Lucas nodded.
“He said you’d know him.”
Her mouth had gone dry, but she forced herself to think fast. Tremaine was not someone she wanted anywhere near her cousin. Dangerous didn’t even begin to describe the man. “How long ago did you meet him?”
“Three years ago. We bonded over a glass or two of Southern Comfort, and he’s been a client ever since. His family has old San Francisco money, mostly from real estate and vineyards, but Remy loves art.”
No doubt stolen.
“I’ve arranged for the sale of some beautiful and rare pieces over the past few years,” Lucas continued.
While Lucas watched closely for her reaction, Jade simply nodded. Though she knew her cousin had a not-so-stellar past with the law, he’d long ago gone straight. These sales were legit.
Of course they are. Who’d suspect a genteel, handsome-as-sin art collector of anything more serious than spending more on wine than a car?
And wasn’t that precisely the point?
“What happened to Tremaine?” she asked.
“He was shot outside a restaurant here in Midtown two nights ago.”
A thousand thoughts rushed her brain instantly, and she fought to find one question she could ask. “How bad?”
“The bullet grazed his arm. He’s fine.”
“Which restaurant?”
“Plush.”
Jade finally managed to shake off the shock of hearing Tremaine’s name. “Plush?”
“A happening place for the idle rich and semifamous.”
“Naturally.” The bastard would fit right in.
“You’ll be able to see for yourself. The whole thing is on videotape.”
Jade raised her eyebrows. “You have a videotape of the shooting?”
“The police do.”
“And how did you find that out?”
“Not from the cops. The restaurant manager told Remy.”
“Convenient. What about press coverage?”
“Light. Unfortunately, a shooting isn’t big news in Atlanta unless somebody famous is involved. This particular restaurant insisted the cops keep everything quiet and had the pull to make it happen. ‘A local diner was shot last night’ was as much as the media got.”
Something positive in this mess, and yet the most important question was as yet unanswered. They might as well get to it. “Who suggested hiring me—you or him?”
“You know him from…before, don’t you?”
Jade shook her head. Her past was something Lucas knew she didn’t—couldn’t—discuss.
Eyeing her, he stroked his chin. “He asked me to hire you. He called from the hospital emergency room, in fact.”
“You’re that close?”
“No.”
Her cousin was a smart man. Brilliant, in fact. He’d sensed way more than was wise for him. He had a nice life and a beautiful new wife. He didn’t need the complications Tremaine had laid at his doorstep.
Some friend.
“He’s not really an art dealer, is he?” Lucas asked into the charged silence.
No. No, he certainly wasn’t.
Remington Tremaine was many things—arrogant and bold high among them. He was sneaky and obsessively private. He flouted rules and codes, and seemed to operate by a morality that made no sense to anyone but him. He was obscenely handsome and knew it. He was a dark mystery, the kind that inspired feminine sighs of longing and male snorts of envy. The kind whispered about by the very few who knew his true history.
The two most important things Jade knew about him, however, were the two things she absolutely couldn’t share with Lucas. One, Remington Tremaine was a former international art and jewel thief. And two, he currently was an undercover agent with the National Security Agency.
In this day of dedicated searches for terrorists, some of the “softer” crimes went unnoticed. Thieves were pushed aside in favor of tracking whispers about major terrorist attacks. But a small portion of NSA bosses suspected the spoils of certain burglaries were being funneled into terrorist groups, so there was still a group of agents who focused their talents on investigating that connection. Tremaine was part of that group, and the one most speculated about.
None of the other agents knew how the NSA had lured him away from his cushy life of crime to the side of law and order, but he’d apparently done enough to keep the directors from prosecuting him for his previous transgressions. She’d always thought he was one of those forgive-you-to-get-the-bigger-bad-guy deals that were made with criminals all the time.
What the hell had the NSA been thinking giving him a cover as an art dealer? That was like giving the drunk the keys to the bar.
“Dammit, Jade,” Lucas said as he stood, “I have a right to know what’s going on.”
Bracing her hands against the wooden arms of her chair, Jade rose slowly. At only thirty-three, she suddenly felt old and tired. But she was also furious. How dare Tremaine bring the NSA and God only knew what kind of criminals from his past to her doorstep? To Lucas’s doorstep—his supposed friend?
The past never really leaves us, her business partner and mentor, Frank Williams, had once said. How right he was.
“No, you don’t have a right,” she said, her gaze burning into his. “As of now, this is my problem. I want you to go back to work, back to helping people who actually need it. I want you to forget about Remington Tremaine. If anybody asks, you arranged the sale of some artwork for him, and that’s it. You know nothing else. Got it?”
Green eyes so like her own flashed back at her. “I won’t sit by and let you do this by yourself.”
Though she appreciated his blind support, she didn’t soften her gaze. “Where is he?”
“Someplace safe.”
“Dammit, Lucas, I don’t have time for games.” She leaned over his desk. “Where is he?”
“You’re not cutting me out.”
“Oh, yes, I am.”
“Then I have no idea where he is.” He turned his back on her.
She’d kill Tremaine for this, for involving her family in their sordid world of intrigue. Whoever was after him didn’t need to worry. She’d eliminate the problem and relish the act. Mr. Tremaine should look up her records. After reading the file about what had happened to the last idiot who’d messed with her family, he’d
