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“I didn’t fuck her.” I lied.
“You mean yet?” he asks, but I don’t answer.
“I mean, I’ve seen you insert yourself in people’s lives before, but not in a way where they can actually remember your face. Don’t you think that’ll be a big problem months from now when she’s supposed to go missing?”
“I was just making sure that she got home safe.”
“And her home is in the Four Seasons? In the penthouse suite?”
“It is tonight.”
“Right.” He rolls his eyes. “I told you that you didn’t need to do this job. I could’ve had someone else do it. Hell, I could’ve done it.”
“You’re a glorified bookkeeper. I’m the best at this for a reason.”
“Even champions can have an off-year.” He lights a Cuban cigar. “Anyway, the clients want to know how much you’ll charge to change this to a C-23 job.”
“I’m not interested in anything extra for this,” I say. “Your guys said they wanted her missing in six months and safely returned in thirty days after a media blitz. That’s all they’re getting from me.”
“Well, they’ve had a change of heart.” He pulls out an envelope. “They’re also offering a significant change in fees, too.”
“Please tell me you’re not walking around the streets of this city with a fucking envelope of hit-money.”
“I know better than that.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s the bank codes and the pending amounts. To be paid out the moment she’s gone and you can confirm she’ll never return, and her body will never be found.”
Curious, I take the envelope from his hands and open it. Everything I need to know is printed in black, pure facts and numbers. Switzerland Holdings Bank. The most I’ve ever been paid for any single job, more than the last five combined.
I tap my fingers against the paper, wanting to weigh the pros and cons of giving these people what they want, but it feels different this time. Wrong.
Granted, I’ve never been a fan of any person who grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, but unless Meredith Alexis Thatchwood was some type of undercover criminal and she’d fooled me with her daily routine somehow, I didn’t see how she could be the kind worth killing.
Her taste is still on my lips, and I know I won’t be able to stop replaying the past few hours in my mind for a while. There’s something there between us, something I’ve never felt before, and a part of me wants a little more. I also know, without a doubt, that for the first time since we started this hell-ish, underground service, that I’ll struggle with a job. Especially if she’s involved.
Leaning back in my seat, I think long and hard about why she would ever deserve to be murdered—who she possibly could’ve hurt to make them seek out our private firm, but I can’t think of anything.
Usually, there’s no contact between me and the actual client. No explanations, either. They asked one of the underlings or associates for a job, and those words slowly made it up the chain. The less people who needed to interact, and the less facts I knew about who was involved, the better.
“That number makes you want to reconsider, huh?” Trevor puffs an ‘O’ and cracks his window. “I’ve done all of my due diligence, by the way. They have the money, and they have a lot to lose if this ever gets out, which protects us as well. I told them that there’s nothing to worry about.” He pats my shoulder. “I told them that they’re dealing with the best.”
I shake my head. I can’t resist getting the background story this time. “Who the hell are the clients who want this done? Do they even know Meredith, or is this some scorned lover, former friend type shit?”
“They more than know her,” he says, blowing another “O” before turning to face me. “Well, ‘he,’ anyway. He’s her father.”
—
END OF EPISODE #1
