He nodded. “Yes. I can’t disclose much.”
“Fine.”
He took a sip of water. “My last assignment ended abruptly. They didn’t tell me at the time, but the powers that be had moved away from mob-related crime.”
“I see. The mafia fell out of favor, like art theft?”
“Sort of. Art theft was never really in favor.”
Lynn laughed. “I know. They never wanted to put any money toward it. Though, you know, art heists result in billions of dollars in losses!”
“I know,” he said with a smile. “And on top of that, the works are really priceless, important to our history, and to our collective soul.”
She smiled again. Good. He wanted her to know that he remembered everything she’d ever told him about the world of art crime. It was a shame that the FBI wasn’t more aggressive about it, like the Italians. Now those people cared about history. They had a team of hundreds dedicated to art theft!
He continued. “But yes, they wanted to close everything up all of a sudden. All of the agents, and all the resources, are getting funneled into more ‘exciting’ stuff. You know, drugs, terrorism, that kind of thing. People think the mob is an old man’s game.”
Lynn frowned. “That’s harsh.”
“You’re telling me. Anyway, they pulled me out too quickly, in my opinion. I went back in a few months later, when maybe I shouldn’t have.”
She nodded. “Right.”
“And maybe they tried to shoot me on sight.”
“You’re kidding!”
He had her now. She was staring at him, mouth open.
“See? You don’t want to be involved with this. That wasn’t even the worst part, though.”
“Oh no. Did someone get hurt?”
“No. The worst part was the team got together and made a convincing-looking corpse for my fake funeral. They showed it to me like it was the greatest thing in the world.”
“No way! That’s so cool.” Lynn leaned in. “What did they use for the skin?”
“I don’t know, and it’snotcool!” Mike said. “I had to stare into my own dead face. That’ll haunt me forever.”
Lynn smiled. “Forever may not be very long if you keep stepping out of your depth here.”
He smiled back. She wasn’t wrong. “Touché.”
The waitress stopped by and Mike put in an order for a virgin strawberry daiquiri. No alcohol when he was flying. He fully expected Lynn to make fun of his fruity drink, like she used to, but she didn’t say a peep.
“Now,” he said, leaning forward. “Can I see the pictures?”
She let out a long sigh. “I guess.”
He smiled. She wasn’t so hard to work with after all.
