He gave Arianne a few moments to freshen up in the restroom, but when she returned, it was his turn to talk.
Before she even sat down, he asked, “Why did Davidson immediately assume your father had betrayed you? Even if it seemed obvious, why not at least look into it? Put the word out, as it were?”
“I wondered the same thing.” Arianne settled back onto the couch, tucking her legs up under her body. Jared knew she was a fierce woman, that she possessed a deep inner strength that had kept her alive in even the most dangerous circumstances. She was a fighter, strong-willed and determined, and he’d seen that fire in her many times—when they flirted, when they argued, when they played Brawler, when they fucked. She was fearless—no doubt about it. But now, curled up like that on the end of the couch, her hair in a messy bun, no makeup, Arianne seemed young and vulnerable, lost and defenseless. Every time he looked at her, the sight filled him with rage. He wanted so badly to sort it all out for her, but he couldn’t change the past—and that included the part where she’d conspired to rob him, a fact of which he had to keep reminding himself.
“We all wondered about it,” she continued. “But Davidson kept telling us he wouldn’t waste resources on a traitor. To him, it was cut and dried—my father had vouched for the inside man he’d used, and that man had double-crossed them. After that, Davidson’s top priority was planning the next score. He said he’d keep an ear to the ground, but unless he heard otherwise, we were all to assume the obvious—my father tried to screw us over, and it bit him in the ass.”
“But you said the crew was tight,” Jared said. “Granted, my knowledge of thieves comes entirely from heist movies, but I’d always assumed a tight crew was like family.”
Arianne laughed. “A really messed up family, sure.” After a beat, she said, “No one wanted to believe that about my father. But ultimately, I was the only one who maintained his innocence. I still do. I know it sounds crazy, but he wasn’t a traitor. He’d never do that to us. He really was an honest thief.”
“And the other man?” Jared asked. “The insider your father brought on?”
“Vanished with the artwork,” she said. “That’s the great mystery.”
Jared shook his head. It was all so obvious to him, but Arianne didn’t seem to get it. “Arianne, Davidson was involved in this.”
“Of course,” she said. “He was my father’s second-in-command, right up until—”
“I’m talking about your father’s death. Davidson was involved. If he didn’t pull the trigger, he knows who did. He was calling the shots all along. It’s the only explanation.”
Arianne looked away, absently playing with her hair, untying and retying her bun. She’d heard his words, but she neither agreed nor disagreed, offering nothing further. Jared sensed this wasn’t the first time she’d considered the theory, but she’d obviously dismissed it every time.
Denial and self-preservation were powerful forces.
“Think about it, love.” He reached for her hands to stop the fidgeting. Her hair tumbled down to her shoulders, wild and beautiful. Jared had to resist running his hands through it, pulling her mouth close to his. He ran his thumbs over her hands in slow, gentle circles, focusing on the feel of her skin, the familiar softness and warmth he kept on craving no matter how badly he tried to ignore it.
“Think about what?” she asked, bringing him back on point.
“Setting aside Davidson’s personal feelings towards your father… even if he’d had irrefutable evidence of your father’s betrayal, no thief would let that kind of score vanish without a trace.”
Arianne shook her head. “What choice did he have? It was just… gone.”
“I don’t buy it. We both know what kind of man Davidson is. There is no way he’d turn his back on a seventy-million-dollar score he’d spent months planning. No way he’d chalk it off to a double-cross. He’d have men on the street immediately, shaking down every thug he’d every worked with until he’d exhausted all possible avenues.”
Arianne considered this, but then shook her head. “We had other work, other clients… we had to move on. There was no time to chase after a ghost. As far as Davidson was concerned, that’s all my father was.”
“But it wasn’t about your father, don’t you see?” Jared slid closer to her on the couch, shifting his hands to her arms. “It’s ego. Trust me, love. The only way Davidson walks away from that kind of money—and the potential blow to his reputation—is if he knows that the money never disappeared in the first place.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“It sounds to me like Davidson set your father up.”
