“Glad you could make it,” Amahn said politely, appearing somewhat apologetic for his son’s brusque response. Amahn glanced back and forth between RT and Z before taking Jericho’s hand and leading the man to another couple standing close by.
“Was that introduction as weird as it sounded?” Trace’s deep voice grumbled in Z’s ear.
“Most definitely,” RT concurred. “Get Dom to find out everything he can on Amit Chopra. ASAP.”
“Roger that.”
Z met RT’s questioning gaze.
The son worked there? “Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Z questioned.
“What are y’all thinkin’?” Colby asked, his tone giddy, as though this was the most excitement he’d had all night. Then again, if he was confined to a car with Trace, it probably was.
“Keep an eye on him,” RT instructed Z, taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter before venturing off, leaving Z standing there.
“Right,” Z mumbled beneath his breath.
Something was off with RT, but Z didn’t know what. Gone was the laid-back guy he’d briefly glimpsed in recent days, and in his place was the no-nonsense workaholic. It was evident the assignment wasn’t going as planned. In fact, it looked more and more like they’d be going home empty-handed, which meant…
Fucking hell.
Z sighed, then downed a full glass of champagne in one chug, his nostrils flaring from distaste. Yep, he still hated champagne.
Remembering he was at work, Z set the glass down on a table in the corner, vowing he’d spend the rest of the evening focusing on what was important and not the potential outcome of this endeavor.
Should the mission go to shit, RT would likely hold Z responsible for the failure. Well, maybe not him personally, but RT would definitely blame the circumstances, finding some absurd excuse such as their personal interactions interfering with the outcome.
And right now, that was something Z definitely didn’t want to think about.
RYAN NEEDED TO PUT SOME distance between himself and Z. It was clear he’d allowed his emotions to cloud his priorities, and now they were down to the wire, about to risk an entire assignment because… Fuck. Because Ryan had been fucking horny.
Goddammit.
Why the hell hadn’t Ryan thought about Amahn’s son being the one responsible for the theft? It made so much damn sense considering Amit would’ve come around at the same time Amahn had. He would have access because he worked at the gallery, and if Ryan had to guess, he was likely staying at Jericho’s with his father.
“Shit.”
“Something wrong?”
Ryan peered over to his left to find the woman from the other day, Cassandra Chapman. “No, sorry. Just…”
“Fight with your husband?”
“Oh,” Ryan sputtered, surprised by the statement. Following Cassandra’s gaze, Ryan glanced across the room to see Z standing there, glaring back at him. “No. No fight.” Turning back to her, he added, “And he’s not my husband.”
“Right. Boyfriend.” Cassandra’s green eyes twinkled knowingly. “Well, he certainly looks like a man scorned. What’d you do to break his heart?”
Break his heart? Z? Ryan doubted Z’s heart could be broken. The man was invincible.
Chuckling to himself, though he didn’t find the thought at all comical, Ryan turned his attention to the painting in front of him. Jericho’s painting, to be exact. “What do you think of this one?” A change of subject was definitely warranted right about now.
Cassandra laughed softly. “Message received. I promise not to pry anymore.”
Ryan spared her another glance, forcing a smile.
“As for this painting, I find it oddly appealing, but I don’t think it’s the artist’s brush stroke or use of color that fascinates me.”
“No?” Ryan studied the painting again, still not understanding what anyone found fascinating about any of it. Z was right; it was ugly.
“No. It’s the backstory about the artist that’s compelling. Then again, a lot of famous artists were off their rocker, right? I mean, it’s rumored that Van Gogh cut off his own ear.”
“Wasn’t that recently disputed? That his ear was actually cut off in a fight with a friend?” Good thing he’d had Kira pull up some facts prior to this engagement or Ryan would be lost.
“Yes, but who really knows? It’s also said that Van Gogh suffered from schizophrenia, and Michelangelo was said to have obsessive-compulsive disorder. You get the idea. So it’s not farfetched to think that Malcolm Jones was a conspiracy theorist and suffered from severe paranoia.”
“No, I guess not,” Ryan acquiesced.
“The notion that someone could code national security secrets into art… That’s what’s appealing about this particular piece.”
Ryan didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say.
“Well, it was nice to see you again,” Cassandra said sweetly. “I better mingle with the others so your boyfriend’ll quit giving me the evil eye.”
Across the room, Z remained in the same position he’d been in, scanning the room smoothly, homing back in on Ryan periodically. Ryan didn’t think Z was giving anyone the evil eye, but sure, he could see it from Cassandra’s perspective.
“Nice to see you, as well,” Ryan answered courteously. “I’ll go talk to him.”
“Good idea.”
Ryan didn’t return to Z immediately, although he did cast glances in Z’s direction a time or two. It wasn’t until Amit came over to talk to one of the rent-a-cops standing a few feet away from Jericho’s painting that things started moving. The rest of the patrons of the gallery seemed oblivious to the fact that a theft was likely in the works right there in their midst.
“Dom got the info. Wanna hear it?” Trace’s voice reverberated in Ryan’s head. Because he was standing alone with several people around him, he whispered an affirmative.
“Born and raised here in the states. Twenty-three years old, never enrolled in any university. Worked some odd jobs until he started here at the gallery when his father transferred. Visits his mother regularly, and based on his social media accounts, he’s not all that fond of the fact his father left his mother and is now hooking up with a man.”
“So he’s doin’ this to get back at his father?” Clay questioned from somewhere within the gallery.
“Could be,” Colby confirmed. “Or he knows the value of the painting. According to Dom, he’s used the Internet to seek interest from potential buyers. And not for its visual appeal, if you know what I mean.”
Just fucking great. As it would seem, Amahn’s own son was attempting to steal the painting as payback but looking to be financially rewarded for his efforts. At least they knew that Amit was aware of the value and the reason it was valuable, which would make him even more determined.
“What do we do now?” Trace asked.
“We’ll sit on the gallery until the show is over,” Ryan told them after moving to a more private location. “That’s our only option.”
“So you do want us to snag this one?” Colby inquired, referring to the fake painting at Jericho’s beach house.
Ryan took a deep breath, scanned the room again. Amit was definitely attempting to lure the guard away from the painting. If he had the other fake, he could easily pull off what Ryan had been hoping to do himself. Replacing the original with the fake when no one was expecting it wasn’t as easy as it sounded, but at some point tonight, Ryan figured it would be possible. And since Amit would be armed with the fake he’d stolen, he’d easily be able to do it.
“Yes. Get the painting, then get your asses over here and watch the gallery.” Ryan didn’t think they’d need it. Unfortunately. But he’d rather be safe than sorry.
Since pulling the stunt off looked less and less feasible with every passing minute, Ryan had to figure out a way to throw Amit off long enough to replace the original with the fake they had, and then they’d be home free.
That or they’d have failed miserably, and Ryan wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
TWENTY-EIGHT
AMIT COULDN’T BELIEVE THOSE ASSHOLES were back.