Page 24 of Hot Pursuit
“What?” he questioned, honestly confused.
Jo stared at him, still trembling, mouth covered by her fingers.
“What?” His tone was a little sterner this time, a little more defensive.
“What brings me…?” She barely got the words out before her voice filtered off into breathy glee. She shook her head, auburn hair falling over her cheeks, and then took a deep sigh. “Art, Agent Parker. Art brings me to the museum today. What about you? Just out for a stroll and decided you wanted to take in some ancient artifacts, maybe a Roman sculpture or two?”
He ignored the jibes, something he was becoming all too skilled at. “Art, huh?” He paused, frowning. “We both know you’re not the artist in the family.”
Jo shrugged. “I’m broadening my horizons.”
Then she spun on her heels and walked across the atrium, fully aware he had no choice but to follow as she cut through the crowds, swerving between bodies, bumping into one or two. Nate kept his gaze sharp, but he didn’t see Ryder in the swarm. Or any other face he recognized.
A static fuzz came through his comm, followed by, “You’re surprisingly terrible at witty banter, Parker.”
“Thanks, Leo,” he drawled. “Very helpful.”
“No, no, keep at it. We were all in need of some entertainment after yesterday. You’re doing a great job.”
“I’m turning the mic off,” he grumbled.
“Don’t even think about it, Parker,” his boss cut in.
Nate clenched his jaw.
And then clenched it tighter as a snicker came through the line.
Great, just great. She’s turning me into the office joke.
But they were right—witty banter, not really his forte. He lacked the patience and the blasé attitude. Wasting time made his blood curdle. He wanted to cut through the surface, straight to the core. He wanted to cut deep enough to make her pause.
But how?he thought as he followed her up the steps to the second floor. How to cut through smoke and mirrors? How to cut through the façade and see the real woman underneath? Jo hadn’t spared a moment to glance back, but he had the sense she knew he was right behind her, that she was just as aware of his presence as he was of hers.
When she eventually came to a stop, the room he found himself standing in was hardly a surprise—the impressionist exhibit. Nate stepped close behind her, leaning down and keeping his voice low as he stared into the painting she’d sought out—a sweeping canvas of pastel brushstrokes, soft and sinuous, depicting crashing waves in the hazy light of dawn.
“You are your father’s daughter,” he murmured, trying to goad her into discussing something a little deeper.
Jo jolted and then relaxed, the tension seeping from her frame as quick as it’d come. She shrugged. “Monet was a master.”
“I’ve heard rumors you’ve been far closer to his work than this,” Nate hinted, fully aware of the intel that Robert Carter had a stolen painting in his possession. “Had your hands on the gilded frame, in the dark shadows of an underground vault, perhaps.”
Jo kept her eyes on the artwork, though a smile tugged at her lips. “Hearsay doesn’t hold up in court.”
Her walls were up.
Reinforced with steel.
Mentioning her dad wasn’t the way in. At least, not like this.
Jo wandered to the next canvas, another Monet. A classic water lily this time. Though she stared at the swirls and globs of paint, Nate got the distinct feeling her mind was on something else. Especially as her focus shifted and she scanned the room.
“Looking for someone?”
“I already found him.” Jo tossed him a sidelong glance, throwing in a wink. “More like, he found me.”
Nate sighed.
They were back to meaningless flirtations. He wouldn’t get anything out of her like this, not that he really thought he had a chance of getting anything out of her at all. But he needed to. The entire operation depended on him. They needed more info. More intel. Anything. Or Robert Carter would slip out of reach yet again, maybe this time for good—and the Russians Nate’s team had spent years tracking would slip away with him.
