Gretch recognized the FBI Suburban the exact moment Sean dashed out of the shop. Light bulbs went off, and chills raced down her spine. Whatever Jace and Sean had been up to yesterday was tied to this store. And this impromptu excursion, that had clearly freaked Sean out right from the El station, wasn’t something trivial he’d been investigating in his spare time. They really had been in danger. Did this have to do with the mysterious inventory list and massive price change?

The heavily tinted windows and Sean’s back blocked whomever it was he spoke to through the cracked front passenger window, but his stance was as rigid as it been on Saturday night across Teenie’s dance floor.

Both older men watched the scene, then glanced at each other. Their look fueled her misgivings.

El Bashtan turned his beady stare toward her. “Mr. Bixby is quite an unusual fellow.”

He was, and no doubt the men were as startled at Sean’s abrupt exit as she was, but the bearded man’s remark flared the defender in her. It was one thing for her to think or even say that to Sean’s face, but uttered by a stranger, it was as offensive as if the man had just insulted her. “Actually, he’s insanely brilliant.”

Adyton clasped the cane in both hands and leaned his weight on it heavily. “May I ask what brought you both in today?”

Her answer would make or break whatever Sean had set into place yesterday. Whatever had made him just rush out of the store. Gretch scanned the dusty merchandise. Adyton sold cheap shit, but he also possessed a gold-leaf Quran that required bodyguards. Maybe he was in the business of renovating and reselling high-end art somewhere else. She went on gut instinct. “Part of our client service is to gather potential buyers interested in the art we restore,” she said. “Did Walter not mention that yesterday?”

The old man shook his head, his eyes steady and searching on hers. It suddenly seemed airless in here. Any word could trip her up. She nodded to Sean, given she had no clue what Bixby’s first name was. “We were on our way to an appointment when we met Mr. El Bashtan. That’s the other party’s car; they must be anxious to meet with us.”

Wait, now the men would want to meet with Jace!

“Not on your beautiful piece,” she added hastily. “We offer the service to clients with fully restored artifacts. Perhaps that’s why Walter didn’t mention it yet.” Was she blathering? Perspiration beaded her upper lip.

The bearded man held up a hand, the universal sign to stop. “You said he was your husband—”

Sean’s rude rejection on the platform made so much sense now. She struck a pose, showing off her best assets. “Oh please, Mr. El Bashtan. Look at me. How can you think I was serious?” She fought to keep her flirtatious smile from faltering. “It’s an ongoing joke at the office.” An office she was going to have to quickly warn if they received a call checking on whether a Bixby worked there.

“So the other woman is his wife.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and this time the smile faltered. Did he have a girlfriend? Maybe someone in the FBI? “Probably. I don’t know him well enough,” she admitted.

El Bashtan blinked, the slow deliberateness resembling a crocodile. “And he indicated his search was on behalf of a museum in Wisconsin.”

Christ in a cradle. “We don’t want to jeopardize our clients’ privacy, so we tend to work with aliases when researching the buying and selling portion of our trade.” Did that make sense?

The men exchanged a second glance chock-full of doubt. Her lungs refused to work properly. Had she just helped Jace and Sean or made things worse?

Outside, Sean stepped back, nodding. The window rolled up, and he strode to the store, poker-faced. Part of her went weak with relief, while another emptied more sweat out her pores. Now came the really tricky part. Making sure whatever came out of his mouth jibed with all the lies she’d just spouted. “Here he comes now.” She needed the men’s focus turned toward Sean, so she could warn him with everything but words.

Sean opened the door, and Gretch transferred all her panic into her expression. “Was that the buyer we were supposed to meet this morning?” she brayed, nodding urgently.

Sean blinked a few times. For once, his expressionlessness was a godsend. “Yes.” His posture remained rigid, his eyes riveted to hers.

“That’s what I thought. Well, Mr. Adyton, it was nice to see you again, and I’ll have Walter explain the details of our additional service. Mr. El Bashtan…” She swept by them, ready to shove Sean backward out the door, but he pivoted aside and pushed it open for her.

“Gentlemen,” he said, and then they were outside in the cool, sweet morning air. Safe.

Sean settled a palm on the small of her back and steered her toward the Suburban. As he reached for the door handle, he cleared his throat roughly. “Whatever went down in there, you have my eternal gratitude.”

“How about next time we just stay on the El?” Her knees shook, making it hard not to fall into the SUV on her wobbly heels. Climbing in, she greeted Jace, in the passenger seat, who introduced the female agent driver. Gretch only caught her first name, Margo. The last name was drowned out by Sean shutting her door and Gretch’s skittering heart still pulsing in her ears.

He hurried around and got in the other side. When the Suburban lurched forward, Gretch rested her head against the leather and exhaled a long sigh. Now that she was out of danger, she rode the adrenalin rush. When had she ever felt the exhilaration of the hunt without the dread of the expected aftermath? Maybe she’d missed her calling as an undercover cop or CIA spy.

