled with life, not slumped with defeat. I was tempted to tease her just to put some color back in her cheeks, but she’d had a tough day already. She didn’t need me to behave like an ass.
“Go on,” I said gently.
She looked at me with surprise but then nodded. “Um, so you all know the story behind what happened before I came to work here.”
“You were accused of stealing three paintings from the gallery where you worked,” Ronan said. “The paintings were replaced with forged copies so no one could be sure exactly when they were taken, but yours was the only key card used outside of normal working hours, and your credit card had recently been used to buy canvases of that size, as well as paints and other supplies from a local store.”
Fiona cleared her throat. “Yeah, that’s about it. I swear I didn’t do it, though.”
“We know,” Ronan said. “Do you think I would have hired you if I thought you were a thief?”
I noticed some of the tension ease from her shoulders.
“So, what we need to know is, what actually happened?” Kade asked. “Ronan never pressed at the time he hired you. He was satisfied with the report by the private detective we hired, which concluded the same thing the police did: that there wasn’t enough evidence to press charges. Given the state of your finances and your lack of contact with any known fences, he thought it was unlikely you were behind the thefts.”
Fiona’s cheeks flushed red, and I felt a pang of sympathy. It was never nice to talk about being broke—especially to people who had plenty of money in the bank.
“It’s actually really simple,” she said, her voice unwavering. “My ex-boyfriend screwed me over.”
My gut flipped. Whatever I’d expected her to say, it wasn’t that. My fingers curled into fists. “What did he do?”
Her eyes flicked to me and then lowered to the tabletop as if it was easier to get the words out that way. “I was an artist in addition to being assistant to the gallery manager,” she said. “That’s why they were so suspicious of the purchases. They thought I could have painted the forgeries. I wasn’t that talented. Not that they believed me.” She intertwined her slender fingers and stared down at them. “My boyfriend was skilled enough to have forged them, though. I was financially supporting Bergen while he worked on his art. He was good, and I thought he had a chance of making it big one day.” She sighed. “Keep in mind that I don’t know any of this for certain, but my guess is that Bergen painted the forgeries, then took my key card while I was sleeping and swapped the forgeries out for the originals.” Her mouth curled downward. “All I know for sure is that when I got back from being questioned by the police, he was gone from the apartment, my credit cards had been maxed out, and he’d emptied our joint bank account.”
“Son of a bitch,” Kade growled. The former soldier had a chip on his shoulder when it came to men hurting or taking advantage of women. Often, I teased him for having a white knight complex, but this time, I wholeheartedly agreed.
“What the fuck kind of name is ‘Bergen’ anyway?” I asked.
Fiona rolled her eyes. “I thought it was unique. I was stupid.”
I wanted to argue that she hadn’t been stupid. I knew how much a betrayal could come out of the blue. I’d trusted my team at the secretive government agency I used to work for, first as a cyber specialist and then as an undercover operative, until I’d been set up to look like a traitor and subjected to their “advanced interrogation techniques”—AKA torture. For an instant, the memory made it difficult to draw a breath. My vision darkened and I inhaled sharply, but then, thankfully, the sensation stopped.
“Did the police find any evidence to connect him to the theft?” I asked.
“No.” She shook her head in disgust. “He supposedly had an alibi. He claimed to have been spending the nights with another woman. I don’t know who it was, but she backed him up. They both said he and I had already been broken up for a while and that I was trying to pin it on him out of spite because he left me for someone else.”
My nostrils flared. “He thought a lot of himself, didn’t he?”
I could tell from the way she looked like she’d tasted something sour that it pissed her off to have to admit this to us. I got it. Not only did it make her look like a vindictive ex-girlfriend, but a woman like Fiona wouldn’t be used to men leaving her. She was gorgeous, smart-mouthed, and intelligent. Hell, if I had a chance to taste her fire, I’d never let her get away.
“They believed him,” she said. “They didn’t have enough to charge me, but I lost pretty much everything anyway.”