by I. T. Lucas
"It's what I keep telling myself, but that too is getting old."
Kian raked his fingers through his hair, looking as frustrated as Roni felt. "How many pushups could you do before the pneumonia?"
"Twenty-five."
"How many can you do now?"
Roni closed one eye as he grimaced. "I didn't try, but probably no more than two."
"That's what I thought. I'll make a deal with you. You get back to twenty-five pushups, and I'll induce your transition myself. Bridget says my venom is the most potent since I'm a direct descendant of the goddess."
Wow, that was unexpected. "Thank you. I'm honored, really, I'm not just saying it to sound polite or anything."
Kian chuckled. "I know. You and I have this in common—a dirty mouth and little patience for niceties. Maybe that's why I like you."
Another surprise. "I thought you couldn't stand me."
"Why would you think that?"
Roni shrugged. "It's not as if you were overly friendly with me. You treated me like a nuisance."
"I treat everyone like that. I'm short-tempered and rude. Just ask my sisters, and they will confirm."
Interesting, so his wife had no problem with his cussing and his rudeness. Sylvia didn't mind either. They were both lucky to have such forgiving mates.
Apparently, Kian was a kindred spirit. Who would have guessed?
"I assume you didn't trudge all the way here to inquire about my health. What can I do for you, boss?"
"What I need from you is not a quick fix, but I don't want you to overexert yourself. Treat it as a side project and take your time with it."
"What is it?"
"I need you to find out all you can about human trafficking, and by that, I mean the sex slave market. I prefer to call things the way they are. But the information I want you to find will be called human trafficking. A fucking euphemism for a despicable evil that is allowed to spread and form a spider web large enough to envelop our world."
Kian must've riled himself up because his fangs were starting to peek over his lower lip.
"Dude." Roni pointed at them. "Calm down, you're scaring me with those."
He rubbed his neck where Brundar had bitten him. "By the way, according to that induction ceremony, I'm under the assassin's protection. Wouldn't it hurt his feelings if you take his place? I really don't want to get on that guy's bad side. I'm sure there is no one there because they are all dead."
Kian smiled, his fangs receding so fast they were almost back to normal. "Brundar is not an assassin. What gave you that impression?"
"Duh, the guy is lethal. Even a soft civilian like me feels it."
"He is a warrior and a defender, and in those capacities he is lethal. But I assure you I never sent out any of my Guardians to assassinate anyone."
"Why not? I can think of a few cases when an assassination could've saved a lot of lives. No offense to your leadership abilities, but if I were you, I would have definitely sent people to take out a few fuckers and make the world a safer place for the good people."
"None taken. You're a smart guy, Roni, I'll let you figure it out on your own. In the meantime, though, collect information for me. Organize it as best you can and then email it to Shai. He will make a condensed version for me."
"Yes, boss."
With a mock stern look, Kian waggled a finger at him. "You're not allowed to work more than eight hours a day. Am I clear?"
"Yes, boss."
Kian cocked a brow. "Don't think for a moment that I'm not going to check. One of the basic tenets of good leadership is not to expect, but to inspect."
"Noted." Roni saluted Kian as the guy turned and strode out.
The question was how the hell was he supposed to finish all the jobs everyone was dropping on his desk in a forty-hour week?
With Roni handling all the hacking and information gathering assignments, William was free to dedicate all his time to software development and improvement, which was exactly how it should be. Each one was doing what he was best qualified for. To ask William to assist him would be counterproductive.
Roni sighed and leaned back in his chair. He would need to prioritize, and some people would have to wait longer than others. But with everyone claiming theirs was the most pressing job, he was going to make some people unhappy.
"Hi, handsome." Sylvia snuck up behind him and kissed his forehead. "Are you ready to call it a day? I met Kian outside, and he appointed me in charge of your schedule. No more than eight hours a day."
"Right. I don't know how I'm supposed to manage all the things everyone wants me to and do it in less time. I'm good but not that good."
She came around and sat on his lap. "Can I help?'
He was about to tell her no but then changed his mind. Some of the research Kian wanted could be done by anyone. Roni would hack into the government database, which no doubt contained a lot of information on the subject, while Sylvia researched what was available on the net.
"You can. How do you feel about working here by my side?"
She smiled happily. "I would love to. What do you need me to do?"
"Kian asked me to research human trafficking. You can check out what's available on the net."
"No problem. When do I start?"
"How about tomorrow?"
"What time do you need me?"
He wrapped his arms around her. "I need you all of the time. I want you to stay the night, then wake up with me in the morning and eat breakfast, then come down here to work with me. We could be spending entire days together."
"Sounds lovely."
"I don't know about lovely. This slavery thing is a damn depressing subject. I need you for moral support too."
"We will cheer each other up."
"So, can you stay the night?"
She squirmed in his lap. "I can stay until the early morning hours and then go home to shower and change."
Roni let his head drop back. "How long are we going to drag it out? You need to introduce me to your mother. And since I can't leave the keep, you'll need to invite her to my place."
"You're right, but I'm chicken."
