A bell clanged above the door when Ryan pulled it open, and more heads turned. A few welcomes from the staff behind the counter followed. The inside wasn’t as crowded as the outside, which was surprising considering the heat of the day. Ignoring the stares, Ryan appreciated the chilly air of the interior, desperately needing something to cool him off.
The two of them went to the counter, ordered separately before finding a booth near the door. While they waited for their food, Ryan messed with his phone, checking in with his father and Casper via text, letting them both know that they’d made it. Bryce informed him that their things should be arriving at the condo in the next few minutes. According to his father, the jet had landed at Mustang Island airport a little while ago.
“So, what do we do first?” Z inquired, his gaze sliding from his own phone up to Ryan’s face as they sat across from one another.
“Eat.”
Z grinned and Ryan felt that strange eruption in his gut. It was lust, combined with…need. Following, a vicious heat infused his blood, snaking its way through Ryan’s entire body. It was a phenomenon he’d gotten quite familiar with as of late. One he certainly didn’t approve of.
So much for the air conditioning. He was not going to make it through this unscathed; he knew that now. Pep talks be damned.
“I got that part,” Z replied casually, that sexy smirk making his dimple flash. “And then?”
“The art gallery we’ll be staking out is in Corpus, not far from here. The big showing isn’t until Saturday night. Figured we’d mingle with the locals, get the lay of the land until then.”
“We’re actually gonna go to this art gallery?” Z’s tone reflected his disinterest.
“Affirmative. There’ll be a small showing on Wednesday, and we’re officially on the guest list. The client said he’d get us on the other list after he met with us. Vetted us, so to speak.”
“Anyone tell you that you’re a shitty date?” Z questioned, deadpan.
There was that fucking heat again.
“No, seriously.” Z’s dimple flashed. “I’m into guys who want to go to concerts, maybe catch a movie. Dinner’s always welcome, too. But art… I’ll pass.”
Z knew how to lighten the mood. He kept the office laughing most of the time. If only Ryan didn’t find that such an attractive quality in a man… Ryan had to admit, he wasn’t immune to the guy’s charm.
“Art virgin, huh? It only hurts the first time,” Ryan joked, his blood heating from the innuendo.
Z’s mouth widened into a full-fledged grin; his eyes darkened at the same time. “Ryan Trexler, are you offerin’ to be my first?”
Oh, hell. This conversation train had officially derailed.
Glancing down at the table, Ryan shook his head, trying to get his brain to come back online. There for a second, he’d been on hormone overload. After a few deep breaths, Ryan finally lifted his head, meeting Z’s dark stare. “We’ve gotta show interest in the art. Learn more about it, figure out how to replace the real thing with a fake,” Ryan replied.
“Figure out how to get a fake,” Z added.
“True.”
“I think we should steal the original fake,” Z told him. “That’d reduce the amount of work we have to do.”
Grateful they’d gotten back on the initial discussion, Ryan nodded in agreement. “If we can find it.” Z’s idea wasn’t a bad one, but it was dependent on whether they could locate the fake, which only added another unidentified aspect to the equation.
Z stared back at him as though processing his words. With a shrug, Z continued, “So what’s this guy’s name? The one we’re working for but not.”
“Jericho Ardent.”
“Rich?”
“Loaded,” Ryan said, setting his phone on the table and resigning himself to having to face Z directly.
“Old?”
“Nope,” Ryan replied. “Thirty-one.” Same age as Z.
“How’d he hear of Sniper 1?”
“Remember that gig last summer? We sent Clay and Decker down to Houston to keep an eye on the governor’s wife for some charity event?”
“Sure.” Z relaxed in the booth and spread his arms wide across the back.
Ryan did his best not to glance down to where Z’s T-shirt lifted, showing a sliver of tanned skin and the dark trail of hair that dipped down into his jeans. Not thinking about where that trail led… It wasn’t easy.
Ryan would need an ice bath by the time this was over.
“He’s apparently friends with the governor,” Ryan explained, forcing his eyes to Z’s face.
“Good friends?”
“No idea,” Ryan replied, leaning back when an employee walked up, delivering their food on two trays.
“Condiments?” the young woman inquired, a blinding smile transforming her pretty face.
Z waved her off with a devastating grin.
The man had a way with the ladies—even if he didn’t sleep with them.
“We’re good, thanks,” Ryan told her, then turned back to Z when she skipped off. “The dossier I received on Ardent is slim. Not much information. Apparently the governor gave us a reference, and Ardent was impressed so he sought us out.”
“So this painting, it’s a big deal?”
“Yeah.”
“Like Da Vinci Code stuff?”
Ryan smiled. Not only was Z intensely attractive, he was also smart.
“You read?” Ryan asked curiously.
Z nodded. “And write and wipe my own ass. How ’bout that?”
Oh, Lord. Ryan couldn’t choke back the laugh that time, and it clearly pleased Z, because he paused, his burger halfway to his mouth, his eyes scanning Ryan’s face, his cheeks lifting with his grin.
“Good to know,” Ryan retorted. “And yes, this is Da Vinci Code shit. And it’s not so much what was painted, though that does factor in. There’s supposedly an electronic chip in the frame, which can be used to decipher top-secret information coded within the painting that could be detrimental to national security should it get leaked.”
With his burger in his mouth, Z’s eyes widened as he stared back at Ryan.
“No shit, man,” Ryan confirmed with a chuckle before taking a bite of his own burger.
“Who painted this thing?” Z asked after chewing. “And how does one get national security secrets coded in something so ugly?”
“I’m not into art,” Ryan admitted. “Don’t remember the name of the painter off the top of my head. As for the information, from what I gather, the guy was a conspiracy theorist. Total whack job. Anyway, this guy’s wife…she was CIA.” When Z’s eyes flared again, Ryan added, “Yeah. I know. Looks like they were either close and she divulged the information or he stole it. Not sure which. The painter and his wife are both deceased.”
“How’d they die?”
“Murder-suicide. Ten years ago.”
For a few minutes, the two of them ate in silence while they both pondered the information. Z’s attention continuously drifted to the other customers in the restaurant. Watching Z, the way he worked, the way he saw things, it was fascinating. Ryan was almost certain he could ask Z what color shoes the man in the far left corner was wearing and he’d know.
Blue. With white laces.
The shoes.
After finishing both of his burgers and his fries, Z stole a couple of Ryan’s fries, then pushed his own tray away, an inquisitive expression on his face. “So how do we get close to this guy?”
“We need to find something that we have in common with him. Or we need to fabricate it,” Ryan explained.
“So what’s he like?”
“Well, he’s…” Holy shit. Before the words came out of his mouth, Ryan realized exactly why Bryce and Casper had suggested Ryan bring Z on this mission.
“He’s what?” Z asked, leaning forward, his thick forearms resting on the table.
Ryan glanced up, meeting Z’s eyes. “Bryce mentioned that we already had something in common with him, something that would be a way in.”
“And?” Z asked, his eyebrows lifting with curiosity. “What’s that? He own a motorcycle? Interested in security? Doesn’t own a pair of flip-flops? What is it?”
Ryan couldn’t believe he hadn’t put two and two together earlier when he’d been scanning the information Bryce had provided him on Jericho Ardent. But it had been there, plain as day.
“I don’t know what he’s got in his closet,” Ryan retorted, unable to disguise his own frustration with the situation. “No pun intended. But those aren’t the reasons Bryce and Casper sent us down here.”