Harrison pocketed the device. “That’s just for my personal records. Miss Ryan gave permission.”
“I did,” I admitted, my face flushing when Ariadne arched an eyebrow at me.
“Well, permission is now revoked.” She reached into the bag she’d dropped beside her chair and withdrew a notebook and a pen, then opened the book to a fresh page. “On what grounds have you brought my client in for questioning?”
Goodwin rolled his eyes. “It’s just a conversation.”
“I suggested talking at the office,” I told Ariadne. “They refused.”
“Uh-huh.” She made a note in shorthand. “So, detectives?”
Harrison shifted on her seat, growing visibly nervous. “A Monet was discovered missing from the Windy City Gallery early yesterday evening. We’d like Miss Ryan to share any information she may have about that.”
Ariadne pursed her lips. “And why do you believe Miss Ryan would have any relevant information?”
Hesitating, Harrison exchanged a look with Goodwin, then moistened her lips. “The theft has certain similarities to the Black Swan case from four years ago.”
My stomach dropped. I’d expected as much, considering they’d dragged me in, but hearing it was still a blow.
“My client wasn’t charged for that crime,” Ariadne said.
Goodwin scoffed. “We’ve seen the case file. It was solid.”
“Yet the district attorney’s office decided there wasn’t enough evidence to press charges.”
I felt a swell of satisfaction at their matching hangdog expressions. “Have you talked to Bergen?” I asked them.
If the theft had similarities to the one that had upended my life four years ago, that’s who I’d be looking at.
“We can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with you,” Harrison said.
“Isn’t that exactly what you purport to be doing?” Ariadne asked. She folded her arms. “Do you intend to charge my client?”
“No,” Harrison replied reluctantly.
“Is she free to go?”
“Yes,” Goodwin ground out. “We’re not holding her.” He turned to me. “But we’ll be at your door the instant we have enough evidence.”
Ariadne stiffened. “Is that a threat?”
“Of course not,” he said quickly.
“Come on.” Ariadne stood, tucked her notebook back into her bag, and touched my shoulder. “We’re getting out of here.”
I got to my feet, surprised by how shaky my legs were. Ariadne yanked the door open and waved me through, ignoring the angry mutterings behind us.
“Thanks, Ari,” I murmured as she steered me down the corridor.
In the waiting area, two men near the exit caught my attention. Zeke was slouching in a chair, looking at something on his phone. His black hair was messy, as if he’d run his hands through it, and he wore his ever-present leather jacket. He tapped his phone screen, his tattooed fingers moving agilely and light glinting off his chunky rings. Give him a cigar and he wouldn’t have looked out of place backstage at a rock concert.
Part of me was surprised to see him there. It wasn’t as if we were friends. But another part of me had expected it. After all, he never had been any good at minding his own business. Ronan stood nearby, reading a poster attached to the wall.
“Miss Ryan?”
I glanced over my shoulder at Detective Harrison, who’d called down the corridor. “Yes?”
“Don’t leave town.”
