Zeke turned toward Liv’s incredulous voice and found her staring, thunderstruck, at her supervisor.
Whatever warning Lawson had given her in his office, she was clearly ignoring.
The SRA’s lips firmed into a thin line of annoyance before he said, “The Bureau can’t be linked to this recovery.”
“Why not?” Liv said in a low, dangerous voice. “If someone has stolen a piece of art, it’s my—our—job to recover it.”
Was she goading Lawson to speak the unspoken? Or was she truly that naïve? He suspected the former. Because it was more than obvious to him that Lawson doubted their CI’s ownership claim on the artifact. That the agent knew from the onset that this recovery was nothing more than a smokescreen for theft.
Zeke turned to Ash. “Did you tell them about us?”
“We learned about BARS through other means,” Lawson answered for Ash, drawing Zeke’s attention. “Though we did question him about your business’s integrity.”
“And?” Zeke’s gaze shifted back to Ash, remembering how Lawson and the female agent from Charlotte had snatched his brother away during their dinner. “Did BARS come highly recommended?”
His brother clasped his hands together on top of the table. The tips of his fingers turned white.
“As a matter-of-fact, you did,” Lawson said.
Something wasn’t adding up. Ash wouldn’t want his career with the FBI and the family business within ten feet of each other. He’d started using his damn middle name for that reason. Distance.
Zeke turned back to Lawson. “What happens if the recovery goes wrong?”
“The Bureau will disavow any knowledge.”
Of course they would.
Ash sat there, stone-faced, while his boss, or whoever the hell Lawson was to him, laid out a plan that would abandon his brothers to an uncertain fate the moment the Bureau smelled trouble.
“If you don’t trust me to handle this,” Liv said to her supervisor, “why am I here, Mitch?”
Zeke’s gaze sharpened on the SRA. Was Lawson hiring BARS to protect her?
“This isn’t about trust or distrust.” Lawson’s voice was hard. “You will be Mr. Blackwell’s handler.”
“His . . . handler?”
Zeke’s hackles rose at the level of disgust she’d infused in that one word. What right did she have to be upset?
After an amazing night of sex, she was the one who’d disappeared the following morning without a damned goodbye. And now, she didn’t appear to even recognize him. On top of that fucking humiliation, his straitlaced brother seemed to have no problem using BARS to steal a priceless object to further his “legitimate” career.
“What do you say, Mr. Blackwell,” Lawson said. “Will you assist the Bureau?”
He should tell the bastard—all of them—to go fuck themselves. It was right there on the tip of his tongue.
“What does BARS get out of this arrangement?”
“Twenty percent over your normal fee and, if all goes well, the Bureau will keep you on its Rolodex, so to speak.”
Although BARS was doing just fine without being on the FBI’s speed dial, Zeke couldn’t allow his personal feelings to get in the way of business. Nor could he keep his attention from straying to Liv. He didn’t like unfinished business, and she was definitely unfinished.
“I’ll discuss your offer with my team and get back to you in a few days.”
“The Bureau’s offer is with you, not your team,” Lawson said. “More people knowing about this raises the likelihood of the case getting compromised. I can’t chance it.”
Zeke rose, wanting no part of this job if he couldn’t involve the rest of his team. “Then you picked the wrong guy.” He glared at his brother. “You know BARS’s success is due to the team and not me.” As he strode to the door, he could almost feel his brother’s building anger. Pissed off—he could handle. Disappointment—he couldn’t take on anymore. He was already drowning in a boiling vat of it.
He yanked on the handle, but not before his gaze touched on Liv’s. Regret pinged inside his chest.