The Spy (King’s Security #3)

Chapter 3

3

FIONA

“That won’t happen again,” Kade said grimly. “We won’t let it.”

A thread of hope curled in my gut. “You believe me?”

“I sure as hell do.” He nodded toward Ronan. “You already know Ronan does. Even if I had any doubts, the fact that you came into work today would cinch it. What kind of person would show up to the office the day after stealing a priceless Monet?”

I turned to Zeke. He’d always been the one who was more suspicious and cynical of people’s motives. “What about you?”

His lips quirked. “I disagree with Kade on that last point. A great thief would go about their routine as normal regardless of what they’d been up to. What better way to look innocent than to act as though nothing had happened?”

Angry heat simmered inside me and I narrowed my eyes at him. “But—”

“You didn’t let me finish.” He smirked. Damn, I wanted to wipe that annoying expression off his face. “I don’t think you are a thief. I was just pointing out what the police’s perspective might be. Your being here today is a good bluff. That said, you obviously didn’t do it, and we can’t afford to lose the boss’s right-hand woman, so I guess we’ll just have to prove your innocence.”

“W-what?” I couldn’t believe my ears. Surely Zeke, the most frustrating man I’d ever had the displeasure of working with, hadn’t just suggested coming to my rescue.

“He’s right.” Ronan sighed and ran a hand over his tidy hair. “The best way to beat this is to be proactive. We need to either prove you can’t have done it by locking down your alibi, or find who actually stole the Monet.”

I blinked at them in shock, momentarily speechless. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course we would,” Kade said gruffly.

“But it shouldn’t be your problem. It’s not fair of me to expect you to help me clean up my own mess. Especially since you were already generous enough to give me this job despite my history.” Ronan had taken a chance on me when no one in my old circles would. I didn’t want to repay him by making his life more difficult.

Ronan stacked his hands one on top of the other on the table. “You’re family to us, and we take care of our own. We’re helping you.”

My lower lip wobbled. My throat constricted and I blinked rapidly to stop the tears that were welling in my eyes from spilling over. “Thank you.”

“Great. That’s decided.” Zeke clasped his hands together. “Moving on. It seems to me that considering the nature of the crime, our best bet is to look for electronic evidence. I’ll take the lead.”

My stomach fluttered. Zeke would be the one trying to clear my name? I didn’t know how to feel about that. On one hand, he was excellent at what he did, but on the other, he never seemed to take anything seriously. Did I really want to rely on him for something so important?

“You’ll make this your top priority?” Ronan asked.

“Sure. It’ll be like an electronic game of Clue. The guys will love it.”

The fluttering turned into nausea.

“Can’t you take something seriously for once?” I snapped. “This is my life.”

Zeke’s crooked smile didn’t waver. “I take it very seriously, Fifi, and my team will too. They work harder when we make it fun or give them something to compete over. Trust me.”

My stomach sank. That was the whole problem. I didn’t trust him.

I had no particular reason not to. I knew his reputation as being the best in his field, and we had a long list of satisfied clients because of him. But I had a difficult time seeing him as an expert cyber specialist rather than as the devil-may-care flirt he’d become whenever we were in the same room. Beyond that, the truth was, I didn’t really trust anyone. After all, I’d trusted Bergen, and look where that had gotten me.

“Surely we don’t need you and your team working on it,” I said, my thoughts again returning to the huge mountain of crap I’d dumped at my boss’s feet. “I don’t want to cause any issues with meeting deadlines for other projects. I could just work closely with one of your people.”

Zeke’s grin widened. “Nice try, sweetheart, but you’re not getting out of working with me. You’re a V.I.P. That means you get the white glove service.”

Despite my reservations, I warmed at the thought that Zeke considered me important. It had never occurred to me that he might see me as more than a challenge to his lady-killer reputation.

I turned to Ronan. “Is that a good idea? I’d hate to be responsible for problems with paying clients.”

I couldn’t afford to pay for their time. I knew the rates these guys charged out at and they weren’t even in my ballpark. The only reason I could afford Ariadne as my attorney was because I’d known her since school and she gave me a heavy discount.

“Zeke knows what his team are and are not capable of,” Ronan said with a shrug. “If he thinks they can handle this without dropping any balls, then that’s his call.”

I met Zeke’s eyes. They were so dark they were nearly black, but when I took the time to look past the attitude he wore like a shield, I saw a hint of real emotion in them. For whatever reason, he did care.

“Thank you,” I said thickly. “Thank you all.”

“It’s no problem.” Ronan pushed his chair back. “Call a temp to cover for you. You can focus on yourself until everything is cleared up.”

I pressed my lips together. He was an amazing boss, and I’d never take it for granted. “Thank you.”

Zeke rolled his eyes. “Stop thanking him and let’s get started. Come with me.”

He stood and stretched, his shirt riding up to reveal an inch of tattooed abdomen. I tore my gaze away from that intriguing patch of skin just in time for him to notice. His expression turned smug but he didn’t mention it, instead sauntering out of the office as if he didn’t have a care in the world. I thanked Ronan and Kade again, excused myself, and placed a call to the temp agency we used. Once that was done, I went to Zeke’s office and knocked softly.

He glanced up from his computer, a pair of glasses perched on the end of his nose that somehow only made him sexier. “You know, you didn’t have to manufacture this whole situation just to spend more time with me,” he teased. “You could have asked.”