“What happened in there?” Jace demanded. He’d turned almost fully in the passenger seat so he had a clear view of both of them. The affable guy from yesterday had morphed into an intense agent in full interrogation mode.

Gretch glanced at Sean, beseeching his understanding. Either she’d helped him or wrecked everything. “I told them Moore and Morrow also recruits interested buyers for art we restore, and that we’d been on our way to such an appointment. That we do it anonymously, which is why Bixby, here, said he was from Wisconsin.”

Sean’s eyebrows rose comically high. A faint grin appeared. She turned her attention to Jace. “I said you were the buyers. That you’d detoured to meet us.”

“That’s actually brilliant under the circumstances,” Margo said quietly. She studied Gretch in the rearview with interest. “You’ve got a knack for this.”

A warmth spread through Gretch. By no means did she lack intelligence, but it never occurred to her to pursue a lofty goal like working for the Bureau. Generally, she ruined career starts because of the mess she made socializing with the men there. Hostess, pharma rep, personal trainer… Eventually she’d be avoiding so many disastrous encounters it was easier to pick up and start anew in a completely different field. And what would life be like if she was actually challenged? She’d totally nail the FBI physical qualifications—

“Sean said you knew the owner of the shop,” Jace interrupted in that energetic agent tone, ignoring his partner’s compliment. Gretch told them about Adyton, the Quran in the suitcase, the bodyguards, and her presumption that there was another shop with high-end art. She was about to add the inventory list priced at sixty million, but that might get Walter in trouble. She’d ask him about it later.

Jace began typing on his phone.

Margo braked for a light and turned to Jace. “Let’s interview Walter. Get a background check going on Ad—”

“Already started.” Jace kept texting.

“Check for warehouses or other shops under his name.”

“Texted Dirk to investigate that angle.”

“His bank—”

“Next on the list.” The clipped tone shut down whatever Margo intended to say next. She cut her eyes front and glared at the red light.

“You can track his bank transfers, right?” Sean asked, oblivious to the tense dynamic between the two agents. “See if he’s sending funds to known ISIS accounts?”

A muscle spasmed along Jace’s jaw. Gretch braced herself.

“Just submit your resignation again, Sean,” he said without looking up. “Effective immediately.”

Sean snorted. “How about you look up the details of my contract?” He jabbed a finger at his brother. “My agreement with the FBI was to consult. I don’t know covert operations. Or what to do when I suddenly have two wives.”

“I’m sorry we put you in that position, Sean,” Margo said. Another puzzle piece fell into place. Margo had been a part of yesterday’s adventure too. Gretch huffed out a breath as a band inside her chest eased. Sean kept glowering at his older brother. The sullen pull of his lips had all the marks of an inferiority complex, which was rich coming from an opera–Shakespeare buff. But his inner agony sparked her sympathy.

“In my opinion,” she said, “they had no idea the FBI was outside their shop. We haven’t tainted your investigation.”

Jace snorted. “Oh, they knew. Art collectors don’t come screaming up to an obscure store first thing in the morning—”

“We don’t know what they know,” Margo interrupted in a tight voice. “The investigation could be compromised, or Gretch just strengthened Sean’s role in continuing with this case. We need to pull back and evaluate the state of our op before proceeding.”

The muscle in Jace’s jaw popped again. He scrolled through his phone with a mutinous expression, and if anything, Margo’s words seemed to make Sean feel worse. He slumped back. “Look, we’ve inadvertently involved Gretch. They know where she works. If they realize any of what she said was a lie, you need to provide her some kind of protection.”

“Me?” she exclaimed. How had this suddenly become her problem? Sean arriving at her doorstep got her into this mess in the first place… “Worry about the fact that, if anything, they know you’re a fraud. I’ll be fine.”

“If you were fine,” he retorted, “we’d have arrived at Moore and Morrow separately. Maybe you should vet your pickups more carefully, princess.”

Jace glanced up from his phone. “Pickups?”

Gretch ignored him, sneering at his younger brother. “I asked you what was wrong on the train. Maybe if you opened your mouth once in a while, instead of communicating in one-word grunts, I could’ve figured out how to ditch El Bashtan instead of begging to join in the fun.”

Sean shook his head like he was tired of explaining something to a child. “The point is, Jace, we have priceless art in that lab. I’d hate to see the place firebombed.”

Gretch rolled her eyes. “Would you lighten up? Adyton—”

“Both of you, shut it,” Jace said quietly. He was reading his phone screen, that same muscle clenching along his jaw. After a minute, he looked up at Margo. “Adyton is on our smuggling watch list. His shop listed a gold-leaf Quran on eBay yesterday. Five hundred years old. Asking price four mil. Condition is ‘fragile, being refurbished at Chicago’s finest restoration firm.’ Six-week bid date. We can track the product, the sale, and wherever he transfers the proceeds.”

