by P. W. Davies
Victor and Evie exchanged a glance. “Are we excluding Mr. Harper from the proceedings?” he asked.
“Harper will come around if we get Jeffries,” Evie said with confidence. “I’ve been discovering that quite a few of Mr. Harper’s sound business decisions were gently cultivated by Mr. Jeffries. The first one I noticed related to the real estate work we did for Bechtel earlier this year. One of the memos mentioned it, from Mr. Jeffries, but I knew for a fact that Harper was the one who signed the deal. And our billables. It got me thinking and I found other instances of it.”
Nathan looked relieved. “Well, I’ll take that as a sign that things will be easier rather than harder. I was mostly counting on you two and your ability to persuade our client into the direction we want them to go.”
“And what direction is that?” Victor asked, eager to know what Nathan had in mind.
“Shaw has been beating around the bush about their own shipping interests at the docks. Seems that they wanted us to think it was manufacturing –” Nathan held up a hand when Victor swore out loud. “And they are grateful we found a way for them to keep everything, so it wasn’t wasted effort.”
“But it could have been effort better spent,” Victor mused, frowning. “Or, they’re grateful that we billed it to Bechtel and not to them.”
“Probably both,” Evie agreed. She glanced between the two of them. “Their shipping business is independent of their primary holdings. Shaw, I mean. How is Bechtel’s a conflict?”
A puzzle piece clicked into place and Victor’s eyes lit with the beginnings of understanding. “The port authority. Their permits conflict with Bechtel’s, at least until the end of the quarter.”
Nathan nodded and offered Victor a smile. “You’ve been doing some extra reading.”
“Luck of the draw,” Victor said earnestly. “Evie and I both threw ourselves into research last week, and I happened to be the one who got the port laws.”
“No need to share your triumphs, Victor,” Evie looked at him in exasperation. “Besides, it looks like my digging into drama has paid off just as much.”
“If you can get Jeffries and Madigan into a room by the end of the week, I’ll consider both of you even on the scoreboard,” Nathan said. “And Victor, I’m going to point out the only common denominator in all this competition around here is you.”
Victor’s eyebrows shot up. Nathan waved a hand in dismissal. “You and Samuel against each other where you want your due credit when you get one up on him. You and Evie together so everything is crisply above board and the competition is fair. I notice.”
“He’s not wrong, darling.” Evie leaned toward him and smirked. “Has your number.”
Nathan glanced between the two of them. Victor glowered at Evie in an exaggerated manner before smoothing his expression and turning to Nathan. The curiosity in the junior partner’s eyes caught him off guard, but he recovered quickly. “I look forward to bringing this one home.”
“Just not too quickly,” Nathan cautioned. He could tell Victor wanted to ask why and shook his head. “Things beyond my control. I just need you to trust me that next week is the earliest we’ll be closing.”
Nathan’s tone suggested that there wouldn’t be any more answers forthcoming. Plan in place, the trio exchanged a few more words but Nathan and Evie both left his office after they all wished each other luck.
Leaving Victor with the puzzle of why Nathan had insisted they couldn’t close earlier than next week. It wasn’t entirely strange, but it left Victor with an odd feeling. Like there was something else going on other than the acquisition.
Like the fact that Harper, Jeffries, and Madigan were all acting out of character.
And the fact that there is a PI nosing around.
That realization made Victor pause. His eyes unfocused from the paper he’d been reading, and his mind drifted down the line of thought, jumping from one conclusion to another.
A few minutes later, he knew he didn’t have enough information to put all the pieces together. He did know that he didn’t like what the pieces he had seemed to point towards. Victor lifted his phone and dialed Evie’s number. She answered on the third ring. “Sharon Madigan is not a person I want to keep waiting, so I need a favor.”
“Just please tell me it’s not more drama.”
“Should be nice and boring. You mentioned reading through memos. Do you have easy access to any paperwork the firm has signed on behalf of Bechtel industries?”
“Easy enough, if Caroline isn’t already occupied,” Evie said. Victor could imagine her frown on the end of the line. “Do I get to know what I’m looking for?”
“I’m testing a theory. You need to be my red team.”
“You and your puzzles. Lovely.”
Victor smirked. “I’ll let you meet Christian when you’re done.”
“Oh, ho. Incentives. But who’s to say I wasn’t planning to bargain for meeting Christian after I get Jeffries to agree to whatever Madigan wants?”
He wasn’t deterred. “Consider this a backup plan, then.”
“You’re doubting me?” Evie mimicked a tone of offense.
“Offering you an insurance policy,” he said. “I’m more afraid of Christian meeting you than you meeting Christian, to be honest.”
There was a noticeable silence. “Do be careful, Victor. You’re telling me more than you should again. Lucky for you I’m too busy to scold you. Cheers.”
He heard the other end disconnect, leaving him to wonder what she’d meant.
Whether he hadn’t understood it, or if his own mind was determined to not fully recognize the path his heart was on, Victor decided there were more pressing things in need of his mental faculties. Still, it didn’t entirely keep him from thinking about Christian for the rest of the afternoon.