The longer they talked, the more holes Jared poked in Arianne’s old theories. He felt bad being so blunt about it, but she needed to be disabused of the notion that Davidson had any loyalty toward her father’s memory, to Arianne, or to any of the other members of his crew. It was obvious to Jared that Davidson had sold them out five years ago, and regardless of whether the Annandale heist was successful, the man would likely sell them out again—no question.
For Arianne, it might mean the death of her.
The thought nearly crushed him.
Forcing a reassuring smile, Jared rubbed the top of Arianne’s thigh, promising her they’d figure it out. There was evidence of Davidson’s involvement somewhere—not just in the heist, but in the murder of Arianne’s father.
And Jared—no matter what had transpired between them, no matter what he’d have to walk away from when it was all said and done—would find a way to put that bastard down. To give Arianne and Natasha their lives back.
Step one? Kyle Errington, the man who’d fenced at least two pieces of art from that stolen cache—the Hermes and the LaPorte. Jared had already decided that Errington was the right move; Arianne’s confessions bolstered his determination.
But for now, he needed to lighten the mood, to steer the conversation away from death threats and betrayals, and back to the reason he’d asked to see her tonight in the first place.
“How do you feel about Nantucket?” he asked.
Arianne’s brow furrowed.
“For our romantic getaway,” he said. “I do hope it suits you, because I’ve already chartered a boat from Montauk on the morning of the thirty-first, and I’ve booked us a very expensive, very lush package at the McClintock Inn.”
Jared pulled out his phone, then emailed Arianne the details. A moment later, her phone beeped with the notification.
Her smile lit up the room. “Wow. Nantucket would be amazing.”
“Exactly. Now you can offer your boss proof that you’ve secured the weekend at Annandale for him, as ordered.”
Her smile dimmed. “Oh, right. Of course. That’s… thank you. It’s brilliant.” Arianne turned away to retie her bun, then forced a laugh that Jared suspected was for his benefit. “You’ve just thought of everything, Jared Blackwell.”
“It’s in my nature, love. Business strategy, tying up loose ends, et cetera.”
“I’ve never been to Nantucket.”
“No?” Jared’s thoughts drifted to the small island, conjuring up images of the two of them swimming at the Inn’s private nude beach at dawn, heading into town for extravagant lobster dinners, cruising the harbor beneath the stars…
He stood up from the couch, dropping the pointless fantasy. The charter, the expensive package—it was all a sham. Reservations booked and paid for, but never to be used, all to make Davidson think he’d gotten the upper hand.
“When this is all over,” he said, for both of their sakes, “perhaps you can take your sister. I’m sure you’d have a lovely time.”
A wounded look flashed in her eyes, a pain that threatened to knock down the last of Jared’s walls. He had the urge to bend down and scoop her up in his arms, carry her to his bedroom, and peel away every last layer of clothing, every last scrap of fear and doubt. He ached at the memory of her soft skin, her silky kiss, her tight, hot flesh molding to him like a
custom-fit glove…
But that kind of daydreaming could only end in heartache. He’d already let his guard down upon hearing about her father’s death. Perhaps they could be friends, but he needed to fortify those walls again, to set and keep clear boundaries.
“I’d like you to stay here with me this week,” he said coolly, using the tone he normally reserved for his staff. “Only in the evenings, of course—I’ll be working long hours at the office this week to finalize the acquisition.”
Arianne looked up, surprised and a bit confused. “But… I thought you didn’t want me here?”
“That’s only when I’m away.” Jared shrugged, keeping his tone clipped and professional. “But your boss suspects you’ve tricked me into falling in love with you. Lovers spend their nights together. So there it is.”
“Right,” she said.
Jared waited, expecting her to fight back, to hit him with one of her feisty Arianne-isms.
Do it. Break through my wall. All I need is one solid hit. Just fucking do it!
