Page 69 of Fast Currents
“You didn’t have to wait out here for me. It’s getting cold out.”
His lips pursed briefly. Like he was tempted to argue. “Lucifer, I’d wait until hell froze over.”
My fingers grazed his, our hands tangling as I tugged him to his feet, leading him toward his front door. He’d been more than patient with me tonight, putting himself on the line, all to protect me. The least I could do was take good care of him.
“C’mon, Hotshot. Let’s get inside so I can warm you up.”
He followed me inside, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. Maybe our night hadn’t gone perfectly, but the way he had my back made my chest tighten. Clay Robertson was a man worth fighting for.
***
Monday dawned drizzly. The misty rain made me want to hunker down beneath a blanket on the couch with Clay, not venture out for breakfast with Nick Harris.
He waved us over from a booth at the downtown diner, looking every bit the dapper boat captain. A thick tan cable sweater stretched across his broad shoulders, his neatly trimmed beard sharp against the healthy glow of his ebony skin in the gray morning light.
“Morning.” Nick extended a hand, grasping and releasing mine in a firm handshake. He and Clay clasped hands, and we slid into the booth across from him. Clay dropped a big palm over my knee, his calm presence reassuring.
Our waiter, Joe, approached our table, coffee pot in hand and filled our mugs.
“Bless you, Joe.”
He raised his carafe to his forehead in a caffeine salute. “Happy to help, Luce. What’ll you folks have this morning?”
Clay ordered the Migas, and I picked the cinnamon roll French toast. My stomach rumbled. It’d been a long time since dinner last night. Nick waved Joe off. “Nothing but coffee for me, thanks.”
Nick waited until the other man left before turning his focus on us, his dark eyes searching. “So. What have you got for me?”
Straight to business. Part of me approved. The other half of me needed more coffee to function. I took a long pull from my mug.
Clay and I had agreed that I’d tell our story. The more distance he maintained, the better. Private citizens had a lot more leeway. If we emphasized his involvement, the judge might balk at granting Agent Harris a warrant.
“I’m friendly with Janine, the assistant at Island Muse. I reached out to her to confirm my suspicions about Chaz and the gallery, and she invited me inside with her to help ease my fears.” I opened my eyes wide, projecting innocence. “Since I dobusiness with Chaz, I wanted to be sure he was on the up and up.”
“Right…” Nick drew the word out. He didn’t seem to believe me, but he didn’t have to. So long as no one disputed my version of events, we’d be safe.
Janine certainly wasn’t going to provide a different story. She’d texted me when she boarded the ferry for the mainland, headed to Bellingham to live with her parents while she figured out what was next.
Clay squeezed my knee beneath the table. That silent sign of support made me sit a bit straighter. Feel stronger. “I happened to see that there were some discrepancies with another artist Chaz works with – A.A.” I unlocked my phone and slid it across the table. “I took a few photos of invoices that appeared to sell the same piece twice.”
Nick tugged at his bottom lip. Slowly, he swiped through the photos, brows slowly rising. “Interesting.”
“I felt it was my duty as a concerned citizen to report this as potential fraud.”
He eyed me across the table. “And you’re willing to sign a statement to this effect.”
Slowly, I nodded. There were too many dots that didn’t connect. Curious as I was, I wasn’t law enforcement. Giving what we’d learned to Agent Harris was our only move, unless we wanted to involve Sheriff Walker. And I doubted he had the resources to ferret out art fraud, or whatever Chaz had been up to with Jordan Dawkins.
Slowly, a smile spread across Nick’s face, transforming the stern man into something altogether charming. “I’ll write up my report and help prepare a statement for your signature.” He dipped his chin. “Thanks for your cooperation, Ms. Millen.” His gaze shifted to Clay. “What about you? What’s your role in all this?”
“Arm candy,” I blurted out. No way I wanted Clay’s name on any official reports. Nothing that could come back to haunt him later. The less I mentioned his involvement, the better. His hand tightened on my knee.
Clay lifted a shoulder, smiling wryly. “Best-looking backup she could find.”
Nick’s booming laugh made heads turn, but it broke the tension.
Joe dropped off our breakfasts, and I dug in, slicing my French toast with ruthless efficiency. I wasstarving.
Clay speared half a slice, scooping it onto his plate.
