The outdoor seating was quaint but crowded. Pitchers of margaritas flowed freely with this crowd. The space was bustling, but quiet enough for people to engage in conversation without yelling. The chairs were painted in bright blues, oranges, and turquoise. Logan pulled out the chair for her.
He sat and the waitress immediately arrived with glasses of water and rattled off the evening’s specials. Instead of reading the menu, he said, “If you trust me, I’ll order for both of us.”
“All right.” She smiled. Another win for Logan. This was becoming a bit tedious. She liked to win, too. Which reminded her of Wade’s warning about patience.
Logan placed an order of what seemed like an overabundance of food. When the waitress left, his attention returned to her. “How was work?”
“Long. Busy. I had meetings all day for a big exhibit I’m planning.”
“Really? What’s the exhibit about?”
“Crime and punishment.”
“Like the novel?”
“No, as in crimes people commit and the consequences they suffer because of them. Revenge. Retribution. Rehabilitation.” She sipped her water. “I had the idea after my father left the country. I thought it would give me something to focus on, and now my small exhibit is going to be the major event of our fall season.”
“Wow. So you’ve been planning this for years?”
“Yes. A lot of research is needed to figure out what we want the exhibit to be and then determine what pieces we have versus what pieces we’d like to borrow from other museums or private collections. We’re at the stage now where we have to design the space and choose the most prominent pieces. We have an ancient Chinese tapestry that shows how prisoners were punished. The Met in New York is lending us a Vallotton lithograph from Crimes and Punishments.”
He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, nothing distracting him. He stared directly into her eyes, as if every word she spoke mattered.
Mimic his body language.
She, too, leaned forward with a smile. “Thank you for indulging me.”
“Indulging you?”
“I know my job doesn’t interest most people. But you’re not rolling your eyes, cutting me off, or looking for something more interesting.”
“In general, I find most people are shitty. And I find your job fascinating. People take the work behind an exhibit for granted. I’ve never given it much thought. You just go to the museum and stuff is collected there. I never considered how that collection actually happens.” He held her gaze for a few more beats.
The waitress arrived with a bowl of chips and a selection of salsas. Logan leaned back, and when the waitress left, he pointed at each bowl. “Mild, medium, and scorch your pants.”
She took a chip, broke it in half and went straight for the hot. “A little heat never scared me.”
“Daring. I like it.” He helped himself to a blend of medium and hot.
“And how was work for you, Logan?”
“Busy. I had to meet with some clients and we’re still running down leads on where those forgeries came from.”
“What do the police say?”
“Local police are pretty much out of it now since the Devereaux is with its rightful owner. The FBI will probably bring in experts to look at the forgery to try to figure out who made it. It’s a strange coincidence that a forgery was delivered to the museum at the same time the original was stolen from Max Ingram.”
“How is it your job as an insurance agent to run around chasing leads? Isn’t that the job of the police?”
He didn’t even blink at her accusation that he wasn’t doing his job. He didn’t know that she suspected he was law enforcement. She figured he might give a clue when she said that. But nothing.
“It boils down to using resources where they’re needed most. Right now, there is no crime. The man who stole the Devereaux from Max Ingram is in custody. While Randall Scott says he was robbed, there’s no evidence to support that.”
Damn, I’m good. As long as Nikki’s father didn’t let anything slip, they were free. “Where do you go from there then?” She took another chip and ate even though his answers mattered far more than eating. But it was damn good salsa.
“We’ve pulled records of all of the policies we have in the area, and we’re checking on them. We need to make sure it’s not a whole forgery ring.”
“Running audits?” If they were inspecting pieces, that would give her a timeline to make sure that Nikki stole them after Atlas authenticated them. Then when the men tried to sell, they would look like the criminals they were.
“Not quite. I can’t get authorization to just go into people’s homes and say we need to look at your art.”
“I would think the policy would provide for some measure.”
“It does, but the bosses don’t want to ruffle feathers. If it is a forgery ring and we go in and authenticate a piece before they make the switch, we’ll have egg on our face. It would make our company look like we have no clue what’s real and what’s not.”
She sipped her water. “So you have to wait to be asked to authenticate?”
The waitress returned with two huge platters of food. Rows of tacos sat on one plate, and the other held heaping piles of rice and beans.
Mia opened her paper napkin and laid it across her lap. “Exactly how many people do you think you’re feeding?”
“Just us. But they’re really good tacos. Plus, they’re cheap so we can take the leftovers home and have them for breakfast.” He smiled as he loaded his plate with food.
Mia helped herself to a taco and some rice. She added a generous helping of salsa to the taco.
Logan held up a hand. “You are going to pick that up and eat, right?”
She looked at him, puzzled. “How else would I eat it?”
He shrugged. “Last time we shared a meal, you ate your pizza with a knife and fork.”
“That would be more difficult to do with a taco.” She folded the soft shell over and picked up the taco.
He rolled his eyes. “So you would prefer to eat that way?”
