what ‘this’ is because it’s obviously this clusterfuck. He glances up, probably wondering just where things went wrong. That’s something I can understand. “Believe it or not, he hired me to be his personal assistant, above board and clean . . . at first. It was good work for a man like me. I know how to get things done but don’t have the sort of corporate resume that’s accepted here.” He levels a stare at me, making sure I understand, and then, with a sigh, he continues. “I could manage his calendar, talk to business contacts all over the world, drive him places, things like that. We worked well together, and he began to trust me to do more. He’d confide in me, though we weren’t friends. He made sure I didn’t forget my place—to serve him. Over time, he would send me to pick things up or meet with people to relay messages.” He waves a hand in my direction.
“Like me,” I fill in.
JP nods. “Yes. At first, I didn’t realize he was doing anything illegal. He’s a businessman, so he buys and sells things, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I don’t know anything about art.” He holds his hands out wide, inviting me to look at him as if art knowledge is a visible trait. “There were others before you, of course. I’m not a stupid man. I soon knew he was doing something he shouldn’t be. But by then” —he shrugs— “my family . . . we have a home, a life.”
“I understand.”
Once that wouldn’t have been true, but now, since meeting Poppy, I can understand how someone could unintentionally become caught up in something and feel like they couldn’t do anything to jeopardize what means the most to them.
“I told myself that no one was getting hurt,” JP continues, looking disappointed in himself. “It’s pieces of paint on canvas or statues. Stealing from the rich, who cares? I’m not taking food out of someone’s mouth . . . at least, that’s what I said before he had me making arrangements with ‘cleaners’. And when that detective grabbed me, I realized that I was the one who was going to be hurt. Me and my family. The Boss? He would replace me and go on like nothing had happened.”
I tilt my head. “You told Carter what you had to.”
“I did, but only about the Boss. He asked me where The Black Rose painting was, and at first, I played dumb. Nobody expects me to know art,” he says dryly. “But the police officer kept asking questions, saying they knew I’d touched the replacement, and eventually, I told him I didn’t know where the original was because it had been sold by my employer. That made him very interested.”
“Always better to catch the big fish, not the minnows.” I point from him to me, acknowledging that we’re not the criminals the police would be most interested in when there’s a chance at catching a true black-market powerhouse.
We’re quiet for a moment, both of us lost in our thoughts. I’m trying to decide what Carter’s move would be. He’s got an inside man in JP and will want to maximize his chances of catching Mr. Big.
“Did Carter know about the auction today? About Mr. Big coming to meet me?”
JP shakes his head, narrowing his eyes. “No, I didn’t have time to tell him. It was a last-minute meeting. The original plan was for you to steal the statue as a final test of sorts. If you could get past Boss’s own security . . . well, it doesn’t matter. When he told me, I was surprised, but now I understand. He didn’t want me to know that he’d found out about my betrayal.”
“You didn’t betray anyone,” I tell him honestly, feeling for the man. “Except maybe yourself. We’ll fix this.”
Hope and fear mix in his dark eyes. “I need to call my wife.”
He’s asking permission, and I want to say no. It’s a risk we shouldn’t take, but I was only gone for work for a few days before Poppy was swinging golf clubs at Hunter’s head. I wonder how long it’d take JP’s wife to do the same?
“You said Poppy would like her,” I point out. “Is she a perra loca too?”
For the first time in the last hour, JP smiles. “Absolutely. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I smile back, acknowledging everything he’s shared by giving permission. “On speakerphone, please.”