Page 21 of The Pretender

“No.”

“—and make sure you don’t steal anything. When are you going to get over that nasty little habit?”

“It’s my job.” They could joke, but Harris was not in the mood to be handled. He knew he’d created this problem by trying to liberate the Max Beckmann painting that hung over the fireplace in the main house. The same one looted from a museum in Germany and passed around to everyone but the heirs of the rightful Jewish owners who’d perished, leaving the provenance difficult to prove.

That was what had brought Harris to the island more than a year ago. The family had tried to recover the painting through legal channels. They’d been ignored, spun around and covered with paperwork and demands for more evidence of ownership by government agencies and committees in Germany. Harris had seen it before. He understood being careful, but this type of restitution was long overdue... so he leveled the playing field.

This time being there meant Gabby might have a chance of escaping the murder charges that seemed somewhat inevitable. She had a witness and he’d step up if needed. Harris had no intention of going to prison, but he wouldn’t let her serve one second either. How he was going to accomplish that balancing act depended, at least in part, on the good friend standing in front of him.

“I thought you had a real job these days.” Damon picked up his bag and slung the strap over his shoulder. “Something about insurance.”

Leave it to Damon to come up with the dullest career description ever. “I get bored.”

“The last time you got bored you walked in on a murder and Wren had to send a boat and a cleanup crew to save your sorry ass.”

That explanation shortcut the waiting and hiding. “That’s not how I’d describe it.”

Helicopters had descended and police combed the waters near Tabitha Island. One of those police boats had scooped him up off the neighboring island—either a fake one or one manned by officers Wren paid off, Harris never asked. But all the mental backtracking he had to do to make sure his equipment had been picked up and all traces of his presence erased had taken some time back then.

Then there was the problem of Tabitha’s computer, the one Harris hacked to spy on her. When Wren stepped in to fix a situation he didn’t half-ass it. He also didn’t leave a trail. To cover Harris’s tracks, Wren had spiked the laptop with a virus. More than one, actually. The move protected Harris but potentially buried evidence that could lead to the real killer.

“That’s how I heard it.” Damon snorted. “Though, when I retell it to the rest of the guys I add a part about you curling into a ball and crying.”

“Thanks for that.”

Damon’s finger tightened around the bag’s strap. “I’m an investigator.”

“You’re actually not.” It was a sore subject, but Harris felt obliged to point out the facts. Damon did conduct investigations, but that was different from actually being an investigator.

Damon talked right over him. “It makes sense Wren called me in.”

“His fixer skills are working overtime.”

Damon scanned the area before his gaze settled on Harris again. “He wants this solved and both you and Gabby cleared.”

“Not to point out the obvious, but no one has been able to do that for fourteen months.” Stephen had poured a lot of money into getting the answer he wanted and it hadn’t worked. Because of the players on the ground, Harris knew this time wouldn’t work either, but the goal was to convince him not to try again. To finally free Gabby.

“Lucky for you I’m good at what I do,” Damon said.

“And so modest.”

Damon started walking. He headed straight for the main house. “The uncle thinks you’re working for me. Undercover.”

They’d only gone a few steps before Harris stopped them again. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re supposed to be here doing appraisals, right? Even the uncle questioned that cover story. What he didn’t doubt was my cover story about you being my assistant.” Damon whistled. “Man, he hates his niece.”

“No kidding.”

“The good news is that I get to order you around.”

Harris could see it now. Damon would turn that into a sport. “Go fuck yourself.”

“I missed you, too.”

Harris couldn’t ignore those words. He and Damon had joined the group at about the same time. He was thirty-four and Damon only a few years older. For more than a decade they’d been close friends. Lived together for part of that time. Traveled throughout Europe with Damon playing the role of conscience. The guy was antitheft, which made their relationship rocky at times.

When Harris shut down and closed himself off after Tabitha’s murder, he pushed Damon away, too. Harris had been trying to figure out how to repair that damage. Leave it to Wren to shortcut the process.

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