face, peering intently. After a second, he tapped a ridge of material that ran along the side of the hem and passed it to Brett. “Does that look different to you? More uneven? A slightly different pattern to the thread?”
Brett peered at the spot Devlin had indicated for several seconds himself before offering a dubious nod. “Maybe.” He probed along the section with his fingers. “It might be a bit thicker there too? It’s hard to tell.” He slowly turned the jacket in his hands, peering and probing the entire length of the seam. After a moment, he frowned and passed the jacket off to Lucas. “Hell, there’s a couple places in the back that have a slightly different weave and a bit thicker material, too. It could be a deviation from when it was made.”
“It was hand made,” Sarah said. Which was why the jacket had been so expensive. “There’s bound to be variations in the sewing.”
Curious herself now, she uncoiled from the armchair and rose to her feet. “But he definitely said he’d ripped it. He said it several times. So the damage had already been done. He said he’d had it repaired.”
“True.” Brett took the jacket back from Lucas and probed along the seam again. “It does feel thicker along here. What if he hid something inside?” He frowned and glanced at Sarah, looking thoughtful. “Didn’t he tell you he was going to find a way to extricate you from Mitch’s blackmail?”
“Well, yeah.” Sarah hesitated. “But that was almost two years ago.”
“Could have taken him that long,” Brett muttered.
“Only way we’ll know for sure is if we do some surgery on that seam,” Lucas said. The look he shot her was apologetic. “Sorry, Sarah. But we need to know if there’s something in the lining.”
Sarah shrugged. “Do it.”
The jacket was just leather and stitching—it wouldn’t bring her brother back.
But maybe, just maybe, if Sean had hidden something inside there like the men suspected, it would give the three across from her something they could use to nail Mitch, as well as the other men involved in the stolen weapons trade.
Maybe Sean had taken responsibility and tried to fix things there at the very end. Maybe that had been what got him killed.
“I’ll need something to open the seam. I’ve got a pair of—” she fell silent as all three men bent and pulled huge, wicked-looking knives from holsters belted below their socks. Her mouth dropped open. Really? All three? She glanced between them. Not one of them looked sheepish.
“—manicure scissors in my purse,” she finished dryly. “Which we’ll use as they’ll do less damage to the seam than those Rambo knives you all are carrying.” When Brett scowled and looked disappointed, she shook her head firmly. “No. I’ll do it. I want to keep as much of the jacket intact as possible.”
It might be just leather and stitching, but it had belonged to Sean, and knowing these three warriors, they’d shred the damn thing completely with no regard for sentimental value.
“Fine.” Brett sounded resigned.
Sarah slipped between the huge, oxygen-stealing bodies and opened her purse, which was sitting on top of the dresser, next to the television. A few seconds of rummaging around through the contents of the purse and she located her manicure kit.
Backtracking to the three men, she took the jacket and started carefully snipping the threads along the seam. She could feel the impatience building among the men surrounding her, could feel it prickling her flesh like a static charge. Ignoring them, she continued her painstaking snipping. Slowly, the hem separated. When there were a couple of inches of loose fabric, she slid her index finger inside for a feel. To her surprise, nobody protested, nobody snatched the jacket away to have a go themselves. Instead, they simply stood impatiently and let her explore.
“Well?” Brett finally asked, his tone exaggeratedly patient.
Sarah nodded, tamping down her excitement. She wiggled her finger deeper into the hole. “I think there’s something here, tucked into a fold above the seam. I can feel something hard. Maybe plastic. But it’s really small.”
“Plastic,” Brett repeated.
“I think so. That’s what it feels like. But it’s so small I can’t get ahold of it. Let me open the hem more. If I turn it inside out, I should be able to pull it free.” She went back to work with the scissors and tripled the size of the opening.
Once the section was long enough, she tossed the scissors on the bed and separated