by Jane Henry
“How’s it going really?” I asked her, digging my thumbs into the muscles at the base of her neck. She shivered.
“Really, it’s just like any other job,” she said, pushing back against me and relaxing beneath my hands. “Except I get the comedy stylings of the frat boys from the van in my ear.”
“Frat Boys from the Van,” Walker repeated. “I like it. That’ll be our new band name, guys.”
Sabrina tossed me a look over her shoulder that clearly said, ‘See what I mean?’ and I shook my head, laughing silently.
“I still can’t believe Mr. Pederson went along with it when you asked him to recommend me for the job,” she said.
I shrugged. I hadn’t been surprised at all. Seeing how guilty he’d felt the other night after witnessing Sabrina’s injuries and hearing the open wound in her voice as she talked of her father, I was pretty sure he would have given her a kidney without anesthesia if she’d told him she needed it.
Pederson hadn’t put up the slightest resistance when I’d called him and explained that I needed him to put aside his well-deserved anger and pretend to still be buddy-buddy with Robby Fletcher, just long enough to mention the amazing dinner Sabrina cooked him. Sure enough, Pederson had called to report that Fletcher had taken the bait immediately, panicked as he was about the eleventh-hour cancellation of his usual catering company. He’d demanded Sabrina’s contact info, and Pederson had happily provided it. And I was forced to admit that as disgusting as the man’s crush on Sabrina was—he’d known her when she was a little kid, after all—he wasn’t totally a bad guy.
Fletcher had lost no time in calling Sabrina, who’d handled the call beautifully, acting appropriately flattered that a man as well-connected as Fletcher had called her. Walker and I, who’d been listening in on the call, had rolled our eyes at the way the man had preened.
“You’re the best, babe,” I told her now. “You’re doing an amazing job.”
She looked over her shoulder at me again, like she was checking to see if I was serious, and she flashed me a brilliant smile when she realized I was. “Thanks, Anson,” she said softly.
“Anson.” Xavier’s voice was sharp and low. “Fletcher just left his office.”
I inhaled sharply and straightened, pressing a single swift, hard kiss to Sabrina’s lips before pushing her back slightly and opening the storeroom door. “Gotta go.”
“What does that mean?” Sabrina demanded over the comms. “Why does it matter if he left the office?
I grabbed my empty tray as a prop and walked down the back hall with my polite smile fixed in place just in case I encountered anyone.
“Anson needs to plant a bug,” Walker explained, sounding distracted. “Fletcher’s been in there all night, so Anson hasn’t had access.”
“But since he has been in there all night, it’s probably the best chance we have to hear anything pertinent. And Anson is the only one who can plant the bug,” Ethan explained. He sounded rueful, and I smirked.
My original plan had been for Ethan to be on the ‘waitstaff’ for tonight along with me. I’d known that Walker couldn’t come—he was the one who had to be in the van to work the facial recognition software and monitor the listening devices, after all. And we’d all agreed Caelan would stick out like a sore thumb—big and built as he was, his presence wasn’t exactly subtle.
But then Ethan had explained that hearing about Robby Fletcher’s Friday-night parties actually translated to him having attended them. More than once. And conning some well-connected woman out of some expensive jewelry. We couldn’t take the risk of having him recognized.
“I’ve got it,” I told Ethan. “Not a problem. Anything exciting from the camera?”
“Nada,” Walker said. “X, why don’t you go chat up our host? Make sure he can’t get back in the office for a minute.”
Xavier said nothing, but a few seconds later, I heard him greeting Fletcher in his world-weary voice.
“Malone! I’m so glad you could come!” Robby Fletcher was painfully enthusiastic.
“I’ve heard quite a bit about your get-togethers,” X practically yawned. “Figured I might as well see what they were all about. You’ve got a decent collection of art.”
“Pendejo, could you sound a little excited to be there?” Walker asked, all exasperated.
“Nah. X knows just what he’s doing,” Ethan said definitively. “Fletcher is very much aware of where he falls on the social ladder. If X was suddenly his best friend, he’d be suspicious. Right now, he’s just pleased the Xavier Malone has attended his party.”
