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“Solid plan. You’d think that would be rule number one, but okay.”
“The final rule is that if you piss off the wrong people, make sure they can’t trace it back to you.”
Ideas formed in my head. “A heist with double misdirection?”
I started thinking about the plot of my novel and how Badger Detective Inspector Earl Shiremarch needed to unravel a Vegas heist…a heist I hadn’t yet fully figured out. I now realized I was missing a twist with misdirection.
“Right again,” Matty confirmed. “The part of our operation that you don’t know about is that we attempt to make an exact replica and put the replica back into circulation. While that’s happening, we’ve already restored the original. The smuggler gets a fake without realizing it.”
“How does Andy fit in all of this now? You mentioned you needed to retrieve an artifact from him.”
“In the past, he’s been on the receiving end of getting one of our replicas. When he’s the middleman, if the client realizes they’ve received a fake, he’s blacklisted, even threatened. He can usually bluff his way through anything. He’s got that quality about him. He’s so good a manipulator that he can convince an alligator that they’re not an alligator but a swan. He’s astoundingly charming.”
Matty gave me a curious look when he said the last part and I didn’t know what to make of that.
Was he warning me, in the event I met Andy tonight?
“Thanks for the warning,” I said. “I’ll be on my guard.”
He seemed relieved to hear that. “But to answer your question, someone nicked the fertility statue before I met with the customs agent. What we received was the replica.”
Realization hit me. “Jesus, we gave the fake to the embassy, didn’t we?” Terror replaced the gooey, warm feeling in my chest. “They had weapons, too. We are so dead.”
Matty’s words about not pissing off folks who could kill you became a more certain reality now that I had more information.
Suddenly, my own problems with Drew paled in comparison. On top of that, I hadn’t even asked Matty how the dinner with Zoey went. I suppose blackmail and abusive teachers couldn’t match the threat of actual death.
“Yes, we gave them the replica without realizing it. Joan thinks Andy commandeered the authentic statue in Vegas, made his own replica, and then put the replica into circulation. It’s the same method we employ. Only he beat us at our own game this time. We’ve nicked several of his claims, and he likes fucking with me.”
“And you think Andy has the statue in his possession?”
“See for yourself. I texted him after Joan called me.” He handed me his phone. “You can see what he wrote back.
I kept thinking about the embassy guards’ automatic weapons as I read the text string between Matty and the contact labeled as “Asshole Andy.”
Matty’s text read: Nice move, dumbass. When they find ten bullets lodged in my chest twenty-four hours from now, I hope you don’t shed too many tears at my funeral.
“Asshole Andy” wrote back: If you want to sit at the adult dinner table, there’s no use pouting like a child. Don’t worry, while we lower your body in the ground, I’ll be there to comfort Stefon. The new Mrs. Vaulteneau’s a looker. She might need my comfort, too. Along with the text, he’d sent a photo of the statue standing on a white pedestal. If you want it, come get it. I dare you.
“That fucker,” I groused out. My eyes heated like coal as I looked over his words about my mom. Over my dead body, asshole. “I understand the moniker now. Andy’s a complete asshole.” Placing Matty’s phone back in the center console, I asked, “Was the bit about bullet wounds hyperbole?”
“I’m afraid not,” Matty said gravely. I knew then that he was dead serious. “They’re demanding the authentic artifact within twenty-four hours. The results won’t be pretty if we fail.”
Even if it was an idle threat, there was no way I was going to let that fucker touch my mom, and I sure as hell didn’t want to get gunned down.
“Then let’s make sure we don’t fail.”
48
MATTHIAS
Throughout the drive, I stole glances at Ciaran’s profile. I was worried he’d connect the dots between Andy and Drew.
But maybe I was wrong. Hell, I hoped I was wrong.
Maybe they weren’t the same person and I was imagining things. Maybe I wanted to take my anger out on someone to rectify Ciaran’s pain. Not only that, I’d drawn Ciaran into a dangerous mission. If he got hurt, it would be my fault.
Additionally, if his Drew was the same Andrew Jones I knew, then Ciaran’s “relationship”—if I could call it that—was with a twenty-eight-year-old man from his high school…an adult with power and control over him.
