She and Olga bump fists and exchange kisses.
Hopper sends her a thumbs-up, and Jake, who’s been splitting his attention between the conversation and his screen, holds up his hand.
“Did you see who the junior detective was on this case?”
Hopper shakes his head. “I haven’t had a chance to look into the details. I had a lot of mayhem to do and not a lot of time to do it.”
They laugh, and Silas asks, “By the way, whydidyou do that with the head?”
Hopper shares a picture of his masterpiece with the group.
The collective gasp makes him smile.
“I was at the Met the other day for the pop-up Reni exhibition,” he explains, gesturing excitedly, “and today there was this short katana on the wall and a huge platter on the refrigerator, so…”
Hopper thinks that’s a perfectly reasonable train of thought, but the confused stares indicate otherwise.
“Reni?” Ryder asks, already typing.
Recognition dawns in Jake’s eyes. “Oh right. Salome carrying the head of John the Baptist.”
Hop grins as Jake shares a split screen with a reference photo of the painting and the image from the buyer’s house. Ryder looks impressed. Hopper’s recreation was surprisingly faithful.
Silas glances Hopper’s phone. “The buyer’s expression is so serene.” He taps his thumbs on the steering wheel. “Did you remove his head postmortem? To avoid the wholerictus of terror?”
Jake snorts, and Hopper rubs his hands together.
“Did I miss something?”
“Oh, sweet, innocent Sy,” Ryder says, hand to her chest. “Hop never does anythingpostmortem.”
“Facial expressions are surprisingly easy to manipulate on a fresh kill,” Hopper adds, as though that were obvious.
Sy chuckles, and Jake clears his throat.
“As I was saying before, the junior detective on this case is a familiar face.”
Jake shares the file on Detective Boone Hitchens, along with his department-issued ID photo. “Hopper, remember that camp counselor you sponsored for Liam’s criminal justice scholarship?”
He taps his chin. “The skinny Eagle Scout Maverick had a crush on?”
“The very one.”
“Oh wow. I forgot he’s an artist too,” Hopper says, scrolling through the file. “And he’s got a minor in art history. No wonder they put him on the case.”
Ryder’s heavily decorated brows come together as she scrolls through his information. “He’s awfully young to be a detective.”
Hopper snorts. “I always knew he’d be a great cop.” Just as quickly, his expression falls. “Shit. I do hope he’s good at his job, but not so good that he catches us.”
Ryder and Jake roll their eyes, the synchronicity impressive given the time difference. No one’s gotten through their brick wall of digital defense in the twenty-plus years they’ve been operating together.
“Wait.” Silas taps his thumb on the steering wheel. “Isn’t he the guy who arrested Brantley Whitaker at Rami’s charity ball?”
Jake curses, and the sound of furious typing fills the car, followed by silence.
“Shit, you’re right.”
That’s one helluva complication.
