Page 78 of Smoke Screen
And it wouldn’t clear Maddy. With one piece still missing, she’d never shake free of suspicion. BARS or no BARS, he couldn’t stomach her life being destroyed.
Frying rays sizzled against the back of his neck and drops of sweat trickled into his shirt. By the time he got home, he’d need another shower and fresh clothes.
He itched to lift his hand, to wipe the sweat, but no. He kept his hands at his sides, having a simple conversation with a guy devoid of a moral compass.
What else was new?
Business was business. He couldn’t worry about the scumbags of the world when he had a job to do.
He met Rory’s eye and nodded. “Let me see what I can do.”
From her spotin the passenger seat, Maddy kept her head down, but tilted enough to spy on Phin and the financial planner/lowlife.
Too bad they couldn’t have outfitted Phin with a microphone so she could listen in.
Not that he would have done it. Or maybe he would have. She didn’t know him well enough to be sure.
Phin broke away from Rory, his face a full sheet of bland. He strode along the driveway, in no particular hurry. If he’d looked her way, he’d hidden it well by not turning his head. This was just a guy on a sunny day walking back to his car.
An expert at emotional subterfuge.
Something she’d never mastered and, really, had no reason to want to. Mom always said she’d make a horrid poker player.
Aside from two brief phone calls assuring Mom all would be fine, Maddy had avoided her family. Humiliation did that. Good Girl Maddy might be in colossal trouble and the last thing she’d wanted was to tarnish their name.
Was it fair to shut her family out? No. But if she stayed away, maybe the press would leave them alone.
Wishful thinking, perhaps, but she could only process so much and she’d been busy pondering the ramifications of FBI interrogations. In her mind, the questions led to handcuffs and trials. Orange scrubs and plastic shoes. Group showers.
Prison.
A vision of her trading cigarettes for phone time popped into her brain. Could prisoners even swap phone time?
Swelling panic filled her just as Phin opened the door, yanking her free from the mental rabbit hole she’d dived into.
He slid into his seat, bringing that Phin smile and an equally warm blast of air. So much better than prison thoughts.
In silence, he buckled his seat belt and checked his rearview.
Seriously? He wasn’t going to tell her anything?
No, sir.
“Well,” she said, “how’d it go?”
He shifted the car into gear and pulled from the curb. “He wants to make a deal.”
Her spine stiffened, bolting her upright and giving her lower back relief from her slouched position. “He knows where the pieces are?”
Could it be that easy? Phin calling some shady guy he knew and—bam—they found the pieces?
He eased the car to a stop at the corner, checked for traffic, and made the turn. “I don’t think so. He’s cagey.”
“Then what kind of deal does he want?”
“Call it a hypothetical. He has a client interested in securing one of the queen’s pieces. And, before you ask, yes, apparently the word is out on the black market that the queen’s collection was stolen. The thieves are probably trying to unload the stuff. Quietly.”
“Which piece do they want?”
