Hunter: Perfect Revenge (Perfectly Book 3)

by Alice May Ball

  Agostini’s lips pressed together. Princess watched Marley’s finger tremble as Agostini told him, “One chance, one number. Just tell me your number, straight out.”

  Marley’s lips thinned. He watched Pierce for a while before he lifted his head and said, “Okay. That other suit offered me two point five million—” Before Marley finished his sentence, Agostini let his shot glass drop quietly onto the bar top.

  Agostini pressed his lips together and blinked slowly as he drew a long breath through his nose. He shook his head sadly. “You disappoint me, Marley.”

  Calhoun and Callaghan shifted on their feet. Like they were reminding Marley they were still there.

  Too quickly, Marley said, “One point five. Give me one point five million, and I’ll sign your deal.”

  Agostini lifted the briefcase onto the bar top. His voice was soft and a little sad. “Now that is the exact figure I had in mind, Marley.” He snapped the catches on the case. A smile pulled at Marley’s cheeks. Agostini said, “Shame we couldn’t have gotten there another way.”

  From the case, Agostini took out a four-page contract and a fountain pen. He had Marley sign in four places. Then Pierce told Princess to sign and date as a witness.

  Beneath where she signed, it said, In the presence of an attorney. Pierce held the pen out and Callaghan stepped over to add his signature and the date. Princess looked up into his dark glasses as he handed the fountain pen back to Pierce and returned to his position by the door.

  Marley said, “I get to keep the bar. To carry on running it, right? In perpetuity, right?”

  “Right up until your demise, Marley. It’s yours till death.”

  “Then the rights go to my appointed heir. Right?”

  “No, Marley. At that sad time, the rights, the bar, and all of its fixtures and fittings revert immediately to the Cayman Boundless Frontier Hurricane Trust.”

  “That’s not what the other guy said.”

  “Should always read what you’re signing, Marley. Though, for what difference it makes, I’m pretty sure you’re lying. Here’s the money.” Pierce opened the briefcase and turned it toward Marley. His eyes widened at the neat piles of green bills. He reached for the case.

  “Ah!” Pierce snapped. “The case is mine. You take the money and put it in your safe.”

  Marley’s voice was low and shaky. “What makes you think I got a safe here?”

  “What makes you think there’s anything I don’t know about a man I’m going to make a deal with, Marley? A deal that size.” Marley’s eyes gleamed as he stared into the case.

  “When you came all this way from Pallton, it wasn’t the prime location for your salubrious roadhouse that made you come running, was it? That wasn’t what propelled you all this way.”

  Marley gathered the money out of the case. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. We about done here now?”

  “Back in Pallton, there were some questions you didn’t get around to answering.”

  Marley hesitated a while and Princess thought he didn’t want to turn his back. He shuffled quickly into the back office. Agostini lifted a finger and Calhoun went in after the old man.

  “Make sure he gets it stashed away safely.” Agostini called after him. “Wouldn’t want any unfortunate accidents.”

  When Calhoun returned, Agostini asked him, “How’s the safe?”

  “It’s a Liberty Fireproof.” Then he nodded. “It’ll hold.”

  “Cool.” Pierce sipped his whiskey and his face twisted. “Damn. That shit is awful.”

  Marley loomed back into the doorway of the office. His rheumy eyes burned with resentment and defiance.

  Pierce closed the case. “Tell us a little more about Pallton, Marley. What was it put you in such a hurry to leave, what made you come in such a rush that this—what did you call it, this ‘blasted land’?—was better than whatever was behind you?”

  Marley said, “I’m closing the bar now. You’re all going to have to leave.”

  “Remember little Jamie Orins? He was from Pallton, wasn’t he?” Marley rushed toward the bar and reached underneath it. He was in too much of a hurry, though, and he fumbled.

  Pierce said, “And Carol Anne Sweet. Remember her?” Marley’s lips pulled back over his gritted teeth. From under the bar he pulled out a short, fat, black double-barreled gun. Princess shrieked and jumped back.

  Like there was all the time in the world, Agostini moved in front of her, between her and the old man. Slowly, as if he were picking a flower, Agostini raised a pistol.

  Marley racked the gun. Agostini’s hand lifted as he squeezed. A tongue of pale fire spat and lit the drab room for an instant as the bang slapped her ears.

  A mark like a poppy appeared in the center of Marley’s forehead. The red petals spread out from the ugly black blot in the middle.

  His eyes froze in a questioning look and they dulled as he fell, straight forward, like a plank of wood. As he went down, his head cracked on the side of the bar.

  In the car, all four were silent. A thick pall of black smoke rose behind them, straight up to the heavens. Marley’s Roadhouse and Grill crackled and sputtered as it burned.

