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“You bet we do,” Deckard said.
Andi turned to Christian, her breath labored, her words coming out in spurts. “Deckard MacLeod isyour... brother?”
Riley hopped out of her Miata with a colorful woven bag. “I brought clothes for you,” Riley said, stepping to Andi, no doubt attempting to defuse the tension. Always the peacemaker. At least when it didn’t pertain to her bold and wild side. “Hi.” She extended a hand. “I’m Riley.”
Andi struggled for composure. “Thank you,” she managed, her jaw still tight as she shook Riley’s hand. “I appreciate the change of clothes.”
“I can only imagine what you two went through,” Riley said, linking her arms over her chest. “If I get my hands on whoever did this...”
“You and me both,” Andi said, and then her gaze flicked to Deckard—holding there, her shoulders growing taut.
Christian studied their body language, expressions, and tight gazes on one another. What was up between them, and how did they know each other? From a past heist investigation? No. That didn’t make sense. He worked the heist cases. Deckard handled the cons and scams.
Deckard’s shoulders broadened, his stance poised for a fight.
Confusion shifted through Christian. What was happening?
Andi turned her pointed gaze back on him. “Your name?” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t understand. You said your last name was O’Brady?”
“It is,” he said without elaborating, but he doubted she’d leave it there.
“How do you know each other?” Riley asked, echoing Christian’s exact sentiments.
Moisture welled in Andi’s eyes, taking Christian aback. What on earth?
“Your brother—” She cleared her throat, her fierce gaze fixed on Deckard—“ruined my career.”
The words barely left her mouth before Deckard retorted, “She destroyed Mitch Abrams’s life.”
“Mitch Abrams?” Christian said, perplexed. He was the innocent man Deckard helped set free from prison. “What on earth does Mitch Abrams have to do with Andi?”
“Andi?” Deckard dipped his chin. “This is Miranda Forester. The FBI crime lab agent who botched the DNA results that sent Mitch to jail.”
Christian’s gaze bounced back to Andi. She’d been FBI?
“I was set up,” she lobbed back. “Which I told your brother. But that didn’t matter to him.”
Before Christian could respond, Andi turned heel and strode into the station, Riley’s clothes in hand. He stood rooted in place, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. She was the one who botched the evidence? Somehow it didn’t fit in his mind. Not based on his first impression, and summing a person up fast was his gift. He prayed he wasn’t wrong this time, despite Deckard’s words.
Why it mattered so much for a woman he just met, he couldn’t say, but something inside him wanted her to be innocent. He needed to hear her side. Had she really been set up? And if so, why hadn’t his brother discovered that?
Deckard stepped forward and dropped his car keys in Christian’s open palm.
“Thanks.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were working with Miranda Forester of all people?” Deckard said.
“Settle down, Deck,” Riley said, moving to stand by her brothers.
“How was I supposed to know?” Christian shrugged.
“Her name for one,” Deckard grunted.
“I was working that case in Germany at the time of Abrams’scase, so the particulars are fuzzy. And when you spoke of the FBI lady, you usually referred to her as ‘that agent.’”
Deckard raked a hand through his blond hair. “So now she’s going by Andi and has found a new occupation.”
“Because you got me fired from the Bureau,” Andi said, striding back out wearing Riley’s clothes.
