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“I’d probably do the same thing,” Rory said with a shrug, causing us all to laugh again.
“I’m sure you would,bush girl,” Laney teased, bumping her with her shoulder as she used the nickname once assigned to Rory when she’d first come into town.
It’d been under a similar level of intrigue for the gossip mill since Rory had snuck around town asking questions about Riley in an attempt to work up the nerve to tell him they were long-lost siblings. She’d literally hid in bushes to spy on him and Aubree while they were falling in love, and none of us would ever let her live it down.
At least, I hoped we wouldn’t. It was too good.
Rory copied me by sticking her tongue out at Laney, and I grinned. “That’s the spirit, Ror.”
“You—” Laney said, eyes on me now. “Get your butt to her house and go straight inside. No snoopin’.”
I saluted her. “Yes, ma’am.”
“She’s not gonna listen to me, is she?” Laney asked Aubree.
“Does she ever?”
7?/?
tucker
“I’m paying you good money to take back what’s mine. I have every right to be here.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling the familiar tension headache creeping up. This conversation with Barto was going around in circles, and I wasn’t sure how much more of it I could take. The man had a way of repeating himself like a broken record, hammering the same point over and over, even when it was clear I’d heard him the first ten times.
“I’m not questioning your rights,” I said slowly, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “I’m questioning your motives. You have to admit it’s a little weird for you to show up in Charlotte Oaks like this.”
Barto's beady eyes narrowed behind his thick glasses, and he shifted his considerable bulk in the leather chair across from me. His face was ruddy, the kind of color people got when they spent too much time angry or too much time drinking. Maybe both. At seventy-something, with thinning gray hair and a belly that hung over his belt, he didn’t look like a man who could chase anything down, let alone some lost treasure. Yet, here he was, acting like he could micromanage us like puppets.
“Do I need to remind you of the stakes, Black?” Barto leaned forward, his voice lowering as though we were about to share a deep secret, though all he did was exhale stale cigar breath in my direction.
I fought the urge to recoil and kept my expression neutral.This guy.I’d dealt with my share of controlling clients before, the type who hired us to do a job and then proceeded to hover, second-guess, and generally drive me and Colt up the wall. But this one? He was in a league of his own. Made me wonder why people with the most money always seemed to trust the least.
“Nope. I’m all set on the details,” I replied, keeping my tone professional. I crossed my arms, settling back in my chair. “What I’m worried about is being hired to do a job, only for our client to show up and start micromanaging us. That wasn’t part of the deal.”
My mind flashed to previous cases. The time that oil tycoon had called us every hour on the hour until we’d threatened to bill him for the time wasted answering the phone. Or the heiress who insisted on following us around, showing up at stakeouts like we were partners on some reality show. This felt no different. People with money always acted like they were entitled to more control than they paid for.
“I won’t micromanage you,” Barto said, waving a pudgy hand dismissively. “But I will make sure every ounce of what’s mine gets returned to me.”
“Why wouldn’t it?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Barto’s mouth twisted into a cynical grin. “Son, you may have come highly recommended, but that doesn’t mean I trust you as far as I can throw you. And since you’re the size of a grizzly, that isn’t far.”
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes.Here we go.
The old ‘I don’t trust you’ routine. This was nothing new. Still, I couldn’t help but feel the sharp sting of annoyance.After all, we weren’t just some back-alley thieves running a con. We had a reputation to protect. One I wasn’t about to let get tarnished by a guy who thought everyone was out to take him for a ride.
He hadn’t acted like this the only other time I’d spoken to him back in Colorado. He was more… nervous. What had him pulling out the tough guy act now?
“You think we’d get back your treasure and then skim a little off the top before handing it over?” I asked flatly.
Barto didn’t respond. He just stared at me with that same smug look. I could feel Colt listening in on the conversation from the other end of the line, back at the B&B with Austin. He was muted, thankfully. Good thing, too. I could imagine the colorful string of curses Colt would let fly at that insinuation. That, and the bitter laugh that would follow.
“With all due respect, Mr. Barto,” I began, leaning forward slightly, “We’re professionals, and the rate you’re paying us to do this job is all we need.”
Barto’s eyes narrowed again, his fingers drumming on the armrest. “It’s not every day a man comes face to face with over a million reasons to compromise his morals,” he said, his voice slick with suspicion. “So I’m just covering my bases.”
I ground my teeth but forced myself to remain calm. “We’ve been in this line of work for a while, and we’ve dealt with a lot of temptations. If we were the kind of people who’d pocket your treasure, we wouldn’t have lasted this long. The fact that you hired us at all means you know we’re good at what we do.”
