Page 48 of The One-Night Heist

I understood my mentor was simply being protective, but he’d also been incredibly excited to meet The Rowen Quincy in person in the first place. It may have been because of my dark mood, but the more I thought of that hypocrisy, the more irritated I became. Yes, Rowen was an art thief but, despite his attempts to hold me at arm’s length, I knew that wasn’t his entire identity. He’d only shown me glimpses of himself so far, but I was determined to get to the bottom of who he truly was, and to openly admire anything he showed me.

Whether or not he thinks he wants it.

My gaze drifted from my laptop to where Poppy #5 still hung safely on my study wall. Of course, Rowen had left this painting alone, since not only was it excluded from the publicized auction lot, but only an insider would know it existed.

Someone who’d been allowed in my private quarters.

As usual, a wave of emotion washed over me at the sight of my most prized possession, but now there was an itch beneath the surface—an acute awareness that a single painting hung in a lonely apartment was no longer enough to keep me satisfied.

I want more.

While I still wasn’t sure what I’d do with myself after the estate was settled—once all the dominos fell where they may—there was one man I absolutely wanted by my side, no matter where I ended up.

I simply need to show him it’s where he belongs.

If there was one thing I did have, it was a family name that held considerable sway, so after contacting the lobby to have Rowen added to my permanently approved list of visitors, I made another phone call.

To the FBI Art Crime Team’s Manhattan field office.

In no time at all, I was speaking to Antoinette Lowry, the Supervisory Special Agent for this division. I’d briefly met Agent Lowry at The Skyline party, but she’d been unable to join the investigation at my apartment due to prior obligations out of state, so the first thing she did was apologize profusely. Her absence hadn’t bothered me in the least—especially as there had been more than enough agents crowding my personal space at the time—but I knew pretending it had would work in my favor.

Weaponized indignation was one of Mother’s earliest lessons after all.

“Yes, well, I’m hopeful that my case will continue to receive the utmost attention,” I haughtily replied, even as I cringed at my own tone. “Especially as we’ll be going public with the information this afternoon.”

This wasn’t news to Lowry, as she was also scheduled to speak at the press conference today, but I was more interested in what the agency would provide afterward.

Who they would provide.

Lowry cleared her throat. “I can assure you, we have assembled a first-rate team to focus on the case, and they are already doing everything possible to retrieve your art collection.”

“I appreciate that,” I responded, polite but firm. “I would like to request a liaison from that team—a specific person to be at my disposal.”

“O-of course, Mr. Luxford,” Lowry stuttered, clearly caught off guard. “Do you have a particular agent in mind?”

“Yes,” I replied, hopefully not too quickly. “Rowen Quincy.”

My reply hung in the air for a moment, but another lesson from my childhood was to never let the opposition see you sweat. Even though I knew what I was doing was risky, I couldn’t resist manipulating the situation to my advantage.

For a good cause, of course.

Mine.

If Rowen was going to insist on keeping things “businesslike” between us, then I would simply create more opportunities for us to do “business” together.

Both in and outside of the bedroom.

Lowry must have needed a drink, as she cleared her throat again. “Uh, well, Rowen Quincy is more of a… consultant than a field agent⁠—”

“I am aware,” I brusquely interrupted. “Just as I am aware of his particular background and run-ins with the law. It’s this very perspective that makes his insights so valuable.”

One of the many reasons he’s so valuable.

Antoinette Lowry chuckled, seeming to relax now that the cards were on the table. “Yes, Rowen certainly brings a unique perspective to all situations. I will warn you, however, that his… bedside manner could use some improvement.”

I highly disagree.

Of course, I kept that observation to myself, but a now familiar protectiveness flared up within me. “Personally, I appreciate his frankness, as well as his intelligence. It had apparently not occurred to any of your agents to question the suspect from The Andervelt about a possible connection with this recent incident—not until Mr. Quincy brought it up at my apartment.”