Sure enough, Xavier seemed to have reeled Fletcher in. “Have you seen my Alberto Mundian?”
“A Mundian? Really.” Xavier sounded intrigued and reluctantly impressed.
“Cost me a quarter mil last February,” Fletcher bragged, and even I knew it was probably considered pretty crass to bring that up in polite company, but Xavier didn’t hesitate.
“I’d love to see it,” he said. “Lead the way.”
I paused to collect a couple of empty plates and cutlery left on tables in the hallway, adding to my cover. The door to Fletcher’s office—a massive oak thing that looked like it ought to block the entrance to a dungeon rather than an office—was in sight, and I took a second to send up a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that Fletcher didn’t keep his Mundian in his office.
I tried the door handle, but the heavy iron latch wouldn’t budge. Fuck. There was a big keyhole like in some medieval castle, and I wasn’t sure if the lockpick kit I’d secreted in my sock would work, even if I were able to work it one-handed while balancing this tray.
“Walker, I’ve got a huge oak door with a big iron… I dunno, latch,” I muttered. “There may or may not be a dragon behind there. Lock is huge. I’d need a skeleton key.”
“Use a butter knife,” Sabrina said, probably instructing one of her sous chefs.
“Hang on. I’m looking up specs,” Walker said.
“The butter knife,” Sabrina said again, more forcefully this time.
“You talking to me, babe?”
“Duh,” she breathed. “My dad used to lock my toys in this old wooden trunk with exactly that kind of lock. It’s big, but not sturdy. Just jiggle it.”
Amusement warred with anxiety as I assessed the used cutlery on my tray. Could it really be that easy? But then again, a guy like Fletcher probably thought he was invincible, so maybe it could.
I felt a bead of sweat roll down the back of my neck and prayed that Robby wasn’t smart enough to have any security measures beyond the two exterior security guards and the various external alarms we’d already accounted for.
I grabbed a fork. Its thin handle was a reasonable approximation of a butter knife. I wondered, for half a second, what Billy Morton or any of the guys I used to run with would think if they could see me now, breaking into someone’s office, following a hastily-conceived plan with almost no intel, clutching a fucking fork in my hand.
“Status,” Ethan demanded. His worried voice in my ear reminded me what made this job different from any job I’d ever done back in the day. Here, tonight, I trusted my crew to back me up, one hundred percent. Caelan and Ethan would burn this place down if they needed to, and Walker would hide the evidence. Even Xavier would knock Fletcher out to buy me time if he had to. And the woman in the kitchen…
“Anson?” Sabrina whispered. “Do you need assistance?”
Further proof that the woman in the kitchen would come at a dead run if I needed her. Not that I would ever, ever let her do that.
“I’m good,” I said, and I really was. I put the fork handle into the lock, jiggled it as instructed, and the fucking thing sprang open like a cork escaping from a bottle. “I’m in.”
The office was surprisingly nondescript. The desk was huge and dominated the room, but the art on the walls, while pretty I guess, was motel-room quality at best. Clearly, Fletcher spent his energy and money keeping his public rooms looking company
-ready, while his private space was more low-key.
I had to battle myself mentally to keep from going for his laptop and the wealth of information it no doubt contained, but I restrained myself. In and out. Touch nothing. I slipped the tiny listening device from my pocket and stuck it under the corner of Fletcher’s desk furthest from the side chair where his guests would sit. Walker had assured us that these devices were top-of-the-line, just like our comms, and would pick up sound from several feet away. No need to place it anywhere it might be spotted.
“Check,” I whispered.
I heard Walker’s triumphant, “Working!” just seconds before I heard Xavier’s voice in my ear. “But I’d really like more information on that investment opportunity, Fletcher.”
“Maybe we could talk later,” Fletcher was saying hurriedly. “I’m afraid there’s someone I agreed to speak to now.”
“In your office?” Xavier said, loud and insistent.
“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Fletcher agreed. “But let’s talk later, Malone. I think this deal could really work for you.”
