Page 34 of Shai

Friend! It was all I could do to hold back a snort. We were about as far from friends as it was possible to be. I checked my watch. Five minutes to go until the scheduled meeting time. I’d thought it wise to arrive early, wanting to scope out the place first and make sure that there wasn’t going to be any nasty surprises coming my way.

I stared at a stain on the wall as the minutes ticked by slowly. The place was making me feel dirty. My phone barely got through its first ring before I snatched it up, Taylor not wasting any time on niceties. “Large black Bentley coming this way.”

I nodded, even though Taylor couldn’t see me. “At least he’s punctual. I

knew I’d find a good attribute if I looked hard enough.”

Taylor gave a chuckle. “Still want us to maintain the same position?”

“Yes, and if anyone except him gets out of that car, move in

immediately.”

“Will do.”

The line went dead. I turned my head toward the window, the car Taylor

had described drawing up to the curb in less than a minute. For a while, it just sat there, its tinted windows making it impossible to see any signs of life. The back door finally opened, McIntyre heaving his considerable bulk out of it and onto the pavement. He’d put on even more weight. At this rate, I might not need to do anything apart from wait for a heart attack to sneak up on him when he least expected it. Except men like McIntyre always seemed to be the exception to the rule. He’d probably grow to the size of a house and still be standing.

McIntyre’s progress to the door was slow. Once he’d reached it, he

paused to peer through the window, his gaze skating over the rows of empty tables. They hadn’t been empty when I’d arrived, but the café’s customers seemed to have been seized by the sudden desire to eat elsewhere, some of them abandoning their meals midway through.

Seeing no immediate threat, McIntyre shouldered the door open, his

steps bringing him over to the table. I stood, our gazes locked on each other. He came to a halt a meter away. “Show me.”

I lifted both sides of my jacket to reveal the lack of a shoulder holster,

waiting until he’d done the same, before turning around to show him that there was nothing strapped to my back. He copied the movement before taking the seat opposite, the two of us staring intently at each other across the table.

Up close, McIntyre was nothing to write home about. His thin lips

twisted as I studied him, taking in everything from his multiple chins to the pudgy fists resting on the table. Fists that had no doubt pummeled Elijah numerous times. How many of the bruises he’d borne when I’d first set eyes on him had been wrought by the hands less than a meter away from me?

McIntyre lifted one hand in a silent command to the waitress. She hurried over, her speed at complete odds with her expression that said she’d rather be anywhere else in the world at that moment. He clicked his fingers at the menu without bothering to pick it up. “Bring me one of everything.”

Her throat worked overtime as she swallowed. “Everything? I don’t think…”

McIntyre narrowed his eyes, a sneer appearing on his lips. “I didn’t ask you to think.” He raked his gaze down her body, lingering for a moment on her heaving bosom, the uniform not managing to keep it under control. “If it’s a problem, maybe you want to give me something else instead.”

She stumbled backwards, a chair toppling over and crashing to the floor. “No, sir. I’ll give the chef your order.” She turned tail and ran, reaching the kitchen in mere seconds. McIntyre’s laugh in response to her haste was akin to nails being scraped down a chalkboard.

I shifted my chair back, adopting the most indolent pose I could, a pose that said he might be able to intimidate a waitress but it wasn’t going to work on me. It wouldn’t. I’d already had McIntyre’s measure long before I’d stolen half a city out from under his nose.

McIntyre’s beady eyes fastened back on me, taking in the empty table in front of me. “Not eating?”

“Here?” I raked the place with a disparaging glance. “Not likely.”

McIntyre’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Suit yourself.”

“Oh, I generally do. I thought you knew that about me.”

A muscle twitched in McIntyre’s cheek, and I had to fight the urge to smile at the display of irritation he hadn’t been able to hide. The waitress was back in no time at all, depositing a huge plate of pancakes in front of McIntyre, syrup oozing over the sides. He wasted no time in digging in, forkful after forkful lifted to his mouth like a well-oiled machine. It was lucky I didn’t have to hide my distaste because I wasn’t sure it was a feat I could have accomplished. It was like watching a pig at its trough. He’d barely started on the pancakes before the waitress returned with another plate, this one piled high with everything from sausages to black pudding, McIntyre sparing her a grunt as she squeezed it onto the table.

Only when the pancakes were almost gone did McIntyre lift his head, syrup glistening on his lips. “Fifty million.”

I tapped my fingers on the table. “For what?”