He answered them. In French.

That wasn't all, though. She also gave really good naked Skype strip shows. The best, actually.

Last night, for instance, she'd shown him precisely how a cheektini looked on her succulent a.s.s. She'd modeled no less than a dozen, sliding them on, gliding them off. Yeah, he was okay with how things were. Because at least they had something. He didn't try to define it, or to pressure her for a declaration. Maybe just voicing his own feelings on the street had been enough. He was no longer carrying that hard knot of tension inside him, that secret knowledge that he was a man wildly in love with a woman. His feelings were out in the open, and somehow that made things better, especially after she threw the line back to him with her note. I want to discover you.

But as he pulled the phone from his pocket, his thoughts of her vanished. Morris's name flashed across his screen.

"Michael," the man said in a gruff, gravelly tone befitting a PI. "I got something for you."

He straightened and glanced over at Ryan and Sophie, who were wrapped up in each other, laughing, whispering. They probably wouldn't care that he was busy on the phone. He walked away from them and down the aisle that would be covered in peach tulip petals for the wedding.

"Tell me what you've got."

"Meet me in person in thirty minutes. There's a diner off the highway. It's busy enough, but far enough away, too."

Morris gave him the address, and Michael repeated it. When he hung up, he headed to the happy couple and dropped a hand on Sophie's shoulder. "Hey, I need to take off, but I'm all set on the ring and what I need to do."

"What's going on? Client stuff?" Ryan asked. "On a Sat.u.r.day? Wait. Don't tell me there's more trouble at White-"

Michael cut him off. "Nothing work-related. Just something I need to do."

He didn't want to say anything in front of Sophie. Not that he was worried it would get back to John, but the fewer people that knew about his own investigation, the better chance he had of gaining information. He'd learned that over the years in business.

"Fine, fine. Just take off," Sophie said with a pout, shooing him away. "We were going to invite you to get a bite to eat or coffee, but now we won't."

Ryan laughed and tugged Sophie closer. "He hates coffee."

"Well, he could have had soda," she said. "But now he can't. So toodle-oo."

Michael smiled and pressed his palms together as if in prayer. "Rain check?"

She waved a hand as if wiping away his transgression. "You are forgiven. Oh, wait. Are you going to bring Annalise to the wedding?"

Michael stared at her like she was an oddity. That hadn't even occurred to him. "I don't know. I hadn't thought about it."

"Think about it. It would be so nice."

Michael shifted his attention to Ryan. "I don't believe I've said much about Annalise, and now you're telling Sophie to invite her to the wedding?"

Ryan shrugged. "You don't have to say much. Your constant texting, emailing, and Skyping says it for you. Oh, that and the fact that you were madly in love with her in high school."

Sophie's eyes lit up. "Tell me everything. I adore romantic tales of love rekindled."

He shook his head. "I seriously need to go."

"Bring her," Sophie called out as Michael turned on his heel.

"It's more than a month away," he shouted back.

"Gives her time to plan."

Michael laughed once more, pretending he had no interest in asking Annalise. But as he headed to the parking garage, he found himself considering it further. If they were really doing this long-distance thing, and it seemed they were, why not bring her to his brother's wedding? They'd already been tossing out options for his first trip to see her in a week or so. Maybe they could plan the next one, too.

For now, though, he shifted gears, calling Mindy and picking her up along the way.

"My fingers are crossed for big news," Michael said as he held open the car door for his friend.

She wrapped her index and middle fingers together. "Me, too."

At the diner, Morris was working his way through a mug of coffee when Michael slid across from him, shaking his hand in greeting. Mindy said h.e.l.lo, too, and sat next to Michael. Fifties music played on the sound system, and waitresses took orders decked out in pink diner uniforms.

"This place has great fries. You should get some," Morris said, sliding a well-worn menu to the two of them before scrubbing a hand across his jaw, complete with day-old stubble.

"Far be it from me to refuse great fries. Want to split a plate, Mindy?"

The blonde nodded. "That I do."

After they ordered, Michael raised his chin. "So, what have we got?"

Morris took a deep breath, dipped a hand into his messenger bag, and pulled out a manila folder. It was so old school, and Michael kind of loved the Phillip Marlowe vibe. The guy just needed a fedora to finish the look.

Taking his time, he flipped open the folder and stabbed his finger against a photograph. It was upside-down, but Michael could tell what it was. He glanced at Mindy then at Morris, then leaned closer to study the picture, his muscles coiled, tension threaded tightly inside him. "The piano shop? The place where he buys sheet music?" he asked in a hushed tone.

Morris nodded.

"Okay. What of it?" Mindy asked.

Morris raised both eyebrows. "I've been casing it. And our target. All day long. All night long. Stuff cops don't have the man hours or resources to do."

"And?"

"There's a lot more that goes on in the back of the store than sheet music."

Michael swallowed. "Like what?" he asked, so f.u.c.king eager for information.

"It's where the Royal Sinners fence all their stolen goods. It's their G.o.dd.a.m.n f.u.c.king headquarters. Everything runs through there. Electronics, iPhones, all sorts of stolen s.h.i.t. As well as guns. They've got themselves a huge illegal gun sales operation they run from this joint." He lowered his voice even more, licked his lips, then made his p.r.o.nouncement. "Bust the guns, you've got your man."

Time froze...then sped up. Michael's fingertips tingled, and the possibility of justice tore through him. A smile spread across his face, morphing into a thrilled grin. He looked at Mindy, and she beamed, too. They raised their hands, smacked palms, and treated Morris to a cheeseburger and the best fries in Vegas as he shared the rest of the details.

Later, Mindy and Michael went to meet John at a Starbucks.

"This is good stuff," the detective said, his eyes glinting with excitement.

