Always a Thief - Kay Hooper [8]
“Ego, hell. I'm a cop, Max, an officer in an international police organization. So how do you think I felt to find out that my brother was the crafty thief who had topped our most-wanted list for the better part of ten years?”
Morgan came back into the room just in time to hear that astonishing information and was so startled she spoke without thinking. “Brother? You mean, you and Quinn are—”
He looked at her with those pale, angry eyes, and for the first time she saw an elusive resemblance between his handsome features and Quinn's. “Yes, we're brothers,” he confirmed flatly. “Do us all a favor and forget you know that.”
She didn't get angry at him in return, because she was both perceptive enough to see the anxiety underneath his simmering fury and shrewd enough to have a fair idea of what a difficult position Jared must have found himself in when the infamous Quinn turned out to be his own flesh and blood. There was, clearly, reason enough for him to be a trifle put out.
“Consider it forgotten,” she murmured.
Jared didn't look as if he believed her but directed his question to Max. “Is he awake?”
“He was a few minutes ago.”
“Then I'd better talk to him.”
“Max, you said he was ready to sleep. Can't it wait until later?” Morgan protested.
“No,” Jared told her briefly, and headed for the bedroom with a determined stride.
Morgan stared after him for a moment, then looked at Max. “Don't you think you'd better go in there too? Jared has blood in his eye, and Quinn's lost too much of his own to be able to defend himself.”
“You're probably right.” Max was frowning slightly, but he didn't waste any time in following Jared.
It was after eight o'clock that morning before Max and Jared emerged from the bedroom.
“Wolfe'll have a fit when he finds out what happened,” Jared muttered gloomily, his anger apparently gone but his mood not much improved.
“I'll handle Wolfe,” Max told him.
“Good. He's still pissed at me.”
“Why should he have a fit?” Morgan asked curiously. “Good lord, does he know Quinn too? I mean really know him, the way you two do?”
“Ask Quinn,” Jared growled, and stalked from her apartment.
Morgan was feeling her virtually sleepless and very eventful night by then, a state not helped by numerous cups of coffee, and nearly wailed at Max, “And all this time I felt guilty because I knew him!”
One of his rare smiles swept across Max's hard face. “Morgan, since Alex is asleep and will probably sleep for hours, why don't you stretch out on your couch and take a nap. I think you need one.”
That suggestion held too much appeal for her to argue, and it wasn't until she'd closed the door behind Max, briefly checked on her sleeping patient, and curled up on the couch with a pillow and blanket that something occurred to her.
Max had directly referred to Quinn by name only once, and then it had been his real name—Alex. She tried to think about that, but she was just too tired, falling asleep almost instantly.
Storm Tremaine, tiny and blond, with fierce eyes and a lazy Southern drawl, didn't look anything at all like a cop—or even a technical specialist. But she happened to be both—an agent with Interpol, specializing in computers and security.
In any case, Jared Chavalier, senior Interpol agent and her boss on this assignment, had known her too long not to know that she was small only in physical stature, not ability or self-confidence.
“So Max is talking to Wolfe, huh?” She glanced at the computer screen on her desk from time to time as the security system she had designed and installed was currently running its diagnostic program. But otherwise she kept her gaze on Jared, who was moving rather restlessly around the very small room.
“Yeah.”
“And since you know Wolfe is still furious at you, you're hiding back here with me.”
“I am not hiding.”
“Right. You just love pacing about six square feet of floor space. Where I come from, that's what we call going nowhere in a hurry.”
Jared turned