Arianne yawned, a soft breath that did little to crack the stone barrier around his heart. “If you don’t mind, lover, I’d like to turn in. I’m beat.”
Jared nodded brusquely, gesturing without emotion toward the game room. “You know your way by now.”
She rose from the couch and turned away without a word, retrieving her bag from the entryway, and then heading down the hall.
“Arianne, wait.” Jared crossed the room and stepped in front of her, blocking the way forward. Her eyes were so big, so frightened, and again Jared had to resist the urge to gather her into his arms and hold her close. There was so much he wanted to say to her, so much he’d never gotten the chance to tell her. But when he opened his mouth to speak, what came out was simply, “You take the bedroom tonight. I’ve got the couch.”
Arianne shook her head.
“I’ve got work to do, anyway,” he said. “I won’t sleep much.”
“All the more reason you need to be comfortable when you do sleep.” She stepped around him, finally retreating down the hall to her temporary quarters.
“Bloody hell,” Jared whispered. He considered going after her. He considered throwing all caution aside, grabbing her, pushing her against the wall and claiming her mouth in a desperate kiss, letting the chips fall where they may.
Pull yourself together, you lousy git.
Jared cleared his throat, forcing himself to stop thinking about the taste of her, the feel of her, the uncomfortable bulge in his pants. The demise of their brief relationship had been unfortunate, but there would be plenty of time to cry into his whiskey about it later.
Right now, he had work to do.
The moment she was out of sight, he grabbed his phone and called Evan. Despite the late hour on a Monday night, Evan answered on the first ring, wide awake.
“Were you able to get any more information?” Evan asked, already guessing the reason for the late-night call.
“A lead, perhaps.”
“What are we in for?”
Grateful for the we, Jared said, “I need a wealthy collector of Egyptian antiquities to set up a meeting with an art dealer—crooked old Yank by the name of Kyle Errington. Can you manage that?”
“Consider it done.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Two hundred thousand,” Evan said, propping his feet up on Jared’s desk the following morning. “That’s as low as the man is willing to go.”
“Bollocks.” Jared scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Two hundred grand in cash for a gilded statue of Sekhmet, an Egyptian war goddess in which Jared had absolutely no interest.
“He wouldn’t budge,” Evan said.
“I suppose I haven’t got a choice, then.”
Evan shrugged. “Not if we want to get close to Errington. A real wheeler-dealer, this one. We need to earn his trust, mate. Cash is the only way to show him we’re serious.”
“I know. It’s just…” Jared leaned back in his chair, his eyes focused on the ceiling tiles. Evan had made his feelings about Arianne clear in no uncertain terms, but ever since Jared had told him about the planned robbery last weekend—and that he’d agreed to help Arianne—Evan was on his side, no questions asked. Jared had been more than grateful for the backup, but setting up a deal over the phone was very different from meeting the criminal in person. At this point, Jared had no concrete reason to believe that Kyle Errington was anything other than a black market art dealer. But without a clear answer, they had to assume he was connected to the murder of Arianne’s father, just like Davidson.
“I’m not quite sure what we’re dealing with here,” Jared said.
“Look,” Evan said. “You’ve said it yourself. We want evidence against this Davidson prat, Errington is our way in. We’ve got to follow the art—that’s our best shot.”
Jared nodded. If he could find evidence linking Errington to Davidson, that was one step closer to linking Davidson to both the heist and the murder—enough, he hoped, to get the man out of Arianne’s and Natasha’s life for good.
It was a long shot, but Evan was right—at the moment, it was the best one they had.
Jared leaned forward again, knocking Evan’s feet off the desk and meeting his friend’s gaze. “You realize you’re putting yourself at great personal risk, Evan.”
Evan waved away the suggestion as if it were the most ludicrous thing in the world.
“I mean it,” Jared said. “This man she works for, these people… things could get ugly.”
