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Whatever.Her answer isn’t important to the questions Piero needs answered. “Do you have a client by the name of Lorenzo Bianchi?”
“No,” Rowan says with a tired sigh.
Lack of interest leans toward truth.
“Do you handle any overseas accounts?”
“No,” she says with mild irritation looking me head-on.
Truth—held eye contact, no pupil dilation.
I raise a finger. “One more question. Do you think Piero is a massive T-bag for dragging you in here?”
Her lips quirk up. “Without a doubt, the biggest T-bag.”
Punk giggles like a kid, making all of us chuckle.
“Assholes, the lot of you,” Piero grumbles.
I smile my first genuine smile in weeks. “Sorry to break it to you, bro, but your girl here is not your mark.”
“Impossible,” Piero says, shaking his head in disagreement. “The last snitch gave her name, where she worked, where she lived. If it’s not her, it has to be someone who is using her as an alias—someone who knows her work and has access to her passwords.”
When Rowan gasps, all heads turn to her. It’s pretty easy to see she’s getting emotional, her eyes growing misty.
“Looks like she may know who the impostor is,” I say as I stand. There’s a story here between them, and very involved by the looks of it, but it’s not my place to press for more information. “Chase, give Piero the account information. We have a mission to finance.”
