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“No, you’re not.” London stepped closer.
Bates shook his head. “I’m done—”
I strode forward, my muscles coiled, ready to strike.
But London grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it up behind his back, then shoved him face first against the hedge.
“Bates, you’ll answer my questions, and then maybe I won’t arrest you.”
The man made a choked sound.
“I was coming to help,” I said.
She shot me a look.
“But I see you have it under control.” I lowered my voice. “And you look hot doing it.”
She shoved Bates again. “Platinum Holdings. I want to know everything.”
“If I talk, they’ll kill me.”
“If you don’t talk to me, you’ll go to prison. You don’t strike me as the type who’s made for prison.”
Bates made a frightened sound. I rolled my eyes. The man was pathetic.
“Platinum Holdings,” London said again.
“I just got an email. They promised me money. Good money. I just had to do some work for them. Run a few errands. Attend some auctions. It was fun, and I got paid.”
“You were the one who attended the auctions at Brennans?” London asked.
“Yes.”
“Paid by whom?” she demanded.
“I never saw or spoke to anyone. It was all anonymous over email.”
London frowned. “Where did you deliver the art you bought for Platinum?”
The man’s body stiffened. “I don’t know. I…I…”
“Bates, you lie to me, we’ll have to chat in an interrogation room at FBI headquarters.”
He whimpered yet again.
My lip curled.
“I never met anyone from Platinum.” Bates audibly swallowed.”
London’s eyes flashed. “Go on.”
“They’ll kill me.”
“I won’t let that happen. Talk.”
The man let out a shuddering breath. “I transported the art where I was instructed.”
“Where?”
