If I Didn't Know Better (The Callaways #9)(80)

It didn't sound as ridiculous to her as it did to him, but then she didn't know Kent that well, and the man was like a brother to Jeremy. "I could be wrong," she said quickly.

"You are wrong. Kent is an honorable man. He has more integrity than anyone I know."

"It was just a theory," she said, realizing she probably should have thought a little more before sharing her suspicions with Jeremy.

"Maybe you should base your theories on facts, not wild imaginings. You're accusing a war hero of art theft."

"I wasn't exactly accusing—"

"Do you know what Kent went through when he was a hostage? He was tortured, Mia. They tried to break him, but he didn't break. He didn't give up secrets or people. He did what he was trained to do, and he helped bring down a terrorist cell. Does that sound like an art thief to you?"

She could see that she'd crossed a huge line. "I'm sorry, Jeremy. Let's talk about something else."

"No, we're going to finish this subject. If Kent stole that painting, why would he leave it at your aunt's house for a year?" Jeremy demanded. "Why would he cover it up and stick it in a closet? Why wouldn't he just sell it?"

"Maybe he felt guilty, had second thoughts after he got back."

"That's absurd."

"Well, I don't know."

"You don't know, because there's no way Kent is a thief. You just want to get your aunt off the hot seat. You want to blame someone else, when it's pretty clear to me that your aunt is the guilty party. It was in her bedroom closet, not even in the studio. She had to physically put it there. Maybe she didn't steal it, but I think she knew damn well what she had—that's why she hid it." He folded his arms across his chest as if he'd just closed the case.

She stared at him in shock, wondering how things had gone so bad so fast.

The waitress stopped by their table. "Who's in the mood for dessert?"

She shook her head, feeling like she might throw up if she ate anything now. Her stomach was churning with the heat of their argument. She and Jeremy had never really disagreed about anything, but this was big; this was personal and very intense.

"We'll just take the check," Jeremy told the waitress.

Her phone pinged again, and she glanced down at Kate's next message.

"What does it say now?" Jeremy asked.

"She wants me to turn the painting over to the FBI. She gave me the number of an agent to contact."

"Good, then you'll be out of it. And the real culprit will be caught."

She nodded, but she wasn't sure it was a good idea at all. She didn't want her aunt's name to be tarnished in any way, and who would defend Carly but her? Jeremy had accused her of throwing Kent under the bus to save her aunt, but wasn't he doing the same thing?

Jeremy paid the bill and then said, "Let's get out of here."

She was more than happy to leave.

They didn't speak all the way home.

So much for date night, she thought with a sigh, as he pulled into the driveway next to hers. There was nothing but tension and anger between them now. She'd been feeling so close to Jeremy, but now he was an icy stranger, and she knew she was getting her first look at the hard, ruthless side of his personality. But she also had to admit that his anger came out of loyalty to his friend, and that wasn't such a bad thing. It just wasn't great that she was the one who'd tested that loyalty.

Jeremy pretty much hated her now for accusing his friend of theft, and while she didn't know if she was right or wrong, she did believe she had some basis for the theory she'd put out. It might have been premature to talk about her suspicions, but she'd never imagined Jeremy would have such a strong reaction to her rambling thoughts.

When they got out of the car, she said, "I'm sorry things went downhill. I guess I shouldn't have read my sister's text."

"You shouldn't have accused Kent."

"And you shouldn't have accused my aunt," she retorted. Their fight had not been one-sided. Jeremy had given as good as he got. "I care about her and believe in her as much as you care and believe in Kent. But we're not going to agree, so let's just call it a night."

"Fine."

"Fine," she echoed. "I guess I'll see you around."

"Wait. You're not going to turn the painting over to the FBI, are you?" he asked. "You're going to keep looking into this yourself."

"I don't know what I'm going to do. I need time to think."

"Why don't you think about this? The aunt you admire so much had no real source of income. She rented the studio out for art. She traveled the world, but how did she pay for it? Did she inherit money? I know she didn't have a rich husband."

Mia stared back at him. "She used to teach art at the high school. And she gave art lessons, too. She did work."

"And those teaching jobs financed her worldwide adventures? She did all that on a teacher's salary?"

She hated that he was making her doubt her aunt, but he had raised a question she'd never considered. "I'm going to call it a night before we both say something we'll regret."

"I think it's too late to avoid that."