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Sean had been accused of using his charm as a weapon, but Colton had charm down to a science. When he smiled, you’d believe anything he said.
    Until Sean had moved to New York three weeks ago, he hadn’t seen Colton in ten years. They’d talked on occasion—primarily when Colton was trying to recruit Sean for a job—but he had done his best to keep his past firmly rooted in the past. He’d never taken a job until now, because Sean knew that as soon as he was back inside, there would be no leaving.
    Colton was hard to say no to.
    Sean had mixed feelings about this entire operation, and the primary reason was because he didn’t want to hurt Colton. He’d helped Sean through the darkest time of his life, when his brother Duke had all but abandoned him after his expulsion from Stanford. Duke had pulled strings to get Sean into MIT even though Sean had told him he didn’t want to go. Colton had listened when Sean doubted everything he believed and missed his parents more than when they’d first died. Colton had been Sean’s rock, and he would never forget it.
    Sean smiled and sipped his beer. “We missed you at tonight’s festivities, C.,” he said.
    Colton smiled broadly, which lit up his entire face, from his green eyes down to the dimple on his chin.
    “You’re finally back where you belong, Rogan.”

 
     
    CHAPTER FOUR
     
     
 
     
    The adrenaline rush from the heist had faded by the time Sean arrived back at his apartment.
    He went up to his fourth-floor corner flat, a spacious, two-room apartment with windows on two walls. He liked the place, which he’d leased under a shell company, but hadn’t spent much time here. Most of the work he did was on the second floor—in the studio the FBI had rented under an assumed name for FBI Special Agent Noah Armstrong.
    Sean grabbed a stack of mail off his counter as a cover, in case he’d been followed. It was clear the level of trust between Evan and Sean was mutual—it didn’t exist. Even though Sean had gone a roundabout way home, he couldn’t be certain he wasn’t followed. He swept continually for any electronic surveillance—but good old-fashioned footwork could be just as effective.
    Sean took the mail and went downstairs to Noah’s studio. It was well after midnight, but Noah wouldn’t sleep until Sean checked in. Sean could have called, but he needed to tell Noah what had happened—much more than what he was willing to share over the phone.
    “Here’s mail that was delivered to my box again,” Sean said when Noah opened his door.
    “Want a beer?”
    “Sounds great.” Sean shut the door behind him. Noah tossed the envelopes on a chair and went back to his desk.
    Sean said, “Didn’t you say beer? ”
    Noah gave him a look that Sean couldn’t quite read, then walked over to his refrigerator and grabbed a bottle for each of them. Sean wasn’t surprised that the beer of a “brewer” and “patriot” was Noah’s drink of choice; it suited the former Air Force pilot.
    Sean sat at the table and Noah sat across from him. “What happened?” Noah asked.
    The FBI loft was one large, sparsely furnished room. Functional. The bed and couch were almost incidental—no television, no radio, only a laptop, printer, and tidy desk. Noah did most of the work at the secondhand dining table. The file cabinet was new, and Sean suspected all the drawers were full. He wondered how many of the files related to his past.
    He said, “We have a problem.”
    “Have?”
    “Evan set me up. The museum’s internal security is an RCK design. I had to reroute admin protocols for the duration of the job. I covered my tracks, but I helped design the RCK system. If someone on their end is specifically looking for a breach, they’ll see it and there’s nothing I can do.”
    “Will RCK know it was you?”
    “They won’t have proof, but through the process of elimination Duke will know.”
    “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Noah said.
    “I