The Spy (King’s Security #3)

Chapter 1

1

FIONA

“Fiona, can you come out to reception, please? The police are here to see you.”

I frowned and glanced up from my computer. Stephanie, who worked at the front desk, was hovering in front of me, her face scrunched with apprehension—whether from interrupting me or because of the police’s presence, I wasn’t sure.

“Is it Detective Lee?”

My boss, Ronan King, the chief executive of King’s Security, often liaised with the Chicago police via Detective Joanna Lee.

“No, it’s not Joanna. I would have just let her through. It’s a man and a woman I haven’t met before.” Stephanie grimaced. “I asked why they want to see you, but they said it’s confidential. Sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

“It’s not your fault.” I stood and smoothed the front of my pencil skirt. “I suppose I’d better see what they’re here for. ”

Stephanie’s face softened with relief. “Thanks, Fi.”

I sent her a reassuring smile. Dealing with the police could be intimidating. I didn’t have the best history with them, so it had been difficult for me when I started as Ronan’s assistant. Eventually, I’d gotten used to it, and Joanna was always good to deal with. Polite, professional, and only pushy when she felt it was warranted. Other cops still made me nervous.

We strode down the corridor together. I held the door open for her and then followed her into the spacious reception area. High-end artwork hung on the walls and I took a moment to appreciate my favorite—an abstract painting of the ocean in shades of blue, purple, and green—before focusing on the police seated on the designer sofa. Even without uniforms, it was obvious who they were. There was just something about the way a cop dressed and carried themselves that gave them away. Stephanie returned to her seat behind the desk while I made my way to them.

“Hello.” I greeted them with a smile. “What can I do for you?”

They stood, and the woman brushed lint off her dark slacks.

“Fiona Ryan?” she asked.

“Yes.” I nodded, the back of my neck prickling. For some reason, I had a bad feeling about this. Perhaps it was the way she appraised me as if determining whether I was a flight risk.

“I’m Detective Gloria Harrison and this is my partner, Detective Mark Goodwin. We’d like you to come down to the station so we can ask you some questions.”

Internal alarms blared in my head. That wasn’t the usual protocol for dealings between King’s Security and the Metro P.D .

I forced my expression to remain neutral. “Can I ask what this is about?”

“We’d like to discuss an incident that occurred last night.” She glanced around. “We’d prefer not to get into detail until we’re somewhere more private.”

“I can find a meeting room for us to use,” I suggested. My instincts were warning me that going with them wouldn’t be wise.

The male cop, Goodwin, put his hand on his hip. “With all due respect, Miss Ryan, we’d prefer to talk to you at the station.”

My mouth went dry. Something was definitely off about this. “Is this regarding a King’s Security matter? If so, you’d be better off speaking to one of the directors.”

Harrison’s lips firmed. “It’s not.”

That’s what I’d been afraid of.

I drew in a slow, shaky breath. It seemed my past might be coming back to bite me in the ass. Again. “Can you call Detective Lee? I’d like to speak to her before I go anywhere.”

Joanna was sensible. She knew me. Surely, she’d be able to help. But Harrison shook her head.

“Detective Lee is homicide,” she said. “She’s not in our unit, and she isn’t relevant to this discussion.”

My heart sped up. It felt as if it was pounding against the inside of my rib cage. A sense of déjà vu swept over me. Once again, the police had come for me, and once again, I was in the dark as to why. Last time, I’d lost my job, my reputation, my boyfriend, and all of my savings. I’d had to start over. Would this time be the same?

No. It couldn’t. I had resources available to help me. I wouldn’t let history repeat itself.

“I’ll come with you. Just let me notify my boss that I’m leaving the office.”

Harrison nodded her assent. I went to the reception desk, her sharp eyes following me. I wouldn’t go and speak to Ronan in person because I feared they’d insist on accompanying me, and that would create a stir in the office. At least out here there were fewer people to witness my humiliation. I leaned over the desk and spoke softly.

“Stephanie, can you please get Mr. King on the phone?”

She nodded, her eyes wide. “Of course.” She dialed the extension for Ronan’s office and waited for a moment. “Mr. King? I have Fiona on the line for you.” Another pause. I could imagine Ronan would be confused. After all, I was usually the one patching calls through to him, not asking to be put through. “Yes, sir.” She handed me the phone.

