Hot Asset (21 Wall Street #1)(41)

“Hope you like Thai food,” he says, opening the rest of the cartons and acting as if nothing just happened. “I got a little of everything.”

“Wow, literally everything,” I say, hungrily taking in the multiple options. He takes both plates from me to bring to the table, and I grab a stack of paper napkins and the wine bottle.

He shrugs off his suit jacket, and we settle at the table, and though I’m braced for an intense wave of awkwardness, there’s none. Well, other than the fact that I’m very aware that his suit probably costs more than my monthly rent.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” I spear a piece of chicken and plop it into my mouth.

Ian takes a deep breath, and instead of eating his food, he picks up his wineglass and leans back in his chair. “Evidence.”

I pause midchew. “I really can’t say—”

“You don’t have any, do you?” he challenges.

My hand goes still in the process of shoveling in pad Thai, and the knot I’ve had in my stomach ever since my conversation with Steve tightens.

My boss has always been opinionated, but he’s also seemed fair. In fact, he’s the one who regularly reminds me that there are two sides to every story, and our job is to figure out which side is telling the truth.

The fact that Steve won’t even consider the possibility that Ian is telling the truth bothers me. A lot. And yet, conceding that to Ian is a direct violation of my job as the investigator.

I put down my fork, take a deep breath, and meet his eyes. “You keep saying you don’t have a connection to J-Conn, and the evidence backs you up on that, but it doesn’t change the fact that someone thinks otherwise.”

“But you don’t know who that someone is, do you?”

I shake my head, and even as I know I’m stepping over a dangerous line, I’m also realizing that this case isn’t black and white. There’s a definite murky-gray area, and Ian and I are right in the middle of it. Together.

“No, I don’t know,” I say quietly. My boss won’t tell me.

He rubs a hand down his face. “If we had the name of the source, this whole thing would be over,” he says. “It’s got to be someone with a vendetta against me.”

I’ve been starting to think the same thing, but I can’t tell Ian that. Not until I’ve looked at everything, until I’ve dotted every i, crossed every t. I’m close, but I’m not there yet.

Until then, I have to play by the rules.

“It’s also possible the source is someone who needs the SEC’s protection.”

Ian raises his eyebrows.

“It’s not uncommon,” I say. “The system does what it can to protect whistle-blowers. Their reputations, sometimes even their lives, are at stake the moment they come forward. It’s why we do the informal investigation first before escalating it to a formal one.”

Ian snorts. “What, like a white-collar version of witness protection?”

His tone is sarcastic, but his jaw draws open when I don’t say anything.

“Wait, really?” he asks. “They could be keeping a source confidential because they think he’s in danger?”

I shrug. “That’s how it’s supposed to work.”

He rolls his eyes. “Give me a fucking break. You really think this person is in danger? He’s lying, Lara. And the longer he stays in the shadows, the less time my lawyer and I have to refute his claims.”

“This isn’t a John Grisham movie, Ian.”

“Well, it’s not a fucking Disney movie, either. You said yourself you haven’t found any evidence, so why is there still a case?”

“Because I’m not done yet!” I shout. “I’m close. I haven’t found any evidence yet, but I wouldn’t respect myself, and you wouldn’t respect me, either, if I quit now.”

“Fine,” he snaps, draining his wine and standing up with ill-concealed impatience. “Keep the food. Enjoy the wine,” he says, shrugging his suit jacket back on.

“Ian, wait. I thought—”

“We’re either on the same side or we’re not, Ms. McKenzie. Either you think I’m innocent or you think I’m guilty of insider trading. You’ve had more than enough time to decide,” he says grimly, turning to leave.

“That’s not your call to make,” I say, standing and reaching out reflexively but then dropping my hand before I can touch his sleeve. “I do this for a living, and I’m telling you I’m not done. I haven’t been through all the archives yet; I still have a half dozen people to interview—”

“Forget all that!” he shouts, spinning back toward me and stepping so close my breath catches.

He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as though fighting for control. When he opens them again, his gaze is gentler but no less intense. He reaches out, touching my chin lightly so my face is tilted up to his.

I’m not sure what unsettles me more, the desperate urgency in his voice or the feel of his fingers against my face.

“Do you think I’m guilty?”

I sigh. “It’s not that easy—”

“Don’t answer as Ms. McKenzie. Answer as Lara. Do you think I’m guilty?”

I close my eyes to avoid his piercing gaze. The SEC investigator in me knows exactly what I should do—show him to the door and tell him I can’t discuss his case. But it’s not that simple. For the first time in my life, my usual cool objectivity has abandoned me, and in its place is something complicated and scary—something I want more than I’ve ever wanted anything, even the FBI . . .