"What are you afraid of?"
"Of her having an emotional meltdown. You don't know how hard it is to live through those when you care about the person experiencing them. She is not doing it on purpose. She is just fragile."
"She needs to get out of the house."
"Didn't I tell you? She started working for Jackson."
"In the café?"
"That's great."
"Yeah. I think so too. She seems much more upbeat. I don't want to send her into a downward spiral just when she is getting better. Give me a little more time."
Roni closed his eyes. He wasn't a patient guy. But Sylvia was doing her best, and it wasn't fair to put more pressure on her.
"You'll have to make it up to me for being such an understating and patient boyfriend."
Sylvia waggled her brows. "Let's go up to your apartment and I will."
Chapter 37: Turner
Turner's phone, the one dedicated to calls from clients, pinged with a new voicemail message.
The calls didn't go straight to this phone, going to a mailbox instead, which then sent him a notification that he had a message waiting.
He always explained the system to new clients to prevent future complaints about why he couldn't be reached on the phone without them having to leave a message first.
The standard explanation was that he was often on missions and couldn't accept calls, which was the truth but not entirely.
The system he'd devised ensured that his location couldn't be traced using the connection. In addition, the calls were recorded to prevent future disputes and misunderstandings.
Turner dialed into his voicemail and listened to the recording.
"Hello, Turner. This is Arturo. I'm in Los Angeles and I have my idiot nephew with me. I want to invite you to dinner and have him thank you in person for saving his worthless life. Me
et us at seven at La Gracia. If you can't make it, you know where to leave a message."
Damn it. He could do without a thank-you from Arturo's sniveling nephew, and he could definitely do without dinner at a restaurant for the very rich. What he couldn't do without, was seeing Bridget.
Yesterday, he'd had an emergency mission to plan, and it had taken him until the small hours of the night to finish. He'd pushed through the fatigue, mental and physical, to clear the evening for Bridget. Dimly, he was aware that she was becoming an addiction. Twenty-four hours without her felt more like twenty-four days.
He didn't have a choice, though. Sandoval was too important of a client to refuse an invitation to dinner from.
Using his personal phone, he dialed Bridget's number.
"Victor. What's up?" she asked in her no-nonsense, get to the point tone.
"I can't make it over this evening. An important client, whom I cannot brush off, called and asked me to join him for dinner at La Gracia."
"Fancy. Come after you're done with him. I have a surprise for you."
"What is it?"
"If I tell you, it wouldn't be a surprise."
"Give me a hint. You know how I am with mysteries."
"Like a dog with a bone. Fine, I'll tell you so you don't obsess over it all during your dinner. I got the entire Chariots of the Gods series. We can watch a couple of episodes."
Turner cupped his hand over the phone. "Sounds like a plan. But I have different ideas for the first part of tonight's entertainment."
She chuckled. "Me too. Try to finish as early as you can."
"I'll do my best."
Ten minutes to seven, clad in one of his better suits, Turner pulled up to the valet, stepped out and tossed the guy the keys to his rented Lexus, an upgrade from his usual more modest transport. The Tesla was only for private use.
"The name on your reservation, sir?" the hostess asked.
"I'm meeting Mr. Arturo Sandoval."
The girl checked her screen and smiled. "Yes, table for three. Mr. Sandoval is not here yet."
It struck Turner as odd that Sandoval had reserved a table for three. The man never traveled anywhere without a cadre of bodyguards. Then again, the guy had probably reserved a separate one for his goons.
She grabbed a menu. "Can I offer you a drink while you wait?"
"I'll have a bottle of sparkling water, whatever brand you have is fine."
"Of course." She pulled out a chair for him.
"Thank you."
It always made Turner uncomfortable to have a woman pull out a chair for him. He wasn't old-fashioned, and he wasn't a chauvinist either, but it just felt wrong.
A waiter arrived with a bottle of some Italian sparkling water Turner hadn't had before, popped the cork as if it was a champagne bottle and poured it into Turner's glass.
"Would you like some bread while you wait, sir?"
"No, thank you."
The guy bowed. "Enjoy your dinner, sir."
In a place like that, the waiter pouring the drinks was not the one taking the order, and the one taking the order wasn't the one to serve the meal. There was a hierarchy of servers to justify the outrageous prices.
Turner wished the evening was over already. Between tolerating Sandoval's overinflated ego and the pompous servers, he would be pulling out hairs he didn't have.
Fifteen minutes later, the waiter in charge of the pouring stopped by his table and refilled his glass. When another fifteen minutes had passed, Turner started to lose his patience. He'd expected Arturo to be late, but this was bordering on rude.
After ten more minutes, Turner pulled out his phone, which he'd put on silent mode before entering the restaurant, and checked his messages.
There was one from Sandoval.
"Turner, mi amigo, I apologize but something came up, and I can't make it to dinner. Please, stay and enjoy yourself. It's paid for. Again, my sincere apologies."
Turner removed the napkin from his lap, got up, and threw it on the table. Then pulled out his wallet and put forty dollars on top of the napkin. Sandoval could shove his dinner where the sun didn't shine. Turner's time was more valuable than the damned dinner.
