I’m pretty sure that’s a dig, but I don’t have time to volley back and give him shit in return. I dive right in and tell him about Detective Jax Carter, his behavior, especially his coming to see Poppy, and that they’ve linked the missing laptop to the missing painting. “They shouldn’t have even realized it was a fake yet. Seriously, what happened?”
“Word is Fox tried to get it insured right afterward. Guess she hadn’t done it before, and the lights-out deal scared her into doing it pronto, and Lloyd’s of London knows their shit.”
I snort. “But how do they know it was a recent switch? It could’ve been that way for months, years, no telling how long.”
“The ownership change was documented when Fox took possession, so the assessment of it was recent enough that they could narrow it down. Especially since it doesn’t go many places, mostly just hangs on the wall in Fox’s office as a trophy of sorts. Easy to pin down then.” Hunter shrugs, well aware that he’s telling me things I already know from my prep work research.
Everything he’s saying is why it was best to steal the painting at the dinner, and if things had gone according to plan, I’d be in the clear. But the fake being discovered so soon makes things extra messy. “I don’t like it.”
“I don’t either, but what are you going to do about it?” Hunter asks.
I’ve been racking my brain for the last few days, doing more planning and recon on the statue job while looking into this Detective Carter. It’s been tough, with my mind working in two directions at once. It’s more than tough, it’s risky. I’ve always been single-minded before.
Not now.
“I don’t know. I’m so close to getting Mr. Big, but it doesn’t seem as important now. She’s all I can think about.”
Hunter leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out. He looks me in the eye, but I feel like he’s looking deeper into my soul. Can he see that my heart’s not in this anymore? That whatever gaping wound I’ve been trying to fill with stealing stuff has been filled with Poppy now?
Finally, he says, “You’ve lost focus. I never thought I’d say that about the great Connor Bradley, but it’s the fucking truth. You should’ve walked away a long time ago, but out of some misguided sense of obligation, you got the laptop back for this woman. But now, it’s time to drop her. Bitches get you stitches.”
His voice is dead cold, and realistically, I know he’s right. But I shake my head, running my fingers through my hair. “I can’t. I don’t want to. She’s it, man. I don’t deserve her, but I want to. Whatever it takes.”
Hunter’s voice doesn’t thaw a bit as he leans in, hissing sharply. “You know you can’t simply walk away from this. There are consequences to what we do! If you lose focus or fail at your mission, it won’t just be you paying the price. It’ll be her too.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” I growl. “But desperate times call for desperate measures. I have to figure out a way to walk away and to protect her at the same time. Things have changed too much now.”
“Bullshit,” Hunter spits out, unswayed by my desperation. “You’ve changed too much, lost your edge, and a man with no edge in our world is a man on his way to a shallow grave. You know too much, have seen too much, and have done too much.”
We meet eyes once more, the silence growing long as the truth sinks in for both of us. This very well may be the last time I see Hunter. He has a job to do, a role to fill in this madcap world, and if I’m stepping off our conjoined path while he stays on its rocky road to wherever he goes next, we may never see each other again.
Hunter holds a hand out, and we shake firmly. “Honor among thieves, brother. If you need me, you know how to find me.”
“Same, brother. Eyes open.”
I don’t turn around as he leaves the coffee shop, but I do watch his reflection in the window in front of me. Both because I’m sad to see him go, but also to make sure he doesn’t double-cross me once he’s behind my back. Honor among thieves is a common motto, but the reverse phrasing, no honor among thieves, is just as prevalent. But Hunter is out the door without a glance back, joining the small crowd of people on the street outside.
Once he’s gone, I finish my coffee, thinking and planning.
My body is relaxed, my mind comfortable with my plan to steal the stone sculpture, but my senses are still on alert as I sit in the gathered audience at the auction. I’ve already scanned the crowd, noting two prominent millionaires who are known collectors, four assistants, and a small number of unfamiliar faces who are probably lookie-loos who won’t bid on anything. There are also a few people off to the side at a table, some on computers and some on phones to take bids.