"Is this enough?"

"I can't make any promises, but if I can't at least get him in custody with this, then someone should take away my badge."

Mindy laughed, and John turned his attention to her, as if he were seeing her for the first time. Maybe even checking her out. Well, that was certainly an interesting development, too.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO.

Eighteen years ago Any day now, Thomas would learn if he'd landed the promotion. The increase in salary made him even hungrier for the job, and he was sure he'd nailed the interview with his boss. Paul had seemed impressed, and had asked him a ton of questions about how he'd uncovered the discrepancy, and what they could do to prevent those sort of accounting errors in the future.

"We should have an answer in a few days," Paul said at the end of the interview, then extended a hand and flashed a toothy grin before walking Thomas to the door.

The next day, he entered his last ride in the logbook in the break room. After a hearty swig of his coffee, he set the mug down, closed the binder, and stood up to leave. He was joined by a young guy. He didn't know the fellow's name, but he'd seen him around, operating as sort of a jack-of-all-trades. He had a short Mohawk, a gold earring in his right ear, and he helped out Paul from time to time.

"Hey," Thomas said, with a nod of his chin.

"Hey," the guy replied. He wore a black T-shirt and had arms like iron and height like a basketball player. "Got a minute?"

Thomas stopped in his tracks. "Sure. What do you need?"

The guy scratched his chin and then waved broadly to the break room. "Listen. I get that sometimes things might seem odd around here." He tilted his head to one side. "Was this written down?" Then the other side. "Was this not written down? It can be confusing remembering if everything was there, if it wasn't there."

Thomas frowned. "You work closely with Paul?"

The guy nodded, then flashed a smile. "That I do, and listen," he said, clamping his hand on Thomas's arm, "let me give you some advice. Things here are more complicated than they seem. I had to learn it the hard way, but I learned it. You're just better off if you don't let all those details worry you."

"I'm not worried," Thomas said, straightening and shrugging the guy off his arm.

The man clapped him on the back. "Good. Because there is nothing to worry about whatsoever."

"Okay, then. So we're good."

"We are so good. Just remember," the man said, tapping his broad chest, "you have any questions, you ask me. I'm here to help." He lowered his voice. "The key to lasting a long time here, to getting the good gigs, is to know what's important and what's not important. I want to help you get there. Let me help you."

Thomas nodded and said, "Sure," even though he was pretty d.a.m.n certain he wouldn't be turning to this guy for help. "What did you say your name was?"

"T.J." He repeated it. "T.J."

Thomas rubbed his hand across the back of his neck and said thanks, then headed off to meet Sanders and Donald for their Sat.u.r.day afternoon poker game at Sanders's house. Once he arrived, he settled in at the table, grabbed a beer, and caught up with his buddies as Donald dealt, focused on the cards.

"How was the interview? Think you'll get it?" Sanders asked.

Thomas shrugged hopefully. "Hope so. I think he was impressed with some of the things I brought up for improvement, as well as how I can apply what I've been learning about in night school." Sanders sat up straighter and raised an eyebrow as Thomas elaborated. "There were some extra trips and missing trips in the logbook. Seemed a problem area to me. But then after the interview some guy made a big deal about how there was nothing to worry about. Whatever that means," he said, doubtful about the whole incident.

"Was he talking about the missing trips?" Sanders asked as he perused his cards.

"He didn't really say, but it sure seemed that way."

"Huh." Sanders scrubbed a hand across his jaw.

Conversation halted as Annalise popped into the kitchen. "Oh h.e.l.lo!" She gave a quick wave to each of her host family's guests-to Donald and to Thomas. "I'm going to get a snack," she said and reached for an apple in the fruit bowl on the counter.

"Hey, Annalise," Thomas said, tipping an imaginary hat. She was leaving in a month or so, heading back to Paris, and he and Michael were concocting a way for them to stay together. "Good seeing you. Michael said you have plans with him later today, right?"

She nodded. "Yes. We're going to the movies."

"Want a ride over when we're done here?"

"I would love that. Thank you."

As she left, Sanders shook his head and smirked.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Those two. So young and in love."

"It's nice to see," Thomas said, then winked. "Does it remind you of Dora and me?"

Donald snorted. "Ha. Not exactly."

It was no secret among his friends that his marriage had run into some trouble.

"I know, right?" Thomas said, shaking his head, half amused, half irritated. "She's been all over me about money. But we're getting by, and I feel good about this promotion. Besides, I told her if she wants money, she should just smother me and collect the life insurance."

Sanders cracked up, and Donald raised his beer. "Let's hope she doesn't take you up on it," he joked.

Thomas laughed. "Yeah, she thought it was funny, too. Besides, everything is fine. I've got plans in place for all the kids, and college, and life. It's all good. She doesn't need to worry. I'll get the promotion, I'll show them what I can bring to the table, and it will all work out fine."

Sanders took a long gulp of his beer to cover up the nerves flaring inside him.

He knew about the rides. He knew why they didn't exist in the books. But unlike his buddy, he didn't f.u.c.king ask questions at work. He took the cash and did the job. The company had been good to him, plain and simple. No reason to sniff around and ask about things. The less you asked, the better off you did. Head down, nose to the grindstone, mind your own business.

The company offered ample opportunity for making money. Sanders wished he could tell Thomas how to do it. But the man was too good. He wasn't one for bending the rules.

Ever.

As Becky wandered past the kitchen on her way to the garden in the backyard, he caught a glimpse of his wife.

A man had to do what a man had to do. Every man had to take care of his family in his own way.

He met Thomas's eyes and nodded. "Yup. It will all be fine."

"How was your day, Mr. Paige?" Annalise asked, as she slid into the front seat next to him an hour later.