The good news was that he could head straight for Bridget's.
"Is anything wrong, sir?" The hostess rushed to intercept him.
"Not at all. My dinner companion had an emergency and couldn't make it."
"I'm so sorry to hear that."
He nodded and strode outside, not giving the girl a chance to try to lure him back inside.
As he handed the valet his ticket, Turner debated whether to call Bridget and tell her that he was coming early, or surprise her. He didn't like surprises, but that didn't mean Bridget didn't like them either.
Except, the guard downstairs was going to call her and let her know Turner was there to see her. It wouldn't be much of a surprise even if he didn't call. A good alert system. She would have enough advance notice to brush her hair and do whatever else women did to get ready.
As a car pulled up into the valet station, the three men in business suits who got out were talking loudly about some stock taking a nosedive and its chances of recuperating. Turner moved a few feet away to put some distance between himself and the noisy bunch. The men must have had a few drinks already because they sounded nothing like their expensive suits suggested they should.
But then this was the USA, where anyone could make it no matter how humble his or her origins. Same as Turner, these men might have grown up in tough neighborhoods.
As his car pulled up to the curb, Turner reached for his wallet, fishing for a five-dollar bill while waiting for the valet to get out. One of the guys stumbled unto him, his bulk pushing Turner against the car. As he lost his footing, the wallet tumbled down to the pavement.
"Sorry about that." The man tried to steady Turner by grabbing onto his shoulders, while his friend bent down to pick up the wallet.
"Let me," the third one said and opened the rear passenger door.
Alarm bells going off, Turner prepared to punch one and kick the other, when the third plunged a knife into his back.
"What's going on?" he heard someone say.
"Our buddy here had too much to drink," one of the men said while his friend helped Turner into the back seat.
"This is for Xavier," he whispered into Turner's ear before closing the door.
Who the hell was Xavier? he thought as the car peeled away with a screech of tires.
With the knife still embedded in his back, Turner ignored the excruciating pain and lunged forward to grab the driver by the neck, but the guy anticipated his move and jerked the wheel, hitting the brakes at the same time.
As Turner's body was rammed against the back seat, the knife got pushed an inch deeper.
Turner blacked out.
The car door slamming shut jolted him awake. A moment later he heard another car door open and shut, and then the screech of wheels as the vehicle peeled away.
That he was still alive surprised him.
He wasn't afraid of dying. In a way, it was a relief. No more worrying about the cancer looming over him, and no more dreading the chemotherapy his doctor had suggested.
It was game over.
The only thing he regretted, was not having had more time with Bridget. Would she mourn his death? Would she miss him? How soon would she move on to her next lover?
Turner closed his eyes, painting the image of Bridget's beautiful face behind his closed lids to accompany him on the last journey he would ever take. What he couldn't understand, though, was why they had gone to all that trouble— setting the trap, ambushing him in front of a famous restaurant, and stabbing him—only to dump him somewhere without verifying that he was dead?
Was it a message for Sandoval, or for him?
True, they had been interrupted by some random passerby, the one who had asked what was going on, but the driver could've finished the job instead of leaving Turner alive.
Whoever h
ad planned the sting was incredibly clever, but the hired thugs weren't. Unless he was missing some vital component, this hadn't been a job professionally executed. His best guess was that the brain was somewhere in South America, and he had hired local muscle.
Obviously, the message Turner had received hadn't been from Arturo Sandoval. It had been done either by using a talented voice mimic or pieced together from actual recordings of Sandoval's conversations.
Another thing he was certain of was that the breach in security had been in Sandoval's organization and not his.
Sandoval was too heavily guarded, and after what had happened with his nephew so was the rest of his family. But his communication network was apparently not secure enough.
Turner's communication network was impenetrable, but he himself was an easier target than Sandoval, provided that he could be found. His name and what he had done for Sandoval could have been obtained from hacking into Arturo's phone and email communications, but since Turner was nearly impossible to locate, they’d had to lure him into a trap.
Turner's only mistake was not verifying the invitation by calling Arturo back. If he survived to live another day, he would be sure not to make that mistake ever again.
Still, why had they let him live?
Were they hoping he would call for help and expose more people in his own organization?
Fat chance. He was going to call 911.
With a grunt, Turner reached into his jacket's inner pocket to retrieve his phone. The pocket was empty, as were the others. No phone and no wallet and by the end of the search he was close to blacking out again.
He needed a few moments of rest.
Closing his eyes, Turner took several shallow breaths. The good news was that they'd somehow missed his lungs. He would have been choking on his own blood by now if they hadn't. And if they hit the heart, we would have been dead already.
Perhaps this was why they had just left him, hoping he would bleed to death or choke. A knife to the back at such proximity should have been lethal. It was a miracle that the attacker had somehow missed. Perhaps he'd gotten distracted by that passerby.
Taking Turner's phone and wallet was either meant to make it look like a robbery or to ensure that he had no way of calling for help.