Fuck. Balancing my tray carefully, I walked to the door, which I’d left ajar, and peered into the hall. Xavier and Fletcher were down at the far end. Xavier spotted me and grabbed Fletcher’s arm, turning him slightly.
“Give me your phone number,” Xavier told him.
Fletcher obediently grabbed his phone from his pocket to trade contact information, and I slid noiselessly down the hall and turned left into the living room.
The second I was out of their line of sight, I straightened my shoulders and moved aside as a man walked past me towards the hallway. Fletcher’s mystery meeting?
I moved into the crowd, picking up more discarded glasses, and whispered into the comms, “X, the man who just walked into the hall. Blue suit. Medium height, heavyset, black hair all slicked back. Get him on the camera.”
“Young man!” an older woman said, spotting me. “I’m afraid my Posey has made a bit of a mess.”
She held a tiny poodle in her arms and thrust her toward me with both hands. I glanced down at the tray in my hands and then back to the dog.
“Posey needs to go outside,” she told me imperiously. She pointed to a spot on the rug. “And you’ll need to clean this up.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her exactly where she could stick her fucking dog, who clearly wasn’t housebroken, but I swallowed hard, remembering Sabrina in the kitchen and the other guys who were counting on me.
“Sure,” I said, putting the tray down on a nearby table. “Got it.”
I put the wriggling dog under one arm, grabbed the towel tucked into my apron tie, and knelt to clean up the mess, while Posey’s owner walked away to mingle.
Figured.
“No me chingues,” Walker muttered in a low voice. “Ethan, are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
“I’m seeing it,” he confirmed. “Xavier, are you still in the hall talking to Fletcher and his guest?”
“Yes,” Xavier said. “You’re right, Fletcher. The Seychelles are lovely this time of year.”
“The guy you’re chatting with is coming up on facial recognition as Alberto Bianchi,” Walker said, voice taut with stress. “Did a nickel for assaulting a police officer a few years back, but got out early when the evidence in his case went missing under mysterious circumstances, and the officer recanted his statement.”
“That’s the power player you were looking for.” Sabrina confirmed what we’d all been thinking. Mission accomplished, even if the news was sobering.
“Shit just got real, boys,” Caelan said in his deep, gravelly tones. But he was wrong. For me, this shit had been real for a long time.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Xavier said. “I need to detour to the restroom. But we’ll catch up later, Fletcher?”
“Sure thing,” Fletcher started to say, but Bianchi interrupted.
“Hang on just a second, Malone,” the unfamiliar voice said. “I want you to meet my sister, Stella. Stella, you’ve heard of Malone, haven’t you?”
I didn’t hear Stella’s reply, because Ethan was groaning too loudly over the comms. “Oh, mama. Stella Bianchi.”
I paused in my cleaning task and stood, carrying the dog toward the enormous front doors of the house. “Problem?” I demanded.
“Not really. That may have been the heiress I, uh, told you guys about earlier,” he admitted. “The one with the jewelry?”
The guy had a serious gift for understatement, and I was prepared to knock it out of him personally.
“Malone, why don’t you take Stella to see the Mundian while Alberto and I finish our business, and then you and I can chat?” Fletcher suggested.
Xavier agreed, and I’m pretty sure his reluctance wasn’t obvious to anyone but the Masters. I didn’t like the idea of X going anywhere with Stella Bianchi, and I was pretty sure X didn’t either, especially since we’d already gotten the information we’d come for tonight. But just like me, X had a role to play, and that meant not doing anything to call attention to himself.
Hell, that’s why I was taking this fucking yap-monster outside to shit on the front lawn of Fletcher’s castle.
The air outside was muggier than I would have believed possible. Clearly the air-conditioning in Fletcher’s mansion was top-notch. Still, it was nice to be outside, even if it was only for a minute, away from all the nauseatingly-perfumed people with their fake smiles. Just a little while longer, and we’d all be back at the penthouse, ready for our debrief.
“Two minutes, Posey,” I told the dog, setting him (her? It? Whatever a Posey was) on the grass. “Don’t fuck with me.”
