feet and start slapping people, but since that was socially unacceptable, even under these particular circumstances, I decided against engaging in blunt-force trauma. Instead, I reluctantly perched on the edge of one of the chairs across from GI Jane. I pulled Leo’s phone from my back pocket and all but chucked it at him. He caught it deftly and sat down next to Gina. Not close to her. A full sofa cushion length away. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part, but there did not appear to be any kind of sexual connection between them. She clearly wasn’t jealous of me, at any rate.
“I do have something I need to tell you, and you’re going to be pissed, but before you get mad, let me tell you everything.” He seemed earnest enough, but that was not a good preface. Clearly no one had ever explained to Leo the concept of a good news sandwich, where you start out with something good, sneak the bad stuff into the center, then end with something good again. He was going straight to the rotten.
“When I said I worked in private security, I meant it, but the part about me being here because I’d lost that job was false. I’m still working. Gina and I are sort of like bodyguards. We do personal protection, but we also do other kinds of security stuff when the situation calls for it.”
“When the situation calls for it”? What in the name of sweet baby Jesus was he getting at? Gina fell back against the cushion, crossing her arms, crossing her legs, and letting out a fast, frustrated sigh. Clearly the disintegration of my relationship with Leo was boring her.
I really didn’t like her.
Leo continued, and the slow, calm tone he was using made me want to grab his cell phone back and pulverize it with a hammer. I am not a ragey person, but I was ten kinds of humiliated right now, and ten kinds of mad. If anyone had good cause to demolish a device, or something equally as destructive, it was me.
“What kind of security stuff are you doing right now that meant you had to lie to me?”
He glanced at Gina, then back to me. “We work for the Wellington family,” he said.
Wellington. Wellington. Why did that name sound famil . . . fuuuuuuuuck me. “As in the Marian Singer Wellington family? Marian Singer Wellington the heiress?”
He gave a single nod as he stared intently at my face, gauging my reaction.
“I don’t understand,” I said. At least not completely. “What does she have to do with anything?”
“When Mick O’Malley got released from prison, Gina and I were hired by Mrs. Wellington’s granddaughter to find her stolen jewelry. Word on the street has always been that Mick’s accomplice was sitting on it somewhere, just waiting for him to come and collect.”
All the cells inside me seemed to expand and contract in an instant, and it didn’t feel good. This was unbefuckinglievable. Leo was here because of the jewel thief?
“So, do you mean to tell me that you’re here looking for Jimmy Novak?”
He nodded again, and I all but jumped from my chair and started to pace as I tried to recall everything I’d said to Leo last night. I’d been tipsy from the drinks, but had I told him all of it? The cells expanded and contracted again as certainty gripped me. I had told him everything. Everything, right down to the spot where Dmitri had hidden his stash. I’d betrayed my friend, and now he was going to lose everything. Maybe even go to jail for continuing to sell the stolen goods. Leo had used me, and worst of all, I’d let him.
“I would have told you sooner, Brooke. Honestly,” he said, standing up and crossing over to me, “but it never occurred to me you’d have such a close personal relationship with the guy we were looking for.”
I spun on him so fast I nearly did a full three-sixty. “Oh, really? It didn’t occur to you that I have a close personal relationship with virtually every person on this island, you jackass? How did you think this was going to play out?”
The sheepish look on his face told me he hadn’t given the notion much thought, and I couldn’t decide if that was hurtful because he’d taken my feelings for granted, or hurtful because he hadn’t bothered to think it through. Either way . . . hurtful.
“Did you even want to