“Show them back, please,” Granger’s voice sounded over the intercom.
Tinsley waved the secretary back to her seat. “I know the way. See you at self-defense.”
Tinsley took the lead and Paxton followed her to Granger’s office.
“Hey, Granger. This is Paxton Kendry. He’s the FBI agent in charge of art crimes. He wanted to meet with you about the case we’re working.”
“That you are working?” Granger asked as he raised an eyebrow at Tinsley.
“That she’s assisting me with,” Paxton answered for her.
Tinsley put her hands on her hips and turned to face him. “Excuse me, but I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten you real, usable evidence and two suspects. What have you done so far?”
Granger sat back in his chair and grinned. “This sounds like Tinsley’s case. Something super dangerous like a man in his basement who forges art?”
Tinsley saw Paxton’s eyes narrow as they both measured each other’s mettle.
“High-end art thieves involved with a dangerous gang, actually. I’m sorry I interrupted you doing . . . well, nothing.”
Granger stopped smiling and glared. Tinsley rolled her eyes. “Paxton, don’t be an ass. Granger, don’t be a jerk. This is what we’ve got.” Tinsley began to explain to Granger about the case until she could tell he was interested. Then she let Paxton take over as they discussed Tinsley’s role, the security setup, what evidence he was hoping to collect, and what, if anything, Paxton needed from Granger. Granger called in Kord, the deputy sheriff, and they went to work detailing the ins and outs of the town. Tinsley took a seat and let the professionals finish making plans. It was her job to draw Maurice and Murray into the gallery for the sale. As soon as the sale was complete, Paxton would have the evidence needed to arrest them.
Paxton stood up and shook Granger’s and Kord’s hands. The three of them were smiling as they ended their meeting. Apparently the bond between law enforcement professionals had won them over, once they stopped acting like idiots.
“Hey, Tins. Can I have a private word with Paxton? It won’t take but a second,” Granger asked but it wasn’t a request. Tinsley nodded and thanked them for their time. The door had just closed when she heard Granger’s deep voice.
“What are you doing with her, Kendry?”
“That’s none of your business,” Tinsley heard Paxton snap back. Whatever camaraderie had formed was gone in a second as she shamelessly eavesdropped.
“She’s my friend. That’s what business it is of mine,” Granger practically growled.
“Mine too,” Kord added.
Men. Tinsley rolled her eyes again. Women didn’t sit around blustering and posturing for king of the hill. No, they smiled, threatened through compliments, and then served iced tea.
“Tinsley is sweet. She’s an innocent about things like this. I’m not about to let some hardened agent come in here, use her, and then dump her once the case is closed. I know about you undercover gang agents. I know you saw some dark shit. Tinsley isn’t like that.”
“No, she’s not,” Paxton said seriously. “She’s the light that eradicates the shadows. I’m not using her. I know her brother thinks I don’t deserve her. The truth is, I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to do everything I can to try to be the man she deserves. Now, you can report that back to Ridge and Ryker. I personally don’t give a shit what you all think of me, but I do appreciate that you’re looking out for Tinsley.”
The room went quiet and Tinsley stepped closer to the door. She cupped her ear and held her breath, afraid she’d miss a single word.
“I don’t know what to make of you,” Granger finally said. “At least you’re not Stephen. I think we were all worried Tinsley would end up with someone soft like him.”
Tinsley stuck her tongue out at the door, hoping Granger felt her displeasure. Stephen Adkins? Did they really think she was such a weak, delicate flower that she’d go for the boring, safe, and totally pompous Stephen Adkins?
“Who is Stephen?” she heard Paxton ask with as much dislike in his voice for Stephen as she felt.
“Stephen Adkins runs the historical center in town. He went off to college and came back with no accent and a nose so far up in the air that birds land on it. He’s had a thing for Tinsley for years. He sees her as his intellectual and cultural equal since she’s spent time studying in Paris and Italy. We’ve all been worried she’d end up with him. Skeeter said he overhead Stephen practicing to ask her out on a date.”
What? Tinsley couldn’t hide her reaction and she was horrified. They really thought she’d go out with Stephen when he was so mean to her friends?
“Why would you think Tinsley would even consider going out with him?” she heard Paxton ask.
“As annoying as Stephen is, he’s the only guy in town who can really sit down and talk about art without sounding as if he’s repeating it from an Internet search,” Granger told Paxton. “Look, we have your back on the case. Just know if you hurt Tinsley you might accidentally get caught in friendly fire. Nothing too serious. Maybe just a shot in the ass.”
“I’ve already survived three to the chest. I think I can handle it. Thanks for your help.” Tinsley heard Paxton shake hands as she jumped away from the door. Seconds later, when Paxton walked out, she was seated at a table a good fifteen feet from the door.
Paxton spent the rest of the morning watching Tinsley around her gallery. He saw how she processed orders, watched as she completed an online sale of one of her pieces, and then she showed him how she packed art for transport.
He delivered the package to the shipping company, and when he returned Tinsley was in her studio with music on. Paxton moved quietly to watch her paint. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorway. He watched her back as she swayed to the music and at times she closed her eyes and let her head fall back as if she were picturing the creation she was about to make. Then she’d open her eyes and get back to work.
Paxton didn’t know how long he’d watched her. In the beginning he couldn’t tell what the painting was going to be. It seemed as if it were filled with random brush strokes. By the time his phone buzzed with an incoming text message, he could see that the painting was of a woman. For someone who claimed to only be good at painting landscapes, Tinsley was pretty impressive with the people she’d been painting recently.
Call me.
Paxton read the text from Peter and slipped from the room. He stepped to the far side of the gallery and called his boss.
“Do you have the money set up for the sale?” Paxton asked Peter.
“We do. We have a fake account set up ready to make the wire transfer for the artwork for up to a hundred thousand dollars. Tinsley can do it all over the phone with our financial guy so Maurice and Murray will believe there’s a real buyer and will be happy when they see their account go up by the sales price. They shouldn’t press Tinsley for any more information after that.”
“Great. Tinsley is going to call them tomorrow afternoon to set up a time to complete the sale. We didn’t want to appear to be too eager,” Paxton told him.