The Suburban turned the final corner. “So in the end,” Gretch said, arching her brow, “our blundering adventure did help your case.”

Sean stiffened, like he didn’t appreciate her coming to his defense. Jace didn’t answer. In the rearview, Margo gave her an appraising look. “Under the circumstances, you both handled yourselves well. We’ll get through this hiccup.” She nodded to Sean. “Just carry on about your business, and keep all of this confidential.”

As the car rolled to a stop outside Moore and Morrow, Jace stuffed his phone into his breast pocket and hopped out.

Sean yanked on his own door handle, pinning Gretch with an icy glare. “It isn’t necessary to defend me to Jace. I can speak up for myself.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed. In fact, I wish you’d shut up once in a while.” Fucking Quinn brothers. Ignoring Margo’s quiet laugh and the hand Sean held out, Gretch stepped from the vehicle and made a show of adjusting and smoothing her skirt. Jace was by the office door, waiting for them. He’d put on his sunglasses, which made reading his expression difficult, but he held himself as stiffly as Sean. When she reached his side, Jace murmured, “What was that about pickups?”

She batted the comment aside with a wave of her hand, Sean’s words still chapping her ass. “Pay no attention. Your brother’s acting like Chicken Little.” She ignored Sean’s grunted profanity as they trooped into the reception area.

Hannah stood at Gretch’s desk, the phone to her ear. When she saw them, her worried features smoothed out. “I was frantic,” she said, hanging up. “Where have you two—” She stopped as Margo and Jace appeared.

“Jason Quinn, FBI, ma’am,” Jace said, flipping open a wallet. “This is Special Agent Margo Hathaway.”

Margo displayed her badge with less Hollywood pomp. “We’d like to speak to the owner.”

A myriad of emotions raced across Hannah’s face, predominantly shock and alarm. Like she needed to be dealing with this, when she was so worried about Devon and his company. Before Gretch could assure her their presence had nothing to do with Moore and Morrow, Hannah turned to her. “Is this about Brandon stalking you?”

And there it was. The stupid topic she’d have gladly kept from either Quinn brother until her dying day.

“Stalking?” Jace muttered from behind. She didn’t turn, just shook her head and motioned Hannah away from her desk.

“This is one of the owners, Hannah Moore. This is Sean’s brother,” she said, diffusing the mystique of an agent marching in with his tough-guy attitude. Hannah glanced in disbelief between the two men, no doubt because they looked nothing alike. As if reading her mind, Sean glowered and dropped his eyes to the carpet.

“They have some questions about the Quran Mr. Adyton brought in yesterday.”

If anything, Hannah looked more flustered as she ushered Jace and Margo into the conference room and asked Sean to go get Walter and the project.

“I’ll get him,” Gretch said hastily, thumbing his office right behind her. She may as well pre-explain her lying about additional services. Walter would not take kindly to any of it. He lived by devout Christian rules and the reputation of Moore and Morrow, both of which she’d played fast and loose with this morning. Luckily, she answered all calls and would know if Adyton checked on her explanations.

She turned and stopped short. Sean had moved with the speed of light and now leaned against the wall near Walter’s office, arms folded, lips pressed in censure. Strange how she couldn’t recall the enchantment his mouth had conjured an hour ago.

“Chicken Little?” he bit out.

“My social life is none of your damn business.”

A smirk appeared, feeding her ire. “It’s enough of my damn business that I hoofed it all the way to your side of town this morning. It’s enough of my damn business that Hannah requested you take my martial arts class this eve—”

“So much for your eternal gratitude! Let me be perfectly clear, Sean: I don’t need you to bodyguard me, and I have no intention of taking your class. Ever.”

“Really?” he replied, the word dripping with false friendliness. “’Cause Hannah made it sound like an order.”

Gretch folded her arms. “She would never assume that kind of authority over me, and you know it.”

“Let’s go ask her, then.” Sean gestured at the conference room. “After you.”

Gretch struggled to keep the panic off her face. Hannah would totally side with Sean. Even if she didn’t, having this dumb discussion in front of Jace and Margo wasn’t worth accepting Sean’s dare. “Fine,” she sputtered, “email me the details. But don’t expect me to be all Suzie Sunshine with your other students.”

He shrugged, back to the poker face that ratcheted every nerve in her body. “I doubt they’ll care.” He knocked twice on the threshold. “See ya tonight.”

She glared at his loping retreat until he vanished into his cubicle. She’d ace his goddamn class tonight.

Still fuming, she opened Walter’s door. He was on the phone and stopped mid-sentence, frowning. “We have a situation,” she began, but he held up a hand.

“I’ll be out there in a second, Gretchen.”

She made her way back to her desk, snatched her phone out of her purse, and turned it back on. Twenty-three texts. One from Zamira about next Sunday’s shift at the hotline, the rest from Brandon. She read each dispassionately. This was a guy who got his jollies being a pest. There were no clues that he’d been stalking her around town. She sighed and muted the device. Best just to ignore him.