“Are you talking to the dog?” Sabrina demanded, clearly suppressing laughter. “Oh, God.”
“People talk to dogs all the time,” I told her matter-of-factly. “Nothing wrong with it.”
“They don’t tend to reason with them,” she breathed.
“She makes a point, Sonny,” Walker said, risking his life, whether he knew it or not, by attempting to make that stupid nickname a thing. “Promise me when the dog starts talking back, you’ll let us know, okay? We can get you help.”
Sabrina snickered, and I amused myself for a moment thinking of how I would take it out on her ass tonight. “You all suck,” I informed them as I watched the little dog sniff at a tree before apparently deciding that was an appropriate place to relieve itself.
“Quiet,” Ethan said sharply, and the line fell silent immediately. “I’m monitoring the feed in Fletcher’s office. You guys need to listen to this. Walker, get this on the comms.”
Walker worked his magic and Robby Fletcher’s voice came through my ear like he was right beside me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said plaintively. “There’s no mess to clean up, Alberto. No loose ends. I got all the info from Fowler’s safe myself, just like you told me. Nobody can tie Silver back to me now.”
The quiet night turned electric, and I could feel the tension from the other Masters, a filament of collective emotion that pulled taut at those words.
Confirmation. Robby Fletcher had broken into Stuart Fowler’s office the night I’d met Sabrina. Robby Fletcher—this overgrown child with his millions of dollars in the bank—had dirtied his own hands to impress Alberto Bianchi. If he’d been the one to break into the office, he was likely also the one who’d killed Curt.
“Look, Alberto!” Robby said. There was the sound of a drawer slamming shut and the slap of a hand on wood. “All the documents from Fowler’s office, right there.”
“What the fuck?” Alberto Bianchi’s voice was cold and menacing. “You idiot. Fletcher, I told you to destroy this! You’ve been keeping it in an unlocked drawer? In an unlocked office?”
“I told you, the door was supposed to be locked,” Robby whined.
“And if I thought you were the slightest bit competent, I might have believed you,” Bianchi replied.
“Thank God for that,” Walker muttered.
&n
bsp; “You were supposed to destroy this immediately,” Bianchi said. “So help me God, if you’ve been keeping this to try to blackmail me…”
“No!” Fletcher sounded hurt, if anything. “I told you, me and Emma are loyal.”
“Yes, I’m sure you and the Pederson bitch, who’s cheating on her fucking husband, are as loyal as the day is long,” Bianchi said savagely. “You’ll pardon me if I don’t place all my faith in you.”
“I wouldn’t blackmail you, Alberto. I wouldn’t,” Fletcher insisted.
“Prove it,” Bianchi challenged.
“How?”
“You need to get me the other copy of this information. The electronic backup we know Stuart Fowler kept.”
“I told you, I tried. Me and Emma searched the box in Max Pederson’s office the other night, after you saw the Fowler chick leaving Pederson’s building. There was nothing there, I swear. And Emma said Max is freaking out too. Maybe… maybe Fowler didn’t have it,” he said hopefully.
“Or maybe, maybe, you idiot, he gave it to someone else besides Pederson.”
“Like… like who?”
Bianchi sighed. “Jesus Christ, you’re incompetent. His daughter, Robby.”
“But he never told his daughter about his business. You know that. And anyway, you said you’d already scared her off after she left Pederson’s house.”
Another frisson went up my spine as I heard Sabrina give a choked little cry. I grabbed the dog and set off for the house without saying a word.
“I said I hoped I’d scared her off,” he corrected. “And I’d intended to do a lot more than that, but it turns out you’re not the only incompetent person working for me.”
“But. I mean. Sabrina seems like a nice person, you know? I really don’t think she’d do anything with the files even if she found them,” Robby reasoned. “Not if you explained shit to her.”
“You don’t think?” Alberto said. “You’re in this up to your neck, Robby. You willing to risk your ability to breathe freely on the chance that she’s a nice person?”
“I…” Robby swallowed audibly. “No?”