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He held both hands up, surrender fashion. “We’re not animals, gentlemen, and I’ve got nothing against you. You’re doing your job. That’s admirable.”
“Shut up.”
“Certainly.” He did, walking quietly between the two combat-booted guards down a long gray service corridor until they gestured for him to go left instead of right, an amusing change in the routine. It took them past a number of interview rooms with glass windows. All empty of entertainment, except the next to last.
“Eyes front, walk on, Jones.”
He’d come to a dead stop based on the fact his heart seized, but a hard shove in the back made him move with what remaining electrical impulses connected to his body.
Like a chicken with his head cut off, he staggered past the window and was shoved into the empty room beyond it where his hopes for freedom, for a different future, died.
She was here in New York. Alone in an interrogation room.
She’d shaved her hair off.
She’d looked at him with blank eyes.
He loved her and she would get her revenge.
He knew that for the truth when his lawyer arrived. “Gino,” he said, trying not to shed feathers and chicken guts all over Gino Andretti’s European tailoring.
“Cleve,” said Gino, composed but wearing the subtle expression of “we might have a problem.”
“They have Aria,” Cleve said, as they both settled at the table.
“Yes. I was informed of that now. How do you know?”
“They made sure I saw her.”
“Ah. They want you frightened, making mistakes.”
“I don’t know how they found her, so she has to be doing this voluntarily. She’s going to bury me.” He was frightened. He could easily make a mistake.
“We can discredit her, another thief. We can turn her into a crime madam. Tip them off to the professor’s antiquities stash—it’s all stolen, it’s all in her name. Nothing she says can stick to you.”
“No.”
“I’ll start with—”
“I mean, no, we’re not doing that.” He wouldn’t exchange his freedom for hers. He wouldn’t do anything to deliberately hurt her, because that would be a mistake he couldn’t live with.
“Cleve, they have nothing on you except this anonymous informant’s information.”
“Has to be Brandon. His revenge for being dismissed.”
Gino grunted agreement. “He got a generous severance.”
“Not generous enough.” Or too damn generous, depending on how you wanted to view the betrayal. But as soon as Brandon was found, he’d be shown the error of his ways and why a sudden catastrophic memory failure was an excellent career move. “We do nothing to hurt Aria.”
“Your old flame will sing her tainted little heart out to save herself. It’s only fair you do the same.”
“No.”
“You’ll go down if she incriminates you.”
She’d do more than frame him up as the Mr. Big of the snatch-and-grab, the alpha hooligan of the hustle. She’d incinerate any chance he had of walking free. Every male agent in the building would have a stiffy, every female agent a wide-on for Aria’s ability to finger him as the Shadow. She didn’t even have to try too hard—he’d given her everything she needed to bring him down for the Sweet Celestia’s heist alone.
He scrubbed at his face. In a way he’d been waiting for this moment all his life. He’d go to prison for all the innocent people he’d ripped off as a kid, for all the marks he’d stolen from for the professor as an adult, and for all the rich fucks and less successful underworld figures he’d defrauded, tricked and robbed as he’d made a name for himself.
