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He barked a short, strangled laugh. “Never. Let’s just say I’m running late.”
“Oh?” With another tilt, I assessed him: dark suit, no tie, one button unfastened below the collar, and a strong scent ofVersace Eau Fraiche,which, to me, smelled a lot like the man was up for some fun.
Plus, he was freshly shaven.
“A date, then? Who’s the lucky girl?”
An elvish glint flickered past his eyes, and he ran a hand over his buzz cut. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “She’s…German. Doesn’t speak much English. Her name’s Star.”
Catching up quickly, I couldn’t help it; my lips slid into a sideways smile. “A German girl named Star. Sounds…exciting. So, an appointment, then?”
He glanced at his watch and made a light shrug with his shoulders before his arm dropped limply by his side. “Might as well say that. She’s a masseuse.”
I chuckled under my breath. “Cancel it. You won’t have enough time tonight to get yourmassage.”
“Already on that,Korol.”
King.
I spared him a glance. His phone was out, his fingers moving rapidly across the screen. I’d known the man for decades and still found it funny whenever he wore a silly, disappointed frown when things didn’t go according to plan.
Silence fell between us once more.
I stuck one hand in my pocket and, through the blurry reflection against the polished silver doors, smoothened the side part of my hair.
“Nice haircut,” he commented.
“Thanks.” I stepped back when the floors stopped moving, and the doors opened with a quiet whoosh. “I thought I’d do something different for the big night.”
We stepped out.
The big night beingthisnight.
The night when I’d finally get to exterminate one of the biggest fucking pests that had tried to be a nuisance for as long as he could. Pest description? Irish. With annoying resilience and a fierce determination to watch me crumble.
Ronan Gallagher.
Arlo cleared his throat beside me, a hint of uncertainty in the timbre of his voice when he asked, “Are we sticking to the torture plan, or are you going to kill him?”
I cracked a smile but didn’t respond.
He moved his briefcase from one hand to the other. “Do you want my advice?”
“Not tonight, Arlo. Tonight, try not to be my lawyer, okay? Don’t start springing any of that legal advice shit on me.”
“Copied.”
We turned into a longer, quieter hallway. Pearly white walls were adorned with framed mountain view landscape photographs and reflective tiles.
Arlo nodded to me. “I got the feeds looped. The cameras are showing a repeating cycle of empty corridors. We’re ghosting the system. Paid one of my men on the inside to hack into the CCTV system and put the cameras into a permanent timeout. We’re clear.”
I returned a curt nod, acknowledging his efforts. He always did a good job dealing with technical challenges. “Great job, well done.”
He knew better than anyone else how I operated: Leave no evidence behind. In my opinion, only simple-minded fools made such costly mistakes. And I was neither.
No evidence meant no case—clean hands and freedom. I could walk around however I damned pleased without some insignificant speck on the earth lifting a finger in my direction.
We stopped at the door with a gold-plated242, and I knocked. There was no response. I knocked again. Still, no answer.
