Page 5 of Smoke Screen
“People constantly judging me? Forming opinions when they don’t know me?” He laughed. “You get used to it.”
When he shifted to open the door, she reached out, touched his arm. “I really am sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Okay,” he said in a clipped tone that let her know he didn’t believe her.
That, yes, it would most definitely happen again. What, in this man’s life, would lead him to be so cynical?
Not my problem.
He opened the door to a bedroom larger than Maddy’s apartment. More floor-to-ceiling windows served as outer walls and all Maddy wanted was to sit up in that bed one morning, look out the window, and take in the lake’s beauty, the wash of bold pinks and purples of a dawn cotton candy sky.
“Amazing,” Phin said. “Isn’t it?”
“It sure is.”
He gestured to the two upholstered chairs positioned in front of the glass. “Let’s sit.”
She lowered herself to the chair, set her purse on the floor, and smoothed her dress while aligning her thoughts. President Thompson had sent her here. Well, President Thompson via her boss, Frank Silvain. Now, she had a job to do and wanted to make her employer happy.
Finally, she shifted to face him. “I’m way out of my lane here.”
He hit her with the Charlie Charm smile again. She totally didn’t trust that smile.
“That’s where the fun is,” he said.
Maddy let out a low whistle and zinged him with her best no-nonsense look. “Look, you’re a nice guy, but I need you to back off on the slick. And, frankly, if you don’t want people judging you as a player, don’t give them reason to.”
Again, Phin laughed, but even as he tried to sell his amusement, his eyes narrowed a fraction.
Insulted?
Maybe.
“Lady,” he said, “you’re a pisser.”
“Whatever. All I know is Kayla seems to think your family can help recover the jewels stolen from the Thompson Center.”
There. She’d said it. Just blurted it out. As if it was someone else’s crazy idea. As if she hadn’t been the one to go to her boss and suggest they speak to a company that specialized in this type of thing. A company that Kayla Krowne, one of their board members, had a connection to. A company like Blackwell Asset Recovery Services, that Maddy had heard, was really—really—good at locating insanely expensive stolen items.
Rumor amongst the museum management crowd had it that the last item BARS successfully retrieved was a five-hundred-thousand-dollar bottle of brandy.
And who cared enough about liquor to spend half a million dollars on it? Collectors. Curious bunch.
Phin’s eyebrows rose, but other than that, no body language. Zero.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“I’m thinking a lot of things. There hasn’t been much on the news about the heist. My brother, Ash— Cameron— is on the FBI’s art crime team. I’m assuming you know that.Hewon’t even give us details. All I know is that there was a robbery and pieces made by the president’s father were taken.”
“Do you know the story about his biological father? Why he doesn’t have the same last name?”
Phin nodded. “Louis Pierre, world-renowned jeweler. He and the president’s mother had an affair. She never told Pierre she was pregnant.”
“Correct. She married a man who adopted the president as a toddler. The president didn’t find out about his biological father until he was a teenager. Out of respect for the man who raised him, he chose not to change his last name to Pierre, but he did meet his biological family. As Thompson’s political career took off, Louis Pierre designed countless items for his daughter-in-law, the soon-to-be First Lady.”
“Who also happens to be granddaughter to none other than the Queen of England.”
“Skip ahead to a few months ago,” Maddy said. “I proposed the idea for a thirty-day exhibit featuring the clothing and jewelry worn by the First Lady during election week. A bold request on my part, considering the value and personal nature of the pieces. I hounded my boss, the Center’s director, to take it to the board. I’m sure he got sick of me asking and thought the board would deny me and that would be the end.”