“Using utensils makes it less messy.” As if to prove her point, a glob of salsa plopped onto her plate.
“Sometimes getting messy is a whole lot of fun.”
She bit into her taco with another reminder: No falling for the mark.
* * *
Logan was having a great time talking with Mia. She was still pretty formal, but she seemed more relaxed than usual. As far as he was concerned, it was a step in the right direction. They enjoyed their meal for a bit before he broached the subject that he wanted to run by her, even though he didn’t have authorization to bring Mia in.
“You’re right about the authentications. Right now, my bosses just want us to wait to see if something else happens, but I want to be more proactive.”
She dabbed a napkin on her mouth. “How so?”
“At the gallery last week, you mentioned that Keaton Bishop was selling his Moreau painting. Do you think if he let you look at it, you would be able to tell if it’s a forgery?”
Her eyes widened and she sat back in her seat. “I’m not sure.”
“You looked at Randall Scott’s Mathis and knew it was a forgery.”
“There were obvious signs. I would think if the forger was really good, I wouldn’t be able to tell. You’d have to run actual tests. Besides, what happens if it is a forgery?”
“We cancel the policy and don’t pay out, unless he can produce a police report showing that it was stolen. Otherwise it appears that he’s attempting to defraud Atlas as well as any potential buyer.”
She leaned forward again and her bright eyes focused on his. “What if I’m wrong? I’m not a trained, certified appraiser.”
“I’m not looking for a guarantee. If you raise a red flag, I can get an apprais
er in. If you say it’s real, then we can watch it. Wait to see if someone makes a switch. With any luck, we can catch them in the act.”
She became quiet in a studious way, and Logan thought he’d lost her. He’d rolled the dice and if Taggert caught wind of him dating Mia and then asking her to step in like this, he might lose his chance at the permanent transfer to Chicago. It might even be a ding in his file. But he couldn’t keep spinning his wheels. If he didn’t catch a break in this case soon, he’d be bumped somewhere else anyway.
Mia crossed her arms and a sly smile slid across her face. “Logan, I think you are one sneaky insurance agent. This is far above and beyond your job description.” She angled her head and her hair slipped down her back, revealing the column of her neck.
Logan had the urge to stroke the smooth tan skin. He wanted to feel the pulse of her heartbeat under his palm. The flutter of her breath against his lips. Speaking of lips...hers were moving again and he didn’t hear her.
“I’m sorry. What was that?”
She licked her lips and leaned her arms on the table, bringing her face close enough to touch. He fisted his hands in his lap to keep his impulses in check. Her smile sparked brighter. The sun caught the deep auburn in her hair that he hadn’t noticed before, making it look warm, begging for his touch.
“I asked why. Why do you care so much about whether these men are trying to sell forgeries? I understand that Atlas doesn’t want to lose money. But this feels...personal.”
Whoa. This was getting too personal. He’d spent the last five minutes thinking about kissing her instead of looking for evidence that she might be in on this scam.
He sat back in his chair to create much-needed distance. “I’m going to tell you the truth, and I hope what I say won’t offend you or ruin the rest of our night, because I am having a great time with you.”
Her crooked smirk remained on her face, but her eyes sharpened, as if she were expecting a blow and braced for it.
“Remember how I told you that my great-grandfather had a painting that was stolen?”
She nodded.
“That was all he had of value. I look at the rich men who have more money than half the city, but it’s like it’s not enough. They’re willing to cheat and steal to get more. They might not be stealing from a little guy like my grandpa, but it bothers me on a personal level. I can’t stomach seeing them get away with it.”
Her gaze softened. “Why did you think that would offend me?”
“You’re friends with these men. You’ve spent your life around them and others like them.”
She nodded. “And then there’s my father, who is the supreme crooked rich man. One who did steal from the little guy.”
“Well, yeah.”
“I’ll let you in on a not so little secret.” She crooked her finger and it was like a string lifting him forward, pulling him into her mesmerizing bubble.
When he was close enough that the soft scent of her perfume surrounded him, she said quietly, “I hate what my father did. I think these men are as guilty as my father and uncle.” She narrowed her eyes and gave him an assessing look. “Did you know they profited from my father’s scam?”
“What? Why weren’t they indicted?”
“They all claimed that my father simply invested money for them. It had been the luck of the draw that they profited while others lost everything. I guess the authorities had no proof that they are just as guilty.” She finished her glass of water and sat back. “So, your reasons have no chance of offending me. And if there’s anything I can do to help you bring these cheating, lying men down, count me in.”
In that moment, Logan was positive that Mia Benson was nothing like her father.
“How do you propose we get Keaton to let me assess the Moreau painting?”
“I have no idea. I’m making this up as I go. After seeing you lay into Bishop’s son at the gallery, I had the realization that those people are part of your world. You can navigate it in ways I never could. But I’ve seen no signs that you’re like them.”
