“Wes, have a seat,” Jaxon Barrington said as he gestured for Wes to sit. They were in the executive office of the Gilded Cuff. Jaxon, the owner, Wes’s long-time friend and the most recent victim of the Illusionist, was pacing. Another man, thin, muscled, in a navy blue suit, leaned back against the desk, arms folded. FBI, if Wes had to guess.
“Agent Kostova said we should meet here.” Jaxon raked a hand through his dark hair and finally forced himself to sit down behind his desk, but his grim expression remained.
Kostova pushed away from the desk and held out a hand to Wes, who took it. Kostova looked young, probably late twenties.
“Mr. Thorne, glad to meet you. We definitely need your help. Whoever is behind the thefts is starting to piss me off. His ego is unrivaled. Mr. Barrington was
