Page 12 of One Wrong Move

He nodded. “I’m afraid so. And, I think they just invited us to play.”

SIX

“BUT,”SHE SAID,“if they left the letter on my car after we entered the gallery, then...”

“Then they’re close by,” he said, scrutinizing their surroundings, fixing on the diner patrons across the street. He scanned each face, looking for one out of place. Or ... He stilled. Was it someone he knew?

“But that means they broke in here, rushed down to Albuquerque, then circled back?” she said.

“Weirder things have happened.” He knew by experience. “I’m going to run this in to Joel. I’ll be right back.”

“Joel? I’m assuming you mean Sheriff Brunswick?”

Christian nodded.

“I didn’t realize you were on a first-name basis.”

“We play baseball together. And...” He shrugged. “It’s a small town.”

“Right,” she said, her piercing gaze still scanning the diner scene.

Twenty minutes later, they were heading south on Highway 14—aka the Turquoise Trail—for Albuquerque. Andi kept her hands, damp with cold perspiration, at her side. Something about the note had spooked Christian, and returning to Albuquerque—likely to see the FBI art theft team, no less—had completely upended her. They made quite a pair.

“You okay?” he asked, one arm draped across the wheel.

“Mmm-hmm.” She wasn’t asking why he asked. She already knew the answer. Instead, she’d focus on him.

“How often have you seen back-to-back heists?” he asked before she could do just that.

“None since I started in this line of work, but I do recall reading about one while I was researching for the job.”

“This line of work?” he asked. “Is it a newer occupation for you?”

The guy was too intuitive for his own good. “Yes.” Which led to the question she didn’t want to answer.

“What’d you do before?”

“I worked in an office.” It was true. The FBI crime lab was in an office building. Before he could prod, she shifted the focus. “So what about you? How’d you get into the security business?”

He tapped the wheel. The sun fanned out across the windshield, spilling in to warm her. “It’s not my main profession,” he said, his tone once again casual. Unaffected.

“Oh?” What else did a security consultant do? Security officer, perhaps? Which would give him even more time inside a gallery to rob it. She pinched her lip with her teeth.Don’t assume.But ... She exhaled, shifting to face the man better.Don’t trust.“What is your main profession?”

He glanced over at her with a sideways smile. “I’m a private investigator.”

“Really?”

He chuckled. “You don’t have to sound so shocked.”

“Sorry.” She offered an apologetic smile. “I just hadn’t anticipated that.”

He dipped his head. The man was entirely too handsome for his own good. “And what did you anticipate?”

“I don’t know.” She smoothed her skirt. “Maybe a security guard.”

He chuckled again, the sound warm and inviting.

Whoa,girl. He’s a suspect, remember?“So ... private investigator? How’d you get into that line of work?”

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