Part of Victor knew Christian was giving him exactly what he needed right now. The fact that Victor didn’t have to be clever or creative, or work to earn recognition from Christian was a relief. It was the simple things that caught Christian’s attention and inspired him to show bits of himself to Victor. A look. A touch. A smile. And then there was the mystery, the hints of a roguish danger that clung to Christian’s skin that made Victor crave another taste.
Wanting to get back on task, Victor withdrew his phone to send one text before putting the whole topic out of mind for the rest of the day.
Would you be interested in coming to my condo tomorrow night for dinner?
His finger hovered over the ‘send’ button. This was an invitation to more than just drinks and a good time. If he sent this, Victor was inviting Christian into his life.
A thrill of daring ran up his spine.
Victor weighed. Considered. And decided to jump.
Now he just had a meeting with Sharon Madigan to prepare for.
Fourteen
He turned the lighter around twice in his hand, opening the lid and flicking it shut each time before surrendering to a sigh. The longer Christian stared at the picture of Matt Desai, the less he knew what to do to look further into the mysterious man. He didn’t connect to the mark in any clean or obvious manner, and while Desai could have a hundred different uses, Christian realized that was all theory. Nothing more. Grumbling at himself, he tossed the lighter onto his coffee table and stood to stretch his legs.
Be honest, he thought. Part of the problem is you’re thinking about Victor.
“Shut up,” he said, closing his eyes. Extending his arms to stretch, he let them fall to his sides and opened his eyes again, looking back at the computer. Yes, he was thinking about Victor, but that wasn’t the point. Yes, he came home with the memory of voluntarily going back to bed and, yes, if he had to be brutally honest, he wanted to pick up his mobile and ask when they could see each other again. “If you don’t focus on the job, you will not get the contract and so help me, nobody is going to prevent that from happening again.”
The minute the words had escaped his mouth, he winced against them. Pa
olo had never stopped him from doing anything, it was Christian who had weighed his jobs and argued some of them with his former boss. Frustration bubbled up within him, though, and a scream in the back of his mind preceded him walking to the laptop and slamming the lid shut. “Bloody website isn’t telling me shit,” he said. “It’s time to go out and get some air.”
Plucking his coat from the other end of the couch, he also pocketed his lighter and keys before walking to the door. Once he’d made his way outside, he pointed himself in the direction of the subway entrance, lighting a cigarette and starting an angry stroll away from the apartment building. Once more, he shut his eyes, this time briefly, and with a deep breath following. “Keystone Shipping,” he said. “How do they factor into this?”
Christian pulled his mobile out of his pocket and searched for the company website again. While the corporate office address matched where he’d followed Desai, a secondary address displayed the base of operations, closer to the docks in South Philly. Plugging the address into Google Maps, he searched for the best way to get there and nodded with conviction. Dealing with shady people had taught him at least one thing. If there was something illicit going on, you’d be able to tell within a few minutes of looking.
He flicked the half-finished cigarette away, taking the stairs to the platform while pocketing the mobile. Within a half hour, he reached the correct part of the city, though walking to the location itself took longer than he had anticipated. By the time he reached the strip of business offices, warehouses, and docks, Christian had taken off his coat and held it tucked in his arm while he approached.
A different building gave him a place to hide while he surveyed Keystone Shipping itself. Examining the back side of a dumpster intended for recyclables, Christian hid his jacket there and crouched low, his first scan looking for whatever camera security Keystone had set up. While that had been a part of his training nearly from the start, seeing the cameras themselves kicked the secondary training Paolo had provided into gear. Capturing you on camera isn’t the problem. It’s recognizing your face.
Christian frowned against the voice of his former lover and dismissed it before he could get distracted again. Taking a quick count of how many cameras there were, and studying the angles they pointed at, Christian then focused on the workers coming and going and examined what they wore. Hard hats and safety vests provided most of their uniform, most of them male and, thankfully, a few as thin as Christian. Looking at his phone, he verified that he’d be late for work, but decided against thinking too hard about that.
Pretending you knew what you were doing formed the basis of a successful ruse.
And so, like a chagrined warehouse worker, Christian kept his head low and walked up to the building. Focusing on the portion where he saw the most workers coming and going, Christian slipped into their midst, turning his head in one direction and then the next to avoid the camera angles. Once he’d found the equipment lockers, Christian walked for the first available hard hat and safety vest. Without hesitation, he put them on, and walked to the main portion of the warehouse.
Plucking a pair of gloves from where one of the workers had left them, Christian covered his hands and hefted up one of the boxes from a pile the others were working on dismantling. The walk gave him a chance to survey the area. Forklifts moved the larger crates and containers, and other equipment sat at the ready to move things into one of the boats. Most of the work taking place in the large area seemed to be staging things, and by the time he walked back to the pile, Christian had the general logic figured out.
Vans would pick up the boxes they were moving. Toward the middle, larger bays had been set up for the trucks which would be moving the crates. On the far end, however, some crates remained in storage and those held Christian’s interest the most. Transporting a second box, Christian walked it to the pile, but shifted to the side when a forklift passed, using the chance to disappear down one of the aisles and head toward the crates in storage.