“If you had met me five years ago, your opinion might’ve been different. Having your entire life flipped upside down and inside out has a way of messing with your sense of self. Most of my life was a lie. My father’s arrest and subsequent departure was an eye-opener for me. I began to see all of them for their true selves.” She wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t like what I saw.”
“Well, I’m glad you had that epiphany because I definitely like what I see.” He reached across the table and held her hand. “Are you ready for the next part of our adventure?”
“There’s more than Taco Tuesday?”
He liked her snark. It was cute. He pointed at the bowls of salsa. “This is a themed evening.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “I’m truly stuffed. I couldn’t possible eat any more.”
He waved the waitress over and asked for the bill and a to-go container for the leftovers. “The next phase of our evening will help you work off all the food you ate.”
“Please tell me that you don’t think I’m going hiking or playing some sport thing.”
“Nope. I think you’ll like this.” He paid the tab, gathered his breakfast for tomorrow, and took her hand. It was small but strong and he couldn’t wait to have her whole body in his arms.
He’d made a good decision to invite her into his plan for the forgeries. Hopefully, he’d be able to prove she wasn’t involved, and then he could come clean about his real job.
And with any luck, she wouldn’t hate him for lying about it.
Chapter Eleven
Mia’s head was spinning with possibilities. If Logan, regardless of whether he was law enforcement or an insurance agent, could get her to authenticate the Moreau, she would be able to drive the timeline. Nikki could make the swap before Mia inspected it, and when she questioned the authenticity, Logan wouldn’t have a choice but to call in experts.
She needed London to make an obvious error on the painting. As the ideas flooded her brain, she almost forgot that Logan was by her side, guiding her to his car. He put his leftovers in the trunk and opened the passenger door for her.
“How do you know I didn’t drive here?”
“First, I saw you get out of the Lyft. Second, you told me you don’t see the reason to drive in the city. It left me with the impression that you only drive when you need to. Do you even own a car?”
“For your information, I do. But you’re right. I rarely drive it.” She settled into his car, which was far from a luxury vehicle, but it was clean. “Where are we going?” she asked once he sat behind the wheel.
“Dancing.”
She hadn’t seen that coming. Most men would rather scoop out their own eyeballs before willingly dancing. “You’re taking me dancing.”
“You said you used to be a dancer. I figured it would be a good way to spend some more time together, getting to know each other.”
Mia suddenly had images of thumping music at a nightclub. “Where?” She couldn’t keep the skepticism from her voice.
“Remember I said it was a themed evening? We had chips and salsa, and now we’re going salsa dancing. There’s a great little club in Humboldt Park that does weekly salsa nights.”
She couldn’t remember the last time she danced anything other than formal waltzes at events. “Do you know how to salsa?”
He shrugged. “I’m not winning any Dancing with the Stars trophy, but I can get by.”
“You can get by as in you’ve seen it done on TV or you actually took lessons?”
“My sister Carmen taught me.” He chuckled. “More like bullied me into it. She took one look at me dancing and rolled her eyes, talking about how white boys don’t have rhythm.”
“Your sister isn’t white?”
“She’s Latina. Foster sister. We grew up in the same foster home.”
He lifted a shoulder as if it didn’t matter, but Mia saw through the nonchalant movement. “My biological mom had me really young. She had some addiction issues, couldn’t hold down a job. She was in and out of rehab my whole childhood, and since she didn’t have any family that I knew of, I flipped between her and foster care.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
“By birth? None—at least none that I know of. But if you’re counting foster family...a lot. My mom died when I was about ten, and I bounced around to group homes and foster homes for a couple years before landing with Mae and Joe. When I moved in with them, it was me, Isaiah, and our four sisters, Carmen, Hana, Sam, and Jill. There are a lot more if you count those who came before and after us.”
Mia’s eyes widened. “Five siblings? And you consider the ones you didn’t live with siblings, too?” She closed her eyes because she knew she sounded dumb. “What I’m trying to say, and doing such a poor job, is that I assume if they moved in after you left, that they are much younger than you are.”
“Some are, sure. And while I probably wouldn’t call the younger kids close, we’re still family. Mae gave us that. No matter where we go in life, we can always count on each other.”
“You still keep in touch?”
“Of course. We’re family.”
She should’ve known better than to forget that not everyone walked away from family. “How many foster children have they taken in over the years?”
“Over thirty. They look for the kids no one else wants, so the kids are usually a little older and only stay for a few years.”
“Mae sounds like an amazing woman.”
“She is. I wouldn’t be the person I am today if Joe and Mae hadn’t taken me in.”
Before she knew it, Logan was parking at a meter. After he parked, she turned and looked at him. “Thank you for sharing that. I’m sure it’s not easy to talk about.”
“You’re easy to talk to, but I don’t keep it a secret. And I figure if I want to get to know you, I have to be willing to open up, too.” He cut the ignition. “Ready to dance?”
To Catch a Thief--A High Stakes Romantic Suspense Page 11
