“Tommy Drakes is a thief?” I demanded, reading between the lines.
“No! Shit. No. Not at all.” He paused. “Or not in this, anyway. Though he does have some connections to certain people who… well. Let’s just say that Speedo commercial wasn’t the only questionable thing he’s done in his career. But the point is that I don’t believe he stole this thing. Other people might have, though, before he got ahold of it.”
“I feel like I’m playing twenty questions,” I huffed. “Okay, so you’re saying Tommy bought or found something that someone else stole? And does he know it was stolen?”
Champ’s jaw worked. “Maybe.”
I took that as a yes, to both questions. “And you want to… what?” My eyes flared as I realized the answer to my own question. “You want to steal it from him!”
“No,” Champ said firmly. “I told you, I don’t know if he has it. I don’t know where he keeps it, if he does have it. I’m not planning to steal anything today.”
“Today. But when you invite yourself along to visit Marissa at the car dealerships and to tour Tommy Drakes’s other properties…?” I gave an outraged half laugh. “The audacity! Not only no, but fuck no. No way. This is my livelihood—”
“I’m not that much of an asshole, Quinn. I wouldn’t do anything that would blow back on you.”
“Well, pardon me if I don’t believe you,” I fumed. “Since you haven’t told me a single truthful thing in the last twenty-four hours. Those apology donuts were donuts of betrayal. And those blow jobs were blow jobs of manipulation. You were using me.” When I’d sworn to myself I wouldn’t leave myself and my business vulnerable to that shit again after the Scott debacle. “Fuck, I’m such an idiot.”
“Quinn.” Champ’s voice was regretful—though I didn’t know if I could even trust that anymore—and he stretched out a hand toward me but let it fall to the console, like he knew touching me right then would set me off. “Listen. I swear on the life of… of Hercules—”
I snorted. “The dog you keep abandoning? That’s not saying much, Champion.”
He scrubbed at his forehead. “Fine, then I swear on Champion Security, this is the truth: I’m not the only one who wants the… the thing. Multiple other people are searching too. And if they follow the same clues that I did and find out that Tommy might have the thing… they’re going to get it back from him, and they might not be nice about it.”
“Not nice? Like…” I swallowed back my horror. “Wait! Wait, wait, wait. Are there actually murderers involved here?”
“No. Or… I guess, maybe. I don’t know for sure. But Quinn, I am serious. It won’t blow back on you. You won’t be harmed, and neither will your business—”
“I don’t care about that right now! Are you fucking kidding?” I leaned over and smacked his arm hard for even considering it. “If someone could harm Marissa and her parents, we need to call the police! The FBI. The CIA. The… whoever.”
“One of the groups that’s looking for the thing is the… the government. And trust me when I tell you, nobody in their right mind—especially a person with a business to protect—wants to have this… thing found in their possession. Tommy would not take kindly to us calling the police and opening that can of worms.”
There was a ring of truth in that too. Shit.
“So what do we do? Who do we call? Who can we trust—?”
“Me.” Champ grabbed my hand mid-flail. “This is my job, Quinn. This is what I do. Part of what I do. So let me do it.”
My nostrils flared. God, I wanted to believe him. Every instinct screamed for me to trust him, though I had no reason to. “What is the plan, then?” I demanded. “What exactly are you doing today?”
“While you’re meeting with Marissa and her parents, I’m going to take a quick look around. Reconnaissance. My tech guy got me some specs on the house, but there’s quite a bit of missing info. All I want to do is fill in the blanks. See what he has for security.”
I rubbed at my pounding temples. “You’re casing the place.”
“I’m not—!” He sighed and began again more calmly. “I’m investigating, Quinn. And I’m going to have to do it one way or another. This is the way that will be least dangerous for me and safest for your clients. I swear.”
I should say no. I should immediately and responsibly say no. I should kick him out of the car, out of my bed, out of my life.
“Please,” Champ said sincerely, and fucking Christ, that was all it took to melt me.
“So you’re going to sit and talk about vermillion lace gowns, then?” I said grudgingly. “You’re going to be my silent partner? My very-junior wedding-planning assistant?”