The reduced foot traffic made him more nervous, and more beholden to make it look like he knew what he was doing. Keeping his head down, Christian continued deeper into the warehouse, turning down another aisle and pausing beside a row of crates. As a smaller group of workers walked past, the area immediately around him fell silent, providing one last moment where he could catch his breath. Crouching again, he removed the hard hat, using the crates to protect him both from the eyes of other workers and the cameras set up around the warehouse.
It only took a moment for him to find what he’d been looking for.
A group of men loitered around one of the collections of crates, dressed like the others, but doing nothing that resembled manual labor. While they could have been on break, Christian felt a tinge of recognition, peeling back one layer and looking at the situation with the eyes of experience. One turned and as he did, Christian saw the familiar lump of a gun, strapped to his leg and concealed underneath his jeans. The others had the same lump and one, still wearing a jacket, undoubtedly had other weaponry hidden. A quick glance at the stacks of crates they protected revealed nothing. Getting closer would be impossible, however. If they didn’t notice him, someone else in the warehouse would.
Putting on the hard hat again, Christian strode back toward the opposite end of the building, walking for the employee area once more. Hat, vest, and gloves came off, tossed into the open locker he’d first dove into, and as he smoothed back his hair, he navigated the camera-lined path again. Once he’d reached where he left his jacket, Christian sat on the ground and sighed, digging for the burner phone tucked in the inside pocket. Producing a cigarette as well, Christian dialed Roland’s number.
They exchanged code phrases. “I’m at Keystone Shipping,” Christian said, “and there are armed guards protecting a portion of the warehouse.”
“Shit,” Roland said. “That’s not a good sign.”
“No, it isn’t, though I can’t get any closer to confirm who owns the crates. Especially not in broad daylight. I could return at night, but I’ll need a thief to help me break in.”
“Why do you need a thief?”
Christian sighed, unable to help himself from thinking about Paolo. “Because they have a few extra tricks up their sleeve than I do. I could simply call it too dangerous to pursue if Jasper Ashcroft would prefer that, but if he wants to know what’s going on here, then I need another set of hands.” Imagining his former lover spurred an additional thought. “Please, though, if they could be female, I’d appreciate it.”
Roland laughed. “I thought those weren’t your type.”
“Everyone’s my type. That’s not why I’m making the request.”
“Fair enough. I’ll talk to Ashcroft and see what he wants us to do next. Curiosity might get the better of him, or he might want to know more. Either way, I’m sure there’s a female thief he can pair you up with.”
“It might interest him especially if this Desai bloke has ties to another syndicate.”
In the space between Christian’s statement and Roland’s response, Christian heard a heavy amount of resignation. “Fuck,” Roland said. “Yeah, it would, wouldn’t it?” Christian held back from answering the rhetorical question, giving Roland a chance to think.
“Okay,” he finally said, “I actually have a freelancer who would probably help you with the job. Better to get it done now and know what we’re telling Ashcroft. Meet them here at the bar, later tonight. Probably say around nine or ten?”
“I can do that.” Taking his usual mobile out of his jeans pocket, he saw a notification flash up on the screen, loading the preview on the screen while also checking the time. It was two in the afternoon now. And Victor had been having the same thought Christian did before he left the house.
“Goddamn it,” Christian murmured before he could stop himself.
“Something wrong?” Roland asked.
“No, it’s… nothing work-related.” Ignoring the text message, he pocketed the phone again. “Alright
, I’ll be at the bar come nine o’clock. We can set out whenever she gets there.”
“I’ll let her know.” A pause preceded Roland hanging up, and while Christian had heard the temptation to lecture him, he was grateful that Roland decided against it. After turning off the burner phone, Christian walked back for where he could catch public transit. He waited until he reached the subway to take out the mobile and this time, he took an additional moment to read Victor’s message.
Would you be interested in coming to my condo tomorrow night for dinner? it said. Christian felt his stomach tie in knots. Swallowing back a flurry of nerves, he stared at the message, rereading it several times before starting to type out his response.
I don’t know if… Christian paused. Deleting that, he swore at himself and started again. Settling on, What would you like for me to bring, Christian pocketed the phone, grumbling at himself for giving in too easy. For some reason, fighting it made him feel better. Victor would banter back to him, he’d do the same, and before he knew it, Christian would be asking for a time and address. It was inevitable.
Throughout the entirety of his trip back to the flat, he mused his surrender and what it meant. Tap-dancing on the edge had failed to sate him; Christian needed to walk over the line and explore what lay on the other side. He’s not Paolo, Christian thought, which both comforted and unnerved him. That meant Victor wouldn’t know the same people and be immersed in the same world. That also meant, however, that Victor wouldn’t understand it either.
He doesn’t ever have to know, Christian told himself, but even that rang hollow. Keeping something like his line of work from Victor would be impossible for the long term. When the rest of the evening became rehearsals of what he might say, and how he would explain it, he welcomed the change of pace that work presented to him; the simplicity of preparing for a night spent on the edge of a different kind of danger. It renewed his commitment to the goals he had for himself.