  After a couple of miles and some fresher air, still trembling, Princess said, “Are you really an attorney, Callaghan?” Her voice shook and she shivered like she was in an arctic wind.

  “Wouldn’t be legal if I weren’t, Miss.” She saw Agostini looking at her. Could the look in his eye have been one of real concern? There was no way she could know for sure.

  She said, “I thought if you shot a man, especially from a close range, he’d be knocked backwards.” She wished she could have fetched up another topic but she wanted to talk a little and it didn’t matter about what.

  “Like in the movies?” Agostini said softly. “Looks good on screen, all that kind of thing. Very dramatic.” He was looking at her and it seemed like there was kindness in his eyes.

  “In real life,” he told her, “if you fired a gunshot and it did that, it would knock you back with about the same force.”

  After that, Princess kept her position, curled up in the far corner of the car, throughout the long drive. Agostini thought it best to leave her some time to get over that meeting.

  She seemed to be coping well, though. This strange girl had reserves of strength on the inside, probably more than she knew.

  He hadn’t planned for it to end as brutally as it had, but there had always been a risk. When Marley reached for the shotgun, he solved a big problem for Pierce.

  Every fiber of him had wanted to kill the bastard, but he hadn’t expected Marley to provide him such a tidy justification as to pull a weapon.

  After a long drive, Callaghan swung the car into the big lot, crowded with pickups and oversized SUVs. It was by the side of a low, wide metal barn.

  Through the gaping side of the barn, he saw the mass of people that milled around inside. When Callaghan opened the car door for her and she stepped out, Princess’ shoes were unsteady on the wet shale.

  They crunched across the lot and toward the yawning darkness inside. Pierce told her, “This will be an experience for you.” By the slump of her shoulders and her closed face, he knew she would rather wait in the car.

  He slipped an arm onto her shoulder and squeezed. She blinked and her lips tightened. When she quickly looked up at him, unfamiliar feelings stirred in his chest. Gently, he took her hand, and she drew a breath, then nodded and squeezed his hand back.

  He should have just fucked her when he got her back to the apartment. Got it out of the way. Once and never again. Fucking the hostage could bring complications, though. But just the thought stirred some tender longing, like an old, unfamiliar part of himself, deep inside of him.

  Farm odors greeted them at the barn door and they got warmer as they stepped in out of the sun. Callaghan and Calhoun flanked Agostini and Princess as they walked over the sawdust in the hot, noisy shade. The tin barn echoed with men’s voices, some cattle mooi
ng and the sounds of movement.

  Ruddy and rugged men bustled in the big tin hut. Country men mostly, hard-working toilers of land and stock. Some dealers, too. Some of the outdoor coats and plaid wool shirts were well-cut from fine cloth.

  Men in blue jeans herded around a pen where cattle were led around. Behind the pen, a crowd faced a stage. A stammering stream of babble like one-note, high-speed preaching came from the animated man and he waved his gangly arms behind a lectern on the stage.

  He had on a gray suit and a white shirt, with a mustache and a cowboy hat. He called out and gestured with a black gavel.

  On the lectern was a big book, and the man’s calls were in a crackling rapid-fire. As he gabbled, he pointed to men in the crowd, who would nod or shake their heads or raise a hand.

  Pierce judged that the men who were the most experienced made the least movement. By the side of the auctioneer was an easel where a blown up photo showed a fine looking herd of horses.

  He brought the hammer down with a bang. When he said, “Sold. Two-twenty-nine to Mr. Clarke over there.” Princess looked up and peered around for the buyer. Pierce watched her register the older man pressing a smile between his lips.

  The auctioneer pointed with the gavel to the smiling man and dispatched an assistant as he slowly turned over the next big page of the book. When he looked up and spoke, it was with an easy drawl, in a normal voice. It was like he was another man completely.

  “Before I call the next lot, ladies and gentlemen, I have to remind you, or tell you if you didn’t know it before, the Marchmade farm sale has been held over—that’s lots two-thirty-one to three-five-five. The Marchmade farm sale is held over. We’re expecting it to be listed on the first sale next month and that listing will be out on Monday, but keep an eye on the website and watch your catalogs.”

  He repeated all of that, then announced the coming lot as a collection of farm buildings with equipment and a number of acres of plot. The photo on the easel was replaced. Pierce Agostini was engrossed in conversation with Callaghan.

  The electricity rose in the air, along with the warm, ripe smells. Excitement made the air thrum. There were codes and signs that insiders would know instinctively, that would be unreadable to outsiders, like a set of manners, not so very different from the car auctions and property sales that Pierce had attended in the city and New Jersey.

