Harrison nodded her assent. I went to the receptiondesk, her sharp eyes following me. I wouldn’t go and speak to Ronan in person because I feared they’d insist on accompanying me, and that would create a stir in the office. At least out here there were fewer people to witness my humiliation. I leaned over the desk and spoke softly.
“Stephanie, can you please get Mr. King on the phone?”
She nodded, her eyes wide. “Of course.” She dialed the extension for Ronan’s office and waited for a moment. “Mr. King? I have Fiona on the line for you.” Another pause. I could imagine Ronan would be confused. After all, I was usually the one patching calls through to him, not asking to be put through. “Yes, sir.” She handed me the phone.
“Hi,” I said, glancing back at the cops and lowering my voice. “I hate to ask, but would you be able to do me a favor?”
“What favor is that?” He sounded bemused.
“Can you please call my attorney and ask her to get to the Metro Police Station as quickly as possible?” I carried on without giving him a chance to respond. “Her name is Ariadne Rodgers. She works at MacBeth and Travers.”
“Of course.” I heard papers shuffling and hoped he was recording her details. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure yet.” I hesitated, then added, “It could be about those paintings. I don’t want to take any risks.”
“Would you like me to come and speak to them?” His tone was brusque. “I’m sure we can clear this up.”
“Just get Ariadne down to the police station ASAP.” It was nice to know Ronan had my back, but I didn’t want to cause a scene. Although I was fully prepared to do so later if things went downhill.
“I will. And Fiona, if they make any accusations or ask questions you’re unsure how to answer, stay quiet. Silence is always best.”
“Thanks, Ronan.” I’d learned that lesson myself as well—the hard way. When you don’t understand what’s going on, it’s easy to say things that can be used against you later, or to lose your temper and do or say something you regret. “Hopefully I’ll be back soon.”
“Be careful,” he cautioned, and the phone disconnected. I passed it back to Stephanie and turned to face Detectives Harrison and Goodwin.
“Okay,” I said, holding my head high. “Let me get my purse, and then we can go.”
Thankfully, they didn’t make a production of removing me from the building. After I ducked back to my desk for my purse, we left calmly. I got into the back of their car. They didn’t speak during the drive—not to each other or to me—and when we arrived, I was ushered into an interview room.
“Do you mind if I record this conversation?” Detective Harrison asked, placing a voice recorder on the center of the table between us.
I cocked my head. “Do you need to read me my rights first?”
“You’re not under arrest. I’d just like to be able to focus on our conversation now and take notes later.”
“Okay,” I allowed. I didn’t intend on saying anything to incriminate myself, so surely it wouldn’t hurt.
Harrison switched the device on, then leaned back in her chair and glanced at Goodwin, who rested his forearms on the table and watched me steadily.
“Where is the Monet?” he asked.
ZEKE
I was reviewinga report that Jonah had prepared on the communications between a prominent pharmaceutical mogul and his mistress when I noticed movement on the monitor for the camera feed connected to reception. A man and a woman were speaking with Fiona. Based on their appearance, I immediately picked them as cops. It wasn’t unusual for us to work with the Met P.D.
I let my gaze linger, as it always did, on Fiona. My gut tightened. I’d wanted the sexy redhead from the moment she started working here, but nothing had happened between us for two reasons. First, she was one of our most valuable employees and Ronan would lose his shit if I did something to drive her away. Second, she didn’t want a damn thing to do with me. I had no idea why, but she’d taken one look at me, scowled, and muttered something under her breath. Nothing I’d said or done since seemed to have thawed her.
I watched her stiffen as she spoke to the detective, and then cross to the front desk and talk on the phone for a minute or so. After she hung up, she left with them. I paused, rewound the footage, and zoomed in on her face. She looked anxious. I frowned. I couldn’t think of any good reason for the police to need Fiona to go with them. At least, not related to our work at King’s Security.
I grabbed my mobile phone and called Joanna Lee, the detective we worked with most closely.
“Detective Lee,” she answered briskly.
“Jo, it’s Zeke Watts.” She’d probably already seen the Caller ID, but better safe than sorry. “Two of your detectives just left our office with Fiona Ryan. Do you have any idea what that’s about?”
“It’s nothing to do with my unit,” she said. “I can’t give you any information.”
“But do you know what they want with her?” I asked.
