What’d you find?”
I sigh. “There is no Kitty Williamson with Mostest Hostesses. Dug all around, and nada, so I called her on it last night.”
Caleb sputters, out of his chair almost as fast as he’d gotten into it. “Dayum, right for the throat. What’d she say?”
“She said it was a pseudonym for the job and that she was covering for a girl who had car trouble.”
His eyes narrow, and I can see the wheels turning in his mind. “You believe her? Or want me to do some more digging?”
His words seem off-hand, but the double-meaning of whether I want him to investigate or actually dig a hole for her is intentional and slick. It’s one of the things he’s so good at, even if we’ve both left the grittier side of our mercenary work behind in favor of more above-board actions for the company. I wonder if Caleb misses living in the dark a bit, though, even if he does still do some grey area gigs for us.
“I’ve got it,” I tell him decisively, not wanting to allow for any miscommunication where Emma is concerned. “We talked . . . a lot. Her real name is Emma. She’s an actress and works as an assistant to an archeologist at NYU.”
Caleb’s lips curl. “How convenient. Lara Croft just happens to drop by our party.”
I nod. “I know. She even admitted the combo was unusual and that Tomb Raider is her favorite movie.” I let the acknowledgement marinate for a beat. “But I tested her and her knowledge seemed genuine. We’re going out again today, more prep for the dinner with Nikolai, and I confess, I want to challenge her story more.”
Caleb sets his coffee cup on the edge of my desk, leaning forward and staring into my eyes. “Why? Why not just wash your hands of her? Go to the dinner with Nikolai, or fuck, cancel the whole thing. Maybe this is a sign, a complication you need to be paying attention to.”
Though I try to stay stoic, he sees the truth.
“You fucking like her!”
He begins pacing the room. “Goddammit, Nathan. First, the whole obsession with Dad’s papers, his maps and fairy tales. Then, you’re working with the Russians to fulfill Dad’s last mission, like it’s his dying wish. And now, some skirt has you following along like a fucking hungry dog on a leash. What the hell is going on? This isn’t like you, man. You’re always solid, tight. But you’re pussying out on me, and we can’t afford that now that you’re a big-shot businessman! Why can’t you just run the damn company and call it good?”
The accusation stings. It’s not like I wanted to give up the hard life, trade in my combat boots and M4 for a suit and laptop. The truth is, I’d rather be doing what Caleb is, wearing tank tops and getting my hands dirty still . . . but we all have duties.
“I’m not going fucking soft! But yes, I like her. There’s something about her that intrigues me.”
Caleb laughs darkly. “That’s why they call them honey pots. Her job is to entice you, whether that’s as a hostess or just as a fucking woman who sees a fat wallet. Seems like someone pretty smart told me that once.” He raises a brow, throwing my own words back at me. “But she’s not even the problem, just a symptom. Nathan, this is about Dad. And you and me. We’ve got a good thing going here now. Why can’t you just walk away from the whole damn thing about Dad’s diamond?”
I shake my head, wishing I could explain this in a way Caleb would understand and accept. “I can’t do that. I need to see this through.”
Caleb shakes his head too, mirroring me in so many ways but on the other side of the field this time. It’s uncomfortable, for us both, I suspect. “Dad thought he was some Indiana Jones come to life. Always chasing adventure and some treasure that probably didn’t even exist. He lived in maps and history. Why do this for a Dad you didn’t care about and who didn’t care for us? I don’t get it. Just let it go. All of it.”
He plops into the chair, looking as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders.
But it’s not. The responsibility is on my head. Always has been. To keep me and Caleb on the right path and out of trouble, to look out for us both.