“Can’t be much uglier than you.” Evan gestured at Jared’s face and winced. “I’ve been staring at that hideous thing for thirty-odd years, and I’m still alive. Nauseated, but alive.”
“Be serious, Evan. If anything were to—”
“I’m totally serious. Have you seen your face?”
Jared grabbed the yellow FierceConnect standard-issue stress ball from his desk, crushing it until his fingers went numb. Fucking Evan. Jared wanted to talk him out of it, to thank him for making the Errington call and implore him to walk away before he got in any deeper.
But he knew the effort would be futile.
He also knew he was relieved, buoyed by Evan’s unwavering support, even when Jared had—once again—made a right mess of things.
After a beat, Evan said, “I’m sorry, mate. I know we both had our doubts about her, but I truly didn’t see this coming.”
“You couldn’t have,” Jared said. After all, he’d been right next to it—in bed with it—and he’d been blindsided, too. “But… thanks.”
Evan shrugged. “You’re still in love with her, and I still think you’re a crazy obsessive bloody damn fool, and after this, if you even so much as smile at a woman in the street, I’m fingerprinting her, microchipping her, and putting her through every psychological screening test known to man. But I’ve always got your back, mate. You know that.”
Jared nodded. He did know that. And it meant more to him that Evan could imagine.
“So what’s our next move, Columbo?” Evan asked.
“Tell Errington you’ll have the money ready Friday night. You’ll meet him for the exchange, and I’ll follow you to make sure everything goes smoothly.”
“Excellent.” Evan rose from the chair and stretched, cracking his neck as if limbering up for a fight. “I’ll have someone from H.R. send up the paperwork for my raise.”
Jared chucked the stress ball at Evan’s head, laughing. “Sod off, you bloody extortionist.”
“Twenty percent ought to do it. A nice, round number.”
“How about dinner and a few pints?”
“Eh…” Evan considered the offer. “Throw in dessert and a movie, a little cuddling afterwards, and Bob’s your uncle—you’ve got a deal.”
Chapter Seventeen
As if the devil had seen to it personally, the rest of Jared’s week was hell.
He’d continued to chase away spies masquerading as reporters almost daily. Yesterday, without warning,
his entire Annandale housekeeping staff had resigned, and the staffing firm wouldn’t provide him with new employees until they’d determined that he wasn’t engaging in unfair practices; like the fake reporters, Jared was fairly certain he had Davidson to thank for that, a move that would doubly ensure the estate would remain empty for the planned heist. And despite the impending Baseline acquisition, Jared’s mind was totally checked out of FierceConnect business, locked entirely on thoughts of Arianne and the beautiful mess she’d created.
She’d been spending her nights at the penthouse, all to satisfy Davidson’s spies with glimpses of their ongoing “relationship.” Restraining himself hadn’t gotten any easier; Jared had spent the week nursing a damn near debilitating case of blue balls that a dozen failed attempts at a good wank had only worsened. Her presence, her voice, her clothes tossed over the couch, her scent floating on the air… everything about her made him constantly hard, constantly frustrated. Hearing her sing in the shower, imagining her soaping up her hands, sliding them over her breasts, down her belly, between her creamy thighs as the hot water reddened her pale flesh, steam fogging up the glass door… fuck, those moments of exquisite torture had nearly given him a heart attack. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t considered inviting Arianne into his bed, allowing them both to satisfy the physical attraction between them, a constant electric buzz that circumstances had done nothing to diffuse.
If Arianne had made any progress on her own search for evidence against Davidson, she’d kept it under wraps, just as Jared had. But he was pretty sure she hadn’t—she just couldn’t remember enough of the critical details. It was going to come down to Errington.
The sooner Jared could resolve this thing, the safer they’d all be, and the sooner they could say their goodbyes.
Still, despite the obvious challenges, Jared and Arianne had managed to get through their nights in separate rooms without argument, even sharing a few laughs over coffee in the mornings before heading their separate ways.
Bared to the Billionaire: The Complete Series Page 33