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“Because you did most of the damn legwork.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Zeke said. “Just spill it, already.”
“That,” Phin pointed to the fireplace. “We’ve been waiting all night for you to take your eyes off Liv long enough to notice that.”
Zeke followed Phin’s finger to the empty mounting brackets above the mantel. Only the brackets were no longer empty. They now cradled a sword. The sword.
Lupos.
He set down his drink, sloshing its contents onto a side table, and bolted from his seat. In three long strides, he stood inches below the object of his obsession.
“How?” he croaked out around a throat that had gone dry, despite bourbon lubrication.
The protracted silence behind him forced him to face his circle of brothers. “You went to the provenance authentication meeting for me?”
“Yeah.” Phin jumped up and headed for the sideboard for a refill.
“Why didn’t you tell me when I stopped by to pick up my things?” He now recalled a slight reticence among them before they hugged him and pushed him out of the house.
“Timing wasn’t right.” Cruz stretched an arm along the back of the couch. “You had a few things on your mind.”
Zeke stared at Phin’s back. “How much of a fight did Nicola put up?”
When Phin said nothing, Rohan interjected, “She threatened to get a second opinion.”
“And?” Zeke wished they’d just tell him what the hell happened, but he had a feeling Phin was dealing with something that had nothing to do with the sword, and the other two knew or, at least, suspected what it was and were navigating tricky Phin waters.
“Thanks to your tip about Nicola’s photographer, Phin persuaded him,” Cruz rubbed his thumb and forefingers together in the age-old sign for money, “to make a second set of all of the pictures he took the night of the benefit. One of them clearly showed Hugh St. Martin removing the doll from the display table.”
“Hugh stole his own artifact?” Zeke stared in disbelief. “Why?”
“The St. Martins had a con of their own going.” Rohan’s eyes sizzled and his voice held a barely contained rage. “I found several phone calls between Hugh and the person who I believed was the FBI’s confidential informant. After digging a bit deeper, I confirmed my suspicion.”
Now that Zeke thought about it, Hugh had been acting squirrelly the night of the benefit. His last-minute disappearing act, his nerves at the unveiling, his shock at Zeke’s suggestion they should search for the thief closer to home. Then there was Nicola’s inexplicable calmness at learning that one of her “treasures” had gone missing.
“Who’s the CI?” Zeke asked.
“Your old friend Joe Lederman.”
“Lederman?”
The greedy bastard who’d stolen Lan Sardoff’s vintage comic book years ago. The comic Lederman had caught him recovering. The same man, who had promised retribution as he watched Zeke’s ass clear the windowsill.
His heart felt like it hovered on the edge of an abyss, and he was certain that the next revelation would send it tumbling into endless darkness.
Phin rejoined the group, handing Zeke a fresh glass of whiskey. This one, three fingers deep. “You’re going to need this.”
Zeke nodded his thanks and took a bracing sip. “Let me have it. All of it. Don’t sugarcoat anything.”
Cruz jumped in. “Ash’s job was never in jeopardy.”
“What?” Zeke demanded.
“You said no sugar.”
Zeke rolled in a breath, then gave himself a mental warning to not interrupt again. He sent his brother a sharp nod to continue.
“Ash learned that someone went to the FBI and informed them about one of your pre-BARS shadow operations. The one where you recovered the baroque violin for the finance guy in Arden.”
