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"You're easy to please," he said with a laugh. "I have a feeling you might be a coffee addict."
"Guilty. Although, your tea wasn't bad. It put me right out last night, even when I thought I was too hyped up to sleep." She paused as he moved back to the griddle. "Those look good, perfectly golden, just the right size."
"You missed my first batch," he said with a grin.
"Well, no one makes a good first pancake. You have to get the heat of the griddle just right."
"So I've been told. Anyway, these are almost ready."
"How did you get my clothes?" she asked, as she watched him flip the pancakes.
"I went into your apartment early this morning."
"But you don't know the code."
"I watched you put it in the other night."
"Oh. I guess I should have been more careful with an FBI agent looking over my shoulder."
"Sorry, habit." He gave her a smile. "How's your head?"
"Better. I thought I heard you on the phone earlier. Is there any news?"
He slid the pancakes onto a plate and turned off the stove. "Yes."
Her body tightened at his answer. "Good or bad?"
"A little of both. Sit. We'll eat and we'll talk."
She sat down in a chair at the kitchen table as he handed her a plate. "This is the second time you've cooked breakfast for me. I might be getting used to it."
"You shouldn't. I'm almost out of ideas. Eggs and pancakes are the total sum of my breakfast skills."
"Well, you won't starve." She munched on a piece of crispy bacon. "I think you could probably cook a lot more if you wanted to."
"I don't have time."
"So, tell me the news," she said, as he sat down across from her.
"My team located the vehicle our attacker was driving. It was a rental car. The driver was listed as Olin Sergei, a Russian national. We got a photo, but it turns out that the ID was stolen. Sergei died three years ago." He held up his phone. "Do you recognize this guy?"
She gave the picture a good look, but the man with the greasy brown hair, dark eyes, and prominent cheekbones was not familiar. "I've never seen him before. Does this mean we've reached another dead end?"
"No. We caught a break. Lucas was able to isolate the man who dropped off the car and tracked him to another vehicle, a Jeep also registered to Olin Sergei. Apparently, this guy took over Olin's life. At any rate, the Jeep was driven to the Wickham Hotel in West Hollywood. The cameras picked up our man exiting the fifth-floor elevator. Eventually, we got a room number. That's where the good news ends. Savannah and Wyatt went to the hotel. Our attacker was found dead in his room. He'd been poisoned with the room service breakfast he'd ordered an hour earlier."
She was disappointed and a little terrified by the ending to his story. "Poisoned? Just like Arthur?"
"Yes. My guess is that our attacker was hired to retrieve the painting. When he was unsuccessful, he was eliminated."
"Eliminated," she echoed. "That's a scary word."
"I wouldn't feel too bad for him. He could have killed us both."
"I know. So, whoever hired him took him out."
"Yes."
"What about the person who delivered the room service? Are you looking for him?"