“Hi,” I said, glancing back at the cops and lowering my voice. “I hate to ask, but would you be able to do me a favor?”

“What favor is that?” He sounded bemused.

“Can you please call my attorney and ask her to get to the Metro Police Station as quickly as possible?” I carried on without giving him a chance to respond. “Her name is Ariadne Rodgers. She works at MacBeth and Travers.”

“Of course.” I heard papers shuffling and hoped he was recording her details. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure yet.” I hesitated, then added, “It could be about those paintings. I don’t want to take any risks.”

“Would you like me to come and speak to them?” His tone was brusque. “I’m sure we can clear this up.”

“Just get Ariadne down to the police station ASAP.” It was nice to know Ronan had my back, but I didn’t want to cause a scene. Although I was fully prepared to do so later if things went downhill.

“I will. And Fiona, if they make any accusations or ask questions you’re unsure how to answer, stay quiet. Silence is always best.”

“Thanks, Ronan.” I’d learned that lesson myself as well— the hard way. When you don’t understand what’s going on, it’s easy to say things that can be used against you later, or to lose your temper and do or say something you regret. “Hopefully I’ll be back soon.”

“Be careful,” he cautioned, and the phone disconnected. I passed it back to Stephanie and turned to face Detectives Harrison and Goodwin.

“Okay,” I said, holding my head high. “Let me get my purse, and then we can go.”

Thankfully, they didn’t make a production of removing me from the building. After I ducked back to my desk for my purse, we left calmly. I got into the back of their car. They didn’t speak during the drive—not to each other or to me—and when we arrived, I was ushered into an interview room.

“Do you mind if I record this conversation?” Detective Harrison asked, placing a voice recorder on the center of the table between us.

I cocked my head. “Do you need to read me my rights first?”

“You’re not under arrest. I’d just like to be able to focus on our conversation now and take notes later.”

“Okay,” I allowed. I didn’t intend on saying anything to incriminate myself, so surely it wouldn’t hurt.

Harrison switched the device on, then leaned back in her chair and glanced at Goodwin, who rested his forearms on the table and watched me steadily.

“Where is the Monet?” he asked.

ZEK E

I was reviewing a report that Jonah had prepared on the communications between a prominent pharmaceutical mogul and his mistress when I noticed movement on the monitor for the camera feed connected to reception. A man and a woman were speaking with Fiona. Based on their appearance, I immediately picked them as cops. It wasn’t unusual for us to work with the Met P.D.

I let my gaze linger, as it always did, on Fiona. My gut tightened. I’d wanted the sexy redhead from the moment she started working here, but nothing had happened between us for two reasons. First, she was one of our most valuable employees and Ronan would lose his shit if I did something to drive her away. Second, she didn’t want a damn thing to do with me. I had no idea why, but she’d taken one look at me, scowled, and muttered something under her breath. Nothing I’d said or done since seemed to have thawed her.

I watched her stiffen as she spoke to the detective, and then cross to the front desk and talk on the phone for a minute or so. After she hung up, she left with them. I paused, rewound the footage, and zoomed in on her face. She looked anxious. I frowned. I couldn’t think of any good reason for the police to need Fiona to go with them. At least, not related to our work at King’s Security.

I grabbed my mobile phone and called Joanna Lee, the detective we worked with most closely.

“Detective Lee,” she answered briskly.

“Jo, it’s Zeke Watts.” She’d probably already seen the Caller ID, but better safe than sorry. “Two of your detectives just left our office with Fiona Ryan. Do you have any idea what that’s about?”

“It’s nothing to do with my unit,” she said. “I can’t give you any information.”

“But do you know what they want with her?” I asked .

She sighed. “I can’t tell you, Zeke. I’m sorry.”

“Not even for a bottle of whiskey?”

“No.” Her tone was firm. “But I’ll do you the courtesy of pretending you didn’t just try to bribe a police officer.”

I grinned to myself. I’d known the offer wouldn’t get me anywhere, but Joanna was painfully straitlaced and it was fun to rile her. “Thanks anyway, Jo.”

