Okay, this conversation was definitely not going the way Z had hoped.
“I wish you’d’ve told me,” Trace inserted, watching Z closely.
Yeah, well.
Rather than reprimand him for not being an open book, Jensyn glanced at Z briefly, then turned back to Trace and Marissa. “No matter what it looks like on the outside, my brother’s a really private person. Trust me, he doesn’t tell me everything, either.” Jensyn laughed. “And I try to pry all the time.”
“I wish you’d have talked to me before telling them,” Z told Jensyn softly.
“What? Me? I didn’t tell them. They—”
“My wife’s nosy, Z. You know that. I’ve tried to stop her from snooping, but she actually dug this up on her own.”
“Figures.” Z smiled at Marissa, feeling somewhat relieved that the secret was now out. “I should’ve known.”
“It’s a good thing, though,” Marissa added, reaching over to pat his hand. “Now we can be there for you when you need us. And Trace can stop spreading rumors that you’re a man whore.”
“Thanks for that, by the way.” Z had long ago given up on trying to stop the steady flow of rumors.
“You’re welcome. It’s only made you a legend.” Trace laughed.
The waitress arrived, taking their order quickly and then hurrying off.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this to yourself, though,” Z told Trace and Marissa. “I don’t need everyone at the office asking about my personal life.”
Trace instantly frowned and Z knew that look.
“Shit, man. I’m sorry.”
Z prayed Trace had not told Ryan, but the way Trace’s frown deepened, he knew he couldn’t be so lucky. “Great.”
“What’s the big deal?” Jensyn asked. “You always said the people you work with are like family. Wouldn’t they want to know?”
The most important person, as far as Z was concerned—RT—already knew. Well, most of it, but not about him spending all his nights there. Regardless, Z clamped his mouth shut. RT didn’t deserve to know anything. He had yet to get over the pain RT had inflicted the last time they’d talked, back when he’d sent him on his way without so much as a thanks for the hot sex speech.
It was hard to believe that so much time could pass without either of them speaking directly to one another. At least nothing more than a few text messages pertaining to work, anyway.
Marissa and Trace traded a look. Z wanted to change the subject more than he wanted the triple stack he’d ordered, and his stomach was already attempting to eat itself, he was so hungry.
“There’s somethin’ more between you and RT, isn’t there?” Jensyn’s tone was sympathetic.
“No,” Z insisted. “Not at all.”
“Come on now, Z. You’re a lot of things, but a liar ain’t one of them.”
“Can we talk about somethin’ else? Please. Anything but this.” Z had had enough of the conversation.
“Fine, let’s talk about—”
Before Marissa’s suggestion made it out of her mouth, Trace’s cell phone rang, the familiar ringtone announcing it was RT on the other end of the line. That strange twinge of hope swelled in Z’s chest, along with a small measure of jealousy that RT wasn’t calling him. He ignored both.
“What’s up?” Trace answered sternly, his arm casually sliding around his wife as he leaned back in the booth. “What? Seriously?” Trace sat up straight once again. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll be right there.”
Z waited to hear where Trace was off to, but the answer wasn’t forthcoming. At least not immediately.
“We’ve gotta go.” Trace kissed Marissa on the lips, confusing Z. If they had to go, why did it look like Trace was kissing her good-bye?
“Come on, Z. Take me by the warehouse so I can get my bike. I’ll leave the Escalade for the ladies.” Trace tossed three twenties onto the table along with his car keys. “We’ve got an assignment. I’ll call you as soon as I know what it entails. You good?”
Marissa nodded, then winked at Jensyn. “Yep. I can always use a little girl time.”
Z glanced at his sister. “You’re good?”
“Sure. No plans for the day except to visit Dad, so once I’m done there, I’ll hang out at your place until Reese gets here.”
Reese. Right. Shit. “Tell him I’m really sorry. I’ll call when I know more.”
“Go protect the world. We’ll be fine.”
Z had no idea what he was going to protect the world from, but he figured he’d soon find out.
RYAN WAS WAITING IN THE conference room, everything set up and ready to go when Clay arrived. Rather than wait for Trace, he proceeded to give his brother the high-level details, promising to go in depth when the third member of the team arrived.
Exactly forty minutes after they’d ended their call, Ryan looked up to see Trace stepping into the room, a frown on his face.
Ryan’s gaze slid right past Trace to land on…
Schooling his features, Ryan pretended not to be surprised that Trace wasn’t alone. Z, in all his beautiful, dark-haired glory, was standing in the doorway, watching the scene before him, looking as baffled as Ryan felt.
“We only need the three of us,” Ryan told Trace, hating himself for treating Z like shit, but it’d become a self-preservation instinct.
“Bullshit.” Trace stabbed a finger in Ryan’s direction, his face darkening with anger. “Now shut the fuck up and tell us what’s goin’ on.”
Ryan bit his tongue, refusing to get into it with Trace while Z and Clay were there, but he made sure Trace saw his answering fury.
“I can go,” Z stated, his deep voice drawing Ryan’s attention.
“Sit,” Trace commanded. “This assignment needs you more than any of us. He’s just bein’ a jackass.”
Ryan ignored Trace’s snide remark, even if it was true. “You didn’t tell him?”
“Nope. You’re the boss. That’s your fucking job.”
Okay, so Trace was definitely pissed, and it sounded personal, which meant he still harbored some anger toward Ryan regarding what had transpired between him and Z. Made sense. Ryan was pissed at himself as well, but he wasn’t good with apologies. However, this definitely wasn’t the time or place to drag those skeletons out of his closet.
Ryan motioned for Z to take a seat at the table, refusing to look at him, rather staring at the computer screen. “I got a call from Jericho Ardent a short while ago. Amahn’s son, Amit, has disappeared.”
“With or without the painting?” Trace questioned.
“Without,” Ryan explained. “According to Jericho, the night of the show, he had suspected that Amit was the one who’d attempted to steal the painting. In order to spare Amahn any heartache, he’d decided to talk to Amit himself, hoping to handle the issue without causing a problem between father and son. He thought that had worked, but he continued to have Amit watched.”
“If he hired his own security, why’s he callin’ us?” Clay asked.
“Amit quit his job at the gallery shortly after the show and told Amahn that he was going to spend time with his mother. Amahn received a phone call from her yesterday letting him know that Amit hadn’t been home in two days and wanting to see if he’d gone back to Amahn’s. After several attempts to get in touch with him, Amahn started to panic.”
“And they’re sure he disappeared?” Clay inquired.
“They are now,” Ryan confirmed. “I had Dom hack the kid’s bank account, and there was a large sum of money deposited into his account on the same day as the gallery show. It’s slowly been disappearing a little at a time, and it appears Amit’s been spending it.”
“He took payment for the painting,” Z muttered, staring down at the table. “Without having the painting to give in return.”
“That’s what I think, too,” Ryan confirmed.
“You think he tried to pass the fake off as the real thing?” Trace glanced between the three of them.
“More than likely. Probably to buy himself some time until he could get his hands on the real thing.” Jericho had given Ryan as much information as he had, but Ryan knew it wasn’t enough. “I’ve got Dom digging to see what else he can find. Told him to trace where the money came from.”
“What’re we supposed to do?” Clay did not look at all happy.