“Hey,” she greeted, drawing out the single word with a twinkle in her eye.
Ryan hugged her briefly, then stepped back. “Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for inviting me.”
He glanced around. “Where’s Clay?”
“I was hopin’ you could tell me,” Ally said with a chuckle. “I think I make him nervous.”
“He bailed?” Ryan couldn’t help but laugh.
“Technically, no. He was going to get us some drinks. That was ten minutes ago.”
Ryan smiled down at her. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s trying to work up the nerve to come back.”
“I don’t mind,” Ally said. “I’m just grateful to be around people. I’ve been cooped up for three days now, and it can get quite lonely.”
“The solitary life of a writer?” Ryan inquired. Ally had told him that there were times she could go a week at a time without interacting with another human. According to her, the fictional characters in her head were quite adept at keeping her company.
“Something like that,” she answered with a smile.
“You come here often?” he asked, knowing it sounded like a line. “To the beach, that is.”
“When the characters are chatting and I need some space, yes. Maybe three or four times a year.”
“And it helps?”
“Most of the time. More so because it eliminates the distractions. I don’t have to worry about the coffee shop, and I can’t come up with a million other things to do.” Ally glanced back at the beach house. “Nice place, by the way. I was talking to your father. He said they just purchased.”
Ryan laughed. “Apparently. That was news to me a couple of days ago.”
“So you’re here on assignment?” she questioned in a conspiratorial whisper.
Ryan nodded.
Ally peered up at him, a question burning in her gaze. “Is Clay working, too?”
“He is. That’s the reason we needed your help,” Ryan told her. “I’m hoping the two of you can offer a distraction while we attempt to get some things taken care of.”
“Put me to work,” Ally laughed. “I’ll consider it research for a book.”
Her eyes scanned the area around them briefly.
“He’ll be back,” Ryan assured her.
“That obvious, huh?” Ally snorted. “He’s mastered the art of disappearing when I’m around.”
“Not this time. He… Clay likes you.”
“He’s a nice guy,” Ally stated, sounding as though she were closing a door on that particular topic. Ryan knew when to take a hint.
“Until he comes back, do you wanna go chat with Jericho and Amahn? If you hear anything you might think is important, just let me know,” Ryan said, nodding toward the couple standing near the bonfire with the others.
“Sure. But it’d help if you told me what I’m tryin’ to find out.”
“I don’t know, and that’s the problem. We’re tryin’ to find a hiding place, I guess you could say. Something that’ll lead us to a piece of art that Jericho has stashed.”
“Got it.”
Ryan’s phone rang as he led Ally toward the bonfire, where Z and the others had begun to congregate once the sun had slipped lower and lower in the sky, leaving darkness in its wake.
“Excuse me a minute,” he told Ally, then hit the button on the phone to answer the call. “What’s up?”
“Nothin’, man,” Conner grumbled roughly. “And that’s the problem. We managed to make it inside—their security’s a joke, by the way—but nothin’.”
“Did you check Amahn’s office?” Ryan inquired, pivoting on his heel and heading in the opposite direction, seeking privacy. “Z said the desk was locked.”
Ryan watched as Ally approached Amahn and Jericho, who’d been intercepted by Kira.
“Scoured it from top to bottom,” Conner said. “Nothin’ to be found other than a few personal items and an inventory list. You sure he’s the one?”
“No, not positive. But it makes sense,” Ryan told Conner.
Amahn might not be the one after the painting, but he was overly suspicious, which raised the hair on the back of Ryan’s neck. He wanted to know what the man was up to.
“Well, bro, it looks like this is a dead end.”
“Shit.” Ryan knew they were running out of time to come up with a plan to intercept the painting before the show. If they couldn’t get their hands on it sooner, they’d have no choice but to attempt to steal it when it was on its way to the gallery or after. Either way, they still had to get their hands on one of the fakes to replace it with.
“Did you hear from Trace or Hunter?” Conner inquired.
“Not yet,” he told Conner. “I doubt they’ll find anything, either.”
Going back to Jericho’s was a long shot, but Trace was convinced there was something to find, and he was hell-bent on locating it. When it came to matters of national security, they all sweated a little. They loved their country, most of them having served in one branch of the military or another. So when someone threatened the place they had put their lives on the line to protect, they took it personally.
“Hold up,” Conner grumbled roughly.
Ryan scanned his surroundings, making sure no one was within earshot while he waited for Conner.
“Colby found somethin’. Looks like your good buddy Amahn’s got a storage unit not too far from here.”
“Check it out,” Ryan instructed, hoping like hell it’d provide them with something.
“Will do. We’ll get back to you.”
Ryan disconnected the call and placed his phone in his pocket. He had hoped he would hear from Trace or Hunter by now. He needed some good news, like they’d found a storage unit for good ol’ Jeri and the painting was now safe and secure and ready for transport to DHS.
Unfortunately, things didn’t seem to be working in Ryan’s favor.
As far as the assignment, that was.
His gaze strayed to Z, who was laughing at something Casper had said.
Ryan remembered Z’s kiss from the night before. Well, more accurately, it’d been a make-out session that had put any of his teenage rendezvous to shame. Didn’t matter that he was thirty-two years old, Ryan had felt like a damn hormonal kid when they’d been in that pool. Especially afterward, when he’d climbed into his bed alone, his dick in hand. The hand job had eased the ache in his balls but not much more than that.
Tonight wasn’t much different, but he’d been trying to refrain from jumping Z at the first opportunity. First, it wasn’t professional, and second, his entire family would be there to witness should he lose his self-control.
Sure, he knew he’d appeared standoffish during the day, but he had to continuously remind himself that they were here for a reason. A mission. One that couldn’t go by the wayside because they couldn’t fight their hormones. Plus, Clay had been there, eyeing them warily at every turn.
Granted, Ryan was ready and willing to give in just as soon as Z said the word. Why Z seemed to be the one who was hesitant now, Ryan hadn’t yet figured out. From all the stories he’d heard… Like the one about…
Okay, so they hadn’t so much been stories as they’d been statements. People claiming Z was promiscuous. Wild. Now that he thought about it, he had no actual proof of that, only what his gut told him. Still, he’d never seen Z with a man, and they all tended to hang out together when they had the chance. Z wasn’t in the closet, not by a long shot. So why wouldn’t Z bring his partners with him when they got together if he had been seeing someone?
He’s never home. And I’m starting to think he’s got a secret life. You know…one where he has a husband and kids stashed somewhere. Every night at eight, he disappears. Sometimes he comes home before sunup, but more often than not, he doesn’t come home at all.
Those were his sister’s words. Ryan had overheard a conversation between Marissa and Courtney one day in the office when Z hadn’t arrived as they’d expected.
If he wasn’t out playing house, where did he go?