Page 88 of The One-Night Heist

I glanced at Rowen in alarm, but he simply scoffed. “An anonymous tip? The FBI gets thousands of those a day and only about a hundred are considered ‘actionable.’ Hell, the only ones Lowry takes seriously are from eyewitnesses and people closest to the suspects…”

He trailed off and squinted at Mick, who immediately raised his hands in mock surrender. “It wasn’t me, bro! You couldn’t pay me enough to get in bed with the Feds, no matter what I did or didn’t know.”

I wasn’t sure I believed the art forger in our midst, but Rowen looked appeased, and I trusted him implicitly.

Even if I do wish he hadn’t brought his foster siblings into the fold⁠—

“Well, that only leaves one potential snitch in this room.”

For one horrible moment, I thought Rowen was referring to me, but then I saw his stare was firmly fixed on Franz.

No.

Franz slapped his hat back on his head before crossing his arms. “What exactly makes you think I had anything to do with this?”

Rowen pushed off from the doorframe and crossed his arms as well. “Because you’ve made no secret of how much you dislike me being around your precious Giancarlo, and we both know you saw me at his art viewing party that night…”

My blood turned to ice in my veins for the second time that morning as I recalled Franz urging me to have Rowen questioned after the Art Crime Team left my apartment.

He wouldn’t…

Would he?

“Oh, I definitely noticed you there,” Franz scoffed. “But Giano was adamant that you couldn’t possibly be a suspect, so I let it drop. The only other person I mentioned it to was…”

I watched as he paled and turned to me with a horrified expression on his face. “Shit. This might actually be my fault.”

Oh no…

“Who. Did. You. Tell?” Rowen gritted out, fists now clenched at his sides, glaring daggers.

Mick stopped crunching on peanuts and set the bag aside before leaning forward, laser-focused on Franz. “Start talking, pretty boy.”

His tone was mild but the threat was clear, and I realized my loyalties were now worlds more complicated than they’d been only moments ago.

Please, start talking.

Franz swallowed hard. “While I was giving Agent Markel my statement on the value of your mother’s collection, I may have mentioned not only Rowen attending the party but the comment he made at The Skyline—about stolen art increasing in value.”

Nononono…

“YOU MOTHERFUCKING RAT!” Rowen bellowed, rolling up his robe sleeves and advancing on Franz so quickly, I had no time to react.

Luckily, Mick intercepted before fists could fly. “Easy, carrots…” He was suddenly on his feet and blocking his foster brother from reaching his new obsession. “I can’t have you messing up his pretty face before I paint him, right?”

“I swear, I didn’t mean to…” Franz muttered, collapsing into Mick’s abandoned chair, looking devastated. “I didn’t think Markel would⁠—”

“Agent Markel has wanted to take me down since the agency hired me!” Rowen shouted, pointing an accusing finger in Franz’s direction around Mick’s broad shoulder. “And you went and gave him the ammunition to do exactly that!”

Along with me.

I closed my eyes, tamping down my rising panic and calling upon any ounce of my mother’s unshakable, brass balls confidence I’d inherited, no matter how unlikely it may be.

We can fix this.

I can fix this.

“What’s done is done, Franz,” I calmly interjected, instantly quieting the chaos. “But this is what's going to happen next. I’ll go with you to the police station, to appease Lowry and avoid a scene while Rowen goes home with Mick⁠—”