I hung up before she could instruct me to address her by her title, then I pushed my chair back and headed for Ronan’s office. He, Kade, and I were the directors and founders of King’s Security, but while we each held a stake in the business, Ronan was the chief executive because it had been his brainchild and he was best suited to the job.

I knocked on his door and pushed it open. Usually, Fiona would be seated at her desk near the entrance, ready to grill me about why I wanted to interrupt her boss’s precious time, but of course she wasn’t there now.

“Zeke.” Ronan was standing behind his massive wooden desk, a briefcase in his hand and his suit jacket folded neatly over his shoulder. “I wondered how long it would take for you to turn up.”

“What’s happening?” I asked, knowing he’d know what I was talking about.

“I’m not sure, but Fiona asked me to call her attorney and have her go to the police station. My best guess is it’s something to do with those paintings.”

“But that was years ago.” Before Fiona started working for us, she’d lost her job as the assistant to the manager of an art gallery because they suspected she’d used her access to the gallery to steal three expensive paintings. She’d never been charged, but they’d put her through the wringer.

He shrugged. “I don’t know what else it could be.” He stepped out from behind the desk. “I’m going down there too. She’ll need support. ”

I winked. “Will you throw your weight around?”

Ronan’s name meant something in law enforcement circles and the ten zeros following the number on his bank balance didn’t hurt either.

“For however much good it will do.”

“I’ll have my guys see what they can dig up,” I said. “I’ll call you if I find anything.”

“Thanks.”

I returned to the quadrant of the office where my tech security superstars—AKA hackers who tried really hard to toe the line of what’s legal—were housed, while Ronan went the other way. I stopped in the center of the open-plan area and clapped to get my staff’s attention.

“Urgent task,” I called. “The police just took Fiona Ryan in—potentially for questioning—and I want to know why. Put aside everything else until you’ve got me an answer. If any clients call, patch them through to Benson to take a message.”

Benson was my personal assistant, as efficient as Fiona and just as sassy, but fortunately, unlike her, he didn’t hate my guts. There were several confused glances, and a few people’s eyes lit up—either because of the new challenge or the possibility of getting their hands on gossip. My guys were the best in their field, but they absolutely loved sticking their noses into other people’s business. It was part of what made them so good. Honestly, it was a trait that I shared.

I strode past Benson into my office, and flopped onto my chair. I opened a new search bar on my computer and started with the obvious: articles about the missing paintings from four years ago. There was nothing new on that front, so I checked for any thefts or big news in the art world in general, but except for a missing idol from a museum in Cairo, all seemed quiet .

I ran a few more searches, my frown deepening. The absence of information either meant the police were keeping a tight lid on whatever new information they had, or that they wanted to talk to Fiona about something else entirely. That seemed unlikely, but I knew from hard-earned experience that the obvious answer wasn’t always the right one, so I dug into Fiona instead.

When Howard, one of my best former hackers, knocked on the door, I sat up straight at his expression.

“What is it?” I demanded.

“I think a Monet has been stolen.” The words tumbled from his mouth excitedly. “The Windy City Gallery was supposed to be opening an exhibition of impressionist paintings last night, with a work called Daisies by Monet as the centerpiece. The exhibition was canceled at the last minute and chatter on the dark net is that it’s because of a theft.”

“Monet.” I rubbed my chin, my fingers rasping over stubble. “How much do you think the painting would be worth?”

“Millions of dollars.” He came closer, a gleam in his dark eyes. “Maybe tens of millions.”

“Shit. And you think this has something to do with Fiona?” My mind worked quickly. The paintings Fiona had been accused of stealing were worth significantly less than that. A paltry ten thousand dollars per item. It would be a stretch for the police to believe she’d gone from that to a multimillion-dollar heist, but if they thought they’d found a connection between the crimes, it was certainly within the realm of possibility that they’d take her in for questioning.

“Find out as much as you can about it and email it to me,” I told him. “Get Jonah to see if he can find any electronic evidence to show where Fiona was last night in case we need an alibi for her.” I stood and grabbed my leather jacket. “I’m going to catch up with Ronan.”

If this was about a stolen Monet, it was a hundred times more serious than we’d originally thought, and I needed to share as much information as I could with Ronan in person. I wanted to be there for Fiona too, even if it wouldn’t necessarily put her mind at ease. What kind of mess had that difficult woman gotten herself into?