Mismatch - By Nana Malone Page 0,58
dead none the less.
Vince’s booming voice echoed in the room. “On to the next matter. Millionaire doubles. We’ve run into several road blocks with getting access to those sealed files. They involved several minors. The first judge turned us down. Said the crimes aren’t violent, if we go to him with names, and they match then we can have the files. If not, no dice. We're trying another judge.”
Eli asked, “Any hits back on that bracelet?” His stomach rolled when he thought of how he'd manipulated Jessica into bringing it to him. There was a special place in hell reserved just for him.
“The bracelet is also a forgery. It’s not the real one.”
The breath whooshed out of Eli’s lungs. Damn it, he'd been so sure. So had Jessica. Now he'd have to tell her it was fake. Fantastic.
As soon as the meeting concluded, Vince came over. “You seemed distracted during the meeting. Everything okay?”
Eli nodded. “Yeah, I'm good.” What he really wanted to say was, stop looking into my brother.
“Something wrong with your phone, man?”
“Uh, no why?”
“You’re clutching it like you’re afraid you’re going to lose it.”
Eli forced his fingers to relax. “I don’t like lying to Jessica.”
“The less she knows, the better off she’ll be. It’s only for a little while longer. I think we'll get lucky with those files.”
Dread gripped Eli’s gut in an icy claw. And if they got lucky, there went Samson’s chance at a normal life. He had to tell Vince. If he found out some other way, that would be bad for Eli. It would look like Eli deliberately torpedoed Sam. But Sam was Sam, and Eli loved his brother. Sam didn't do this. Then Eli wondered if his brother’s innocence was a reality as opposed to what he wanted to see.
***
“You know, I can feel it when you're here.”
Eli leaned forward from the darkened stairs, and the light hit his face. “How long have you known I was here?”
Sam shrugged as he made a bold stroke on his canvas. “Since you got here, I guess. I figured you'd say something when you felt like it.”
Sometimes it was a pain in the ass having a twin. “We need to talk, Sam.”
His brother didn't look at him, but kept painting. The broad, bold strokes of his brush outlined the curve of a woman’s cheek. “What the fuck did I do this time?”
Eli winced. “You say that like I only ever come to you with problems.”
Sam did look at him then. “No. I'm just saying. You’ve got your serious pseudo cop face on. And you didn’t use the front door, which means you wanted a minute before coming in here to talk to me. So, way I figure it, I did something pretty gnarly.”
“Maybe you should have been the pseudo cop.”
Sam shook his head. “Nah. Staring at other people’s work all day would frustrate me if I had the talent to do better.”
The little dig sliced clean and deep. Sam would never understand why Eli did what he did. All he saw was his failed artist of a brother. He would never understand that he needed the stability. Needed the normalcy. Being an artist tapped into a part of him he needed to keep under control. “My failed art career is not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Samson resumed painting. “Get on with it then. I want to start on this beauty's body tonight, and I feel conspicuous with you as an audience.”
He'd been sick before with the guilt of what he had to accuse Sam of. With the guilt of not having protected his brother from himself yet again. Even as he sat forward and watched Sam, Eli looked for any evidence of using. Any kind of tell that would inform him that his brother was back on drugs again. There was nothing. Sam looked healthy. Yet the first rule of dealing with an addict was to never assume and never go on looks alone. “So you know that case I’ve been working on with Vince.”
Sam barked out a cold chuckle. “Yeah?”
Eli ground his teeth. Sam kept his back to him, but Eli could see the bunched muscles in his brother’s shoulders. “The artist is a genius really. He’s capable of mimicking some fantastic pieces of artwork. To the letter. He uses the same paint, the same kind of canvas, everything is picture perfect.”
Sam turned to face him, his lips flat and his brows furrowed. “Sounds like an exceptional artist.”
“Oh, that I have