Page 30 of Lost to Thievery
“Just so we’re all clear, Ava isn’t back on the case. She’s just along for the ride,” Owen quipped. “Did you make sure you weren’t followed? No one watched you board this plane?”
“We’re all good,” Syntax chimed. “Welcome back, boss. The team wasn’t the same without you.”
“Yeah. There was no one to keep Taylor in check,” Emerie added, glaring stone cold daggers at Liam.
Marshall was in the back, studying some papers intently, not even acknowledging our arrival. He was surrounded by other agents I didn’t recognise but were presumably his SWAT team.
The camaraderie between the group had changed since the last time I’d seen them. They were more familiar with one another, more at ease.
“If you’re not here to help us, what exactly are you doing here?” Emerie had turned that cold stare on me.
“Since I’m back and reinstated as captain of this fucking ship, I don’t see how that’s your problem, Emerie.” Owen glowered at her. For someone so calm and reserved, he could get intense real fast.
Emerie scoffed and turned towards the small window.
“She’s just pissed because we’ve gotten nowhere without you.” Marshall tore his eyes from the papers to look at me.
“Shut up, Marshall,” Emerie mumbled to which Marshall’s mouth twitched in amusement.
It was the most expressions I’ve seen him make. And I couldn’t help but notice the invisible string between the two. There was definitely something going on between Emerie and Marshall. It was as clear as day. Well, at least to me.
“What Emerie wastryingto say is that we hope you reconsider. We could really use your help on this.” Syntax patted the seat next to her, waving me over.
I sank into that seat, wringing my hands on the table before us. I should have just said no to Owen. I should’ve known I would get sucked right back into the drama.
“Ava’s participation is not up for discussion. And that’s final.” Owen’s voice was stern. He sounded a lot like the director. He made a great leader.
I gave him a small smile in gratitude. At least he had my back on this.
“Now, fill me in,” Owen said as he took the seat on the opposite side of the table.
Syntax sat up straighter, typing at her computer until a video of Grayson and Hunter appeared, taken by a security camera. The rest of the team gathered round, Liam plopping into the seat next to Owen.
She turned the laptop so everyone could see. “Facial recognition picked them up at a café in Florence, Italy. We’ve only been able to capture Grayson and Hunter. No sign of Gemma yet.”
My stomach fluttered at the sight of Grayson and Hunter, walking out the doors of a little café into the street. Hunter looked like a typical tourist in khaki shorts and flip-flops, but Grayson looked like a movie star. His jeans were dark blue, hugging his muscled legs perfectly, with a white button-down shirt, moulding to the contours of his body as he walked—more like smug sauntering that made everyone in a ten-meter vicinity’s heads turn. The bastard knew he was gorgeous. I had to remind myself to keep breathing. “Florence makes sense. You just need to figure out what they’re after.”
“Yeah, but that could be anything. I mean it’sFlorence.” Liam threw his hands up in exasperation.
“That’s why I’ve been monitoring all the hotspots and found this five minutes ago.” Syntax pressed a key on the laptop with a self-satisfied smile, and a video of Grayson and Hunter walking through a museum, looking at paintings, popped up on the screen.
“That’s the Uffizi Gallery.” Owen spoke for the first time.
“The one and only.” Syntax grinned. “I contemplated letting Interpol know so they could jump our perps in the museum, but they don’t know them like we do. They’d probably screw it up.”
“Good call,” I answered and Owen nodded in agreement.
Emerie leaned in closer, her eyes dashing between the two men on the screen. “They look like normal tourists, but…”
“They’re staking it out,” Marshall finished Emerie’s sentence.
Emerie nodded, excitement lighting her eyes. “See?” She pointed to Grayson. “He looks like he’s just strolling along, but his steps are precise. I bet you each step is half a meter long. He’s measuring the space betweenthatpainting and the exit.”
“What painting is that?” Liam looked between Emerie and Owen.
“Venus of Urbino by Titian,” Owen answered, eyes glued to the screen. “They ever mentioned it, Ava?” Owen asked, giving me an apologetic glance for pulling me into this again.
“Not that I can remember, no.”
