Page 111 of Oddly Fine

“Absolutely not!” Matthew protested, surging to his feet.

Hayes tilted his chin in challenge.

“You are just supposed to be sitting in the room—that’s all. We just need to get him talking, so he’ll bring up the idea again—mention it offhandedly or—” Matthew insisted.

“That won’t be enough,” Hayes protested. He’d been thinking things through from a variety of different angles. “Even if he does start talking about importing again—there’s no way he’ll be so direct in his approach. Not when he knows you disagree.”

“What do you know of my uncle, to be so certain he—”

“Nothing.” Hayes interrupted impatiently. “I know nothing of the man, but I know his type. Big sharks, always in control—dangling bait and taunting his enemies. Can you honestly tell me you believe he’ll confess what he’s been doing directly and give us something solid that can be used in court?”

Matthew’s mouth opened, and he gaped like a fish. For a brief moment, he looked as if he might actually try to make his case, but he finally closed his mouth and sat back down, sighing in defeat.

“No—I suppose, I don’t.”

Hayes gave a sharp nod.

“Even if he did,” Beckett said, shaking his head, “our testimony would be worthless in court. Even though we’re law enforcement, we aren’t the Virgin Mary—if his lawyers are good enough, they’ll dig something up to discredit us on the stand,” Beckett said, referencing what they’d discussed before becoming Matthew’s bodyguards.

“If you’re both so convinced it won’t work, why bother in the first place?” Matthew asked petulantly.

Hayes nearly rolled his eyes at the theatrics, but his comment did fit his basic character and lifestyle.

“Because it beats waiting around for the feds to do something, ” Hayes offered with a vague shrug of apology.

Beckett nodded and said, “Better a Hail Mary than a sit on ‘em and spin.”

Matthew scowled in response and crossed his arms over his chest. He still looked sleek and polished as usual, but sitting like that—he mostly resembled a pouting toddler. Albeit a rich one.

“We’re not giving up,” Hayes stated firmly. “We’re just—calling for a change of strategy.”

At that, Matthew nodded and clucked his tongue.

“Appearances must be maintained—” he warned them like a stern parent lecturing his kids. “You are still my bodyguards, and I must still call the shots.”

“Of course,” Hayes replied deferentially.

“Suuuure,” Beckett drawled, far less submissively. There was no fucking way he would ever be kowtowing to the little princeling.

Matthew sighed and nodded, apparently willing to work alongside them rather than against them, at least for now. “What sort of change would we be making to our strategy?”

“We can’t wait for your uncle to make a mistake—so we’ll have to find the evidence ourselves.”

“Evidence of human trafficking,” Matthew said, with a disdainful sniff.

“It’s what you suspect him of doing in Montreal, right?”

Matthew gave a sharp nod.

“Then that’s what we go looking for,” Beckett said resolutely.

“How? If we start—asking questions and poking our noses into his part of the family business, he’s bound to get suspicious.”

And it was a good point, one Hayes had kept getting stuck on while he was out running that morning.

Beckett tilted his head to the side, thinking hard about the best approach.

“I’d suggest we begin by cornering the Serbians but—”