I snorted. Perfect. There was the reminder I needed about exactly who he was. Sarcastic. Flirtatious. Not the kind of man I should ever be attracted to.

ZEKE

With balance restored, I open a search tab on my computer. For a few seconds there, Fiona had been looking at me in a way I didn’t understand, and I’d had to get us back on an even footing.

“Grab a chair and pull it up,” I told her.

The first order of business was to look into her asshole ex. A subtle floral scent tickled my nostrils as she parked a chair a couple of feet away and perched primly atop it, her thighs crossed and her skirt pulled tight across them. I forced myself not to stare. She made a tempting picture.

“What’s Burger’s last name?” I asked.

“Bergen,” she corrected. “It’s Cole.”

“Bergen Cole,” I said, typing it into the search field. It was a unique enough name that I doubted I’d need to add many filters before I found who I was looking for. Sure enough, I found a social media account right away, along with a Wikipedia page for Bergen Cole, Artist. I skimmed the wiki page. It was basic, with a few sentences about his life and a list of his known works. I exited the page and opened the social media account. Images of landscape paintings filled the screen. Mountains, streams, skylines, and several of a flower garden. I didn’t have much of an eye for art, but I could tell he was reasonably talented.

I scrolled down the page until I found a photograph of a person I assumed was Bergen. My hand froze on the mouse and my eyebrow popped up. The man in the photograph had dark, shaggy hair, brown eyes, harsh features, tattoos climbing the sides of his neck, and a cocky smirk. In short, he looked so similar to me that we could have been brothers.

“Shit.” I whistled. “I’m totally your type.”

“Are not,” she retorted.

I glanced at the screen pointedly.

Her cheeks turned pink. “Okay, so there’s a resemblance, but did you ever stop to think that maybe that’s exactly what makes you not my type?”

I frowned and waited for her to elaborate.

She huffed. “What person would want to go out with someone who reminded them of the worst time of their life?”

Ouch. I rubbed my chest. Now that she said it, I could see her point. Being around me must be difficult sometimes. A constant reminder of what she’d been through. Was this why she’d disliked me on sight? If so, it would explain a lot. Still, it would be nice to be seen as my own person. I didn’t like being lumped in with someone else and paying for their sins.

Also, what were the odds? When I left my job at the agency, half the reason I covered myself with tattoos and got damn near everything pierced was to make myself as recognizable as possible, so I could never be used as a nameless, faceless tool again. The chance of finding someone who resembled me so closely must be infinitesimal, but apparently, not impossible.

“Got it.” I clicked out of the social media page and opened a website that appeared to be dedicated to Bergen Cole and his art.

Beside me, Fiona sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just been a long day.”

“I understand. We’re good.” I shouldn’t be teasing her anyway. It would be best for me to just focus on the task at hand. Perhaps I should lay off flirting with her in general. I enjoyed seeing her bristle and blush, but if it was causing her genuine distress, that wasn’t okay. “Tell me more about Bergen. Is he from Chicago?”

“Yes,” she replied. “At least, that’s what he told me.”

I glanced at her. “I don’t suppose you know his social security number.”

She rolled her pretty eyes. “No, Zeke. I don’t make it a habit to learn my boyfriends’ social security numbers.”

I didn’t point out that it might be a good habit to start.

“What about his year of birth?”

She gave it.

I mentally did the math. “So he’s thirty-five?”

“That sounds about right. He was thirty when we started dating, and we were together for a bit more than a year.”

The age also meshed with his photograph from social media. I opened the site again, copied the image and ran a reverse search to see if I could find it—or him—elsewhere. Several websites popped up. Most of them were from art galleries or blogs, with a couple of interviews in online magazines. I opened one of them and scanned the text. It was full of self-congratulatory bullshit.

“He sounds like a self-entitled douche,” I said.

“He is.” She didn’t sound mad. Just resigned. “That’s the kind of man I generally attract.”

Double ouch. I’d been flirting with her for years. Had she meant that as a slight against me or had she just not thought before she spoke ?

“Did he work at all while you were together?”

“Only on his art.”

“And he’s strictly a painter?”

She waved her hand back and forth. “He dabbled in sculpture but he was never as good at it as he was at painting.”

“Does he have family? Do you know if he’s still in the city?” The more information I had, the better the instructions I could give my team.

“He has a mom who worships the ground he walks on. She didn’t have a husband and I’m not sure what the deal with Bergen’s dad was. He never told me. I’m not sure if he even knows him.”

“Siblings?”

She laughed dryly. “None. Lucky, because he’d never have been able to stand having his mom’s attention divided.”

“So, he’s a momma’s boy?”

“Only in that he adores her because she dotes on him. It’s good for his ego.”

“Right.” The more I learned about this guy, the worse he sounded. “Close friends?”

She scowled. “He makes friends easily but doesn’t keep them for long. In hindsight, that should have been a red flag. He always said they were jealous of him, and I bought it.”

“Jesus, Fi. How did you not see what a tool this guy was?”

She closed her eyes and buried her face in her hands, releasing a muffled growl. When she raised her face again, she looked so sad I wanted to pull her into my arms and hold her.

“I was blind, and apparently, the police are too. When you figure out how to fix that, let me know. I’d really appreciate it.”