  The barn stirred as the next lot came up. Hums of pleasure greeted the picture on the easel, and Pierce smiled at the massive yellow combine harvester with eight wheels on the front and caterpillar tracks at the back.

  Some grunts and chuckles and a buzz of enthusiasm went around the barn. Agostini didn’t share the love of heavy farm equipment, but he understood it and enjoyed it. Big boys’ toys.

  At the end of a fierce run of bids, the hammer came down to a burst of applause. Men smiled and nodded to each other and the harvester sold for one point six million dollars.

  When bidding started on the next lot, Princess jolted by his side. She must have thought that the auctioneer was nodding at her until she realized that his hammer was pointed at Agostini.

  She looked from Pierce to the auctioneer on the stand. The picture on the easel was of some nondescript meadows. Fairly flat fields, marked off with hedges, fences and stone walls. It could have been any of the places they had passed on the way.

  The caller’s chin lifted as he waited with his eyes on Pierce. Pierce dipped his head very slightly and the auctioneer nodded back. There was a formal courtesy in his nod. The bidding rose.

  As far as she could see, two other bidders were against him. A tall man, far off to the left wore a scarf in Burberry colors, knotted around his throat. The other was someone at the back who she couldn’t see.

  Agostini occasionally tilted his head to speak quietly to Calhoun, but he kept his attention firm on the auctioneer. The caller pointed his black gavel from Agostini to the man with the scarf, then to the other, way at the back.

  His chant rose in pitch and it got faster. As far as Princess could make out, the bids went from eight hundred to a thousand, through twelve, fourteen hundred, and up to eighteen. He pointed at Agostini for two thousand.

  After a moment, Agostini nodded, his lips pressed tight together. The caller pointed to the back of the room and waited before he turned to the other party.

  “Twenty-two?” the caller said, then he nodded and looked to the back of the room before he came back to Agostini. “Twenty-four, do I hear twenty-four? Who’ll gimme twenty-four now, twenty-four, twenty-four, am I gonna let it go now?”

  There was a pause. “It’s with you, sir, twenty-four now, will you gimme twenty-four?” And the call rolled on like a song, urging him, pressing him. He clenched his teeth and stood still.

  Agostini kept eye contact with the man as he murmured something to Calhoun. Calhoun turned to look at the back of the room, then he looked back at Agostini and shook his head.

  The auctioneer raised his bushy eyebrows in encouragement and jabbed the gavel at Agostini. Agostini turned his head once.

  The gavel smacked down. “Sold at twenty-two.” And the hammer pointed at the man to the far left. He spoke to a young assistant. “Carson, would you be kind and get the fine gentleman’s particulars, please?”

  Calhoun and Callaghan walked on either side of them back to the car. Pierce Agostini stayed quiet all the way and paid little attention to the others.

  Princess felt isolated, excluded from the silent tension in the group as Callaghan started the car. He chewed his top lip as he looked around to back out of the parking space.

  She looked up at Agostini, wanting to offer him sympathy or consolation. But why? She barely knew what had happened, and why should she want to comfort the brute, anyway?

  The car shook as three angular, matte black SUVs swept past them onto the lot. They kicked up a mist of dust and the doors began to open before the cars had come to a complete stop. Half a dozen men in shades and black leather jackets spilled out, looking right and left.

  They clustered around the middle vehicle, where a blond man dressed in white stepped out. Pierce tapped Callaghan on the shoulder to stop, then he wound down his window and shouted, “Hey, Yvgeny!”

  The group stopped as the blond man swung around. Pierce said, “Thinking of buying up some farm machinery?” The blond man’s watery gray eyes narrowed and he came near to the car. He had pale, almost white skin, and his dark red lips were tight and drawn thin between his teeth.

  Agostini told him, “The whole of Marchmade farm was pulled from the sale at the last minute. Re-listed for next month.” Agostini’s head shook. “Would have been some of the biggest lots of the day.”

  Yvgeny’s jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. Agostini went on, “Meant the auction ran about an hour earlier than anyone expected.”

  The blond man’s eyes blazed and he dispatched two of the black leather jackets into the barn to check. They ran all the way.

  Pierce smiled and said, “Looks like you might have had a wasted trip. Still, the countryside is beautiful out here. Ain’t it grand to get some clean air, get away from all the noise and pollution and corruption?”

  The two henchmen came back, still running. Yvgeny kept his eyes on Pierce when they reached him. There was murder in his eyes as they spoke to him in Russian, shaking their heads.

  The blond man’s eyes hardened and then swung to Princess. Her heart thumped as he looked her over, slowly chewing his lip. Then his eyes slid back to Pierce. “Are you afraid of me, Mr. Agostini?”