Page 26 of Lorenzo

This time, the hint of a smile reaches his eyes.

I take another drink of coffee, buying myself a second to study him.

He is handsome in a way that has probably served him well. Strong face. Dark eyes. A few lines at the corners that make him look experienced rather than tired. There is something easy in his posture, but it does not fool me. He is paying attention to everything.

People who are truly relaxed do not catalog exits when they walk into a room. Or lack of exits, as it may be.

His gaze flicks briefly toward the back room, then to the window and the street beyond it.

I notice because I do the same thing.

“You have a name?” I ask.

“Lorenzo Conti.”

I know the name.

I do not let that show on my face.

Mocha glances back at me, waiting.

I rest one hand against the side of his neck.

“And what does Lorenzo Conti need from a private investigator who is not technically open?”

His eyes settle on mine.

“Discretion.”

“That usually costs extra.”

“I assumed it would.”

He reaches inside his jacket.

Mocha stiffens.

Lorenzo draws out a business card between two fingers.

He places it on the edge of my desk instead of offering it directly.

I lean forward and pick up the card.

It gives me his name and Conti Enterprises beneath it. No title. Men who leave their titles off business cards usually believe people already know who they are.

I set it back down.

“How did you find me?” I ask.

“I was given your name.”

“By whom?”

“Someone who believes you can help me.”

“Flattering.” I purse my lips. “Vague.”

“Julian Mercer,” he says simply.