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Nash spent the next hour searching the museum, looking for the person he suspected of helping him. More than once, he had irritated random strange blonde ladies as he grabbed their arm. They would spin around, ready to give him hell—faces contorted in anger and irritation. Nash would quickly apologize —artlessly brushing off their worries by saying he thought they were someone else.
It did not surprise him when he couldn't find her. Truthfully, knowing Blue as he did, he wouldn’t be surprised to discover the internet full of messages asking for a flash mob to come to the Smithsonian Museum. One that clearly had the Thomas Crown Affair—her favorite movie, vibes.
In the movie, the scene she adored the most was the bowler hat guy, where person after person walked through the museum wearing the same costume as the art thief to confuse the authorities.
The music from the film danced in his head as he thought about the whole situation. In hindsight, he should have picked up on that cue.
Now Cam had seen Blue, hardly a glimpse, and heard some of what Cruz said—Nash was going to have to stop withholding information and explain what was going on, especially the office break-in.
Nash didn't enjoy crowding into a small booth with his coworkers. He left work at work when he went home, at least for the personal part of it. But he hadn't wanted to have this conversation at the museum, offering instead to go to an all-night diner after the gala ended.
Working on a hunch, it paid to have all the players around. He could admit that surrounding himself with the finest minds was his best course of action. Though he had to curb his impatience as they ordered coffees, food and desserts. You couldn't confess to marrying a criminal; that criminal was sophisticated enough to break into a secure FBI building with servers hovering, Nash thought dryly.
He sat beside Cam. Across from them perched Victor Glenn, the dead doctor. On one side of him was Tyler Stewart, and rounding out the table was Burgess. "Hell of a show," Victor commented, sharing a smile with Tyler now that everyone settled on their choices.
"Har-har," Nash replied. "Cam, hotshot agent, got to play with his gun and save the boss," Tyler teased.
Burgess's eyes twinkled as she leaned close, whispering in dramatic fashion, "Where did you hide the gun, Hot Stuff?"
Cam turned cherry red, an unfortunate side effect of his pale skin, causing the entire table to roar with laughter. “What do you think a sporran is for?” he croaked out, trying to save face.
Nash ignored their teasing, allowing them to get it out of their systems. He wanted to make sure there was nothing else to distract them—first the food and now the ribbing. He wanted all of their focus on his confession and on the solution.
"Should have gone after that guy's boss, saved us the headache," Victor tossed at him.
Cam gave them all a small smile, good-natured lad that he was, but his tone was serious when he said, "I had help. Some woman walked by and tased one of them, like she knew something bad was about to happen. Nash tried to find her, but we couldn't. And there isn't anything we can do for a citizen if they are only suspected of committing a crime. He escaped conviction, and he says that if he committed those crimes—he is currently retired. Out of the game."
Burgess demanded,"Do we believe him when he says that he is out of the game?"
"No one ever quits. Marco goes around, telling everyone he has quit and tries to present himself as an upstanding citizen. What it is is a big fat show," Nash ground out, interrupting any other answer.
He felt his partner look at him, steady and knowing, "What makes you say that?" Cam asked.
Nash sighed. "I suppose I should get on with it—quit stalling." He paused as everyone stopped what they were doing, putting cups and silverware back onto the table. "I know Marco Cruz. Not personally. I don't remember ever encountering the man, but I know who he is and sort of stumbled across him when I was investigating another case years ago."
*****
AVOIDING THE OFFICE would have been a better idea for Nash. As soon as he crossed the threshold, Deputy Kelly had bellowed across the sea of cubicles. He punctuated the command to enter his inner sanctum first thing in the morning with:"I want an update!"
Slinking into the room, Nash didn't have anything new to offer. The Deputy sat behind his desk, the view—with a heavy murky fog hanging over the city, just as dark and grim as his countenance. He already knew there was no information that Nash could give him. The stupid ring simply vanished without a trace. No whispers. No sightings. The insurance claim withered under the suspicion of an inside job, though there was no evidence to support the idea.
While the tech ran through security video, Nash stared at the bank of monitors, getting him nothing. He watched himself stand beside the display at nearly military attention, all the while observing the people walking around. Miss Dawson had been the only one to approach him.
The servers milled past but were never close enough to make a note of who they were, as they had to walk around him in order to get to the bride's table. No one seemed to pay the diamond much attention. Then the lights flicked out and when the picture came back on the screen, they left him on the floor, holding his head.
Disappointment and frustration forced him to flee the office and the scrutiny. He felt eyes boring into his back. He smarted from the dressing down he had earned.
The bar he had slunk off to—no better place to be miserable at—looked positively decrepit, the wallpaper worn and yellowed from decades of smoke.
Everything in the room looked termite ridden. By now, some tables succumbed to their tentative structural defects so that they lay in heaps in the corner. No one bothered to pick it up.
Lunch was long forgotten, the remnants sitting on files that littered the table. He buried the plate and napkins which came with the meal beneath the pile. It was slowly taking over the table as Nash shifted through his files—his mind still on his boss's words, affecting his ability to concentrate on the words in front of him.
When he came up for air again, focusing briefly on his surroundings, there she was. Blue walked through the dingy curtain that hung between the back room and the major part of the bar—spotting Nash as soon as she crossed the disgusting threshold. He thought he saw something flash across her face—a combination of surprise and irritation before it smoothed out into a sexy smirk.
Nash was mildly curious about the man who followed behind, but couldn't bring himself to focus on anyone but her for very long. He made a mental note of the man's defining characteristics before Blue had sidled up to the table and the man slipped out of the establishment. Nash soon forgot all about him.