“I’m sitting right here, you know.” Griffin wanted to flip them both off, but the place was filled with too many families. “If you two clowns are finished joking around, can we come up with a plan that will convince Marin to take me to that damn wedding?”
Adam leaned back in his chair and studied Griffin over the steeple of his joined fingers. “So it’s Marin now. Since when did she graduate from ‘the pastry chef’?”
Since I touched her.Which had been a stupid thing to do.Fucking stupid.He needed to keep her strictly in the suspect category. Last night, though, in her rumpled uniform, with that crazy hat askew on her head and a wayward streak of flour adorning her smooth cheek, Griffin had felt… need. A deep and urgent need to protect and possess her all at the same time. Which was ridiculous.Fucking ridiculous.
“It doesn’t mean anything, Sigmund, other than Marin is quicker to pronounce,” Griffin said before taking a swallow of his beer. Ben mouthed the name “Marin” and then “pastry chef” wearing that same look he’d use to solve complex calculus problems. Griffin slammed down his beer. “Damn it guys, can we cut the bullshit and work on this case!”
His two friends exchanged a look before both leaned their elbows on the table, their faces finally serious.
“Okay, dude, but first tell us what you can. What connection do the Chevaliers have to the counterfeit ring?” Ben asked.
Griffin ran a hand through his hair. “Hell if I know. But my gut is telling me not to ignore the possibility.”
Adam lowered his voice as the three men leaned in closer. “You said some of the counterfeit drops were in or near several of their overseas hotels.”
Griffin nodded. “But the trail goes cold from there.”
Just like every other trail in this damn case.
He’d spoken with Leslie this morning. The FBI forensics lab hadn’t found any evidence on the box truck or its driver. Not that Griffin was surprised. He was surprised, however, at Leslie’s demeanor on the phone. The FBI agent was very assertive that he hustle back to New York, almost going so far as to suggest she missed him. A booty call with Leslie might go a long way toward slacking the sexual tension that had been building within him since touching Marin yesterday. Except, every time he thought of sinking into his colleague-with-benefits, it was Marin’s face he saw. And that pissed him off.
“So, it might just be a coincidence that one of their family is working at the White House.” Ben held up his hand to stop Griffin from interjecting. “But we can’t ignore the fire in her kitchen. That was not a coincidence. Or an accident.”
“Do we know if any artwork was switched out during the fire?” Adam asked.
“We can’t know for sure, but there is so much beefed up security in the House right now that it hardly seems possible,” Griffin said. “Marin was pretty anxious about all the extra staff wandering around on the residence floor, though.”
Anxious was an understatement.Last night Marin was downright frazzled. Her demeanor only made him suspect her involvement that much more. He should have been excited he might have finally found a viable lead. Instead, he felt only disappointment. Griffin wasn’t sure whether it was with her or with himself for being attracted to her and that, too, pissed him off.
“I spoke with the admiral this morning,” Griffin continued. “It could be several weeks before he has a complete catalog of what is fake and what is real. Until then, eyes-on security is our best bet.”
“And then there’s the dead curator. Any leads there?” Ben asked.
Griffin shook his head. “We’ll have the preliminary results on Monday sometime. If we’re lucky, they’ll be able to determine whether he killed himself or if someone else did the job.”
The three men fell silent as they leaned back in their chairs.
“Well,” Adam eventually said. “I could always do some snooping when I’m at the wedding.”
Both Griffin and Ben stared at Adam in disbelief.
“They’re taking the Counter Assault Team to a wedding?” Ben asked.
“POTUS and FLOTUS are going to the wedding?” Griffin said at the same time.
Adam grabbed another chicken wing off the plate. “FLOTUS is friends with the bride’s aunt.” He shot a steely-eyed look in Griffin’s direction. “That would be Marin’s mother in case you’re not keeping score. Another reason not to presume her guilty without any hard evidence.”
“The admiral has made me aware of the connection,” Griffin said. “Several times, in fact. I just didn’t put two and two together about the wedding.”
“Yep. Problem solved. I’ll keep an eye on your little pastry chef.” Adam grinned wickedly before he chomped down on the chicken wing. “I could offer to help her out and pose as her date. I like… baked goods.”
“That works,” Ben agreed.
Like hell it did!Griffin didn’t particularly like the way his friend said the words “baked goods.” Nor did he like the idea that Adam would have the opportunity to manhandle Marin, because hewouldbe touching her, dancing with her, and doing God-knew-what with her if she were his date. Adam enjoyed women. And Griffin didn’t like the idea of his friend “enjoying” Marin. Not one bit.
“I mean, she’s only a suspect,” Adam went on to say. “It’s not like I’m poaching on a woman you’re sleeping with.”
Griffin ground his back teeth. Adam was baiting him, looking for something that wasn’t there and never would be. Adam was correct about one thing. Marin was a suspect. And that was all she’d ever be.