“I’ll check it, but that doesn’t mean I’ll agree.”
“Doesn’t hurt to look at it, though.” Peyton winked, brushing off the front of his shirt.
“Nice loft apartment, huh?” Peyton’s eyes were full of expectant joy. “Not that far from the beach, either. And Manhattan Beach is a calm neighborhood full of young families. I like the idea of living somewhere with Manhattan in the name.”
Shay shook her head. Loft apartment was a stretch. It was a jumped-up converted garage. She didn’t get why he was so into the place.
Peyton hurried over to the door and opened the top half. “Check that out. I love Dutch doors. Lots of places around here have them. I can keep it open and smell the ocean from here. Even sit outside with coffee in the morning.”
“The ocean just smells like salt. And this place has absolutely no security. The lock wouldn’t keep out the average burglar. That walkway in front of your place extends for miles.”
“Yep. To a lot of different neighborhoods like Redondo and Hermosa Beach.”
Shay wrinkled her forehead, shaking her head. “That’s not a good thing. It means it’s easy access in and out of your place. I’m not convinced this is much better than the warehouse, anyway.”
It also didn’t help that the place wasn’t close to any of her warehouses, and no top-tier pizza places nearby. Even if Peyton didn’t care about that sort of thing, that didn’t mean Shay could ignore the fundamentals.
Peyton rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, because living in an office with cameras everywhere and cubicle walls is totally the same as having my own place.”
Shay pointed at the door. “I could break in here and you wouldn’t even be awake before I slit your throat. If I can do it, there are other killers who can do it.”
“Point. Here’s a counter-point. This is the kind of neighborhood where people who don’t belong stand out, and because people here actually have money, they are likely to call the cops. This isn’t some squeezy industrial zone full of nothing but bums and warehouses.”
Shay snorted. “The police are always minutes away when seconds count. If you’re depending on the cops to save your ass from a hitman, you might as well blow out your own brains now.”
“Come on. I’m not an idiot, Shay.” Peyton pointed at the different corners of the room and the windows. “I’m going to up the security on this place. Sensors on all the windows and doors. Cameras. There are enough drones around already that I can set up my own automatic surveillance drone, and no one will pay it any attention. Add a few gadgets and traps, and this place, if anything, will be more secure than the warehouse.”
“It’s your life to gamble.” Shay shrugged. “And if you get killed here, at least it doesn’t mean someone’s broken into the warehouse. Works out for me either way.”
Peyton laughed. “I speak Shay talk. I know that means you care.”
“I’m trying to keep you safe, but if you’re hellbent on leaving I won’t stop you. I get that you’re smart enough to find a way to do things your way. Like the Walmart caper.”
“I did that for you.”
Shay held up her hand. “I know, whatever. The point is, you want this place, you get this place, but if you don’t get those security upgrades in, you’ll end up dead at the hands of a hitman.”
Peyton shrugged. “Not all of us live next to cartel stash houses.”
Shay grinned. “I don’t. Not anymore at least.” She nodded toward the door. “You do the paperwork, I’ll help you move some of your shit over. Welcome back to independent living, Peyton.”
Later that night, Peyton relaxed in his lounge chair, the only piece of furniture in the living room for the moment. Decorating would have to wait until he secured everything. Just because he wasn’t as paranoid as Shay didn’t mean he was carefree, and now he had at least two men who wanted him dead, his brother and Johann Weiss.
Something scratched at the door, and bile rose in the back of his throat.
Shit. I better not get killed my first night alone. Shay’ll probably call me back as a ghost just to talk shit to me.
Peyton headed into the bedroom to pull out the pistol Shay had given him. He tucked it into the back of his waistband then looked through the peephole. Nothing.
Invisibility magic?
The scratching continued. Peyton swallowed, counted to three, and threw open the door. “Who’s there?”
No zombie or rampaging Oriceran monster waited on the other side. There wasn’t even the most banal of threats, like an L.A. gangbanger.
The source of the disturbing noise was a small orange tabby.
I almost wet myself over a cat. Nice. Yeah, so badass.
Peyton knelt. The animal’s lack of collar and matted fur suggested a stray. The cat purred and rubbed against his hand.
“Don’t have much to give you, but I think I can find a little snack.”
The cat meowed.
Peyton smiled. “I need something to call you. How about Osiris?”
The cat meowed again, which Peyton took as confirmation that at least he didn’t hate the name.
Look, Shay, not dead yet, and now I have a pet. Sort of. Everything’s looking up.
Chapter Seventeen
Shay maneuvered through the thick crowd in the Leanan Sídhe. It was always jampacked with people.
Her own preferences about meeting places filled with fewer potential troublemakers didn’t carry much weight with the Professor. The man made it clear that he’d hand out assignments at the Irish pub, and nowhere else.
He’d reached out to her online and quoted a rather hefty payment amount as bait. Money was a strong motivator and key to her current life plan of sustainable and safe retirement.
He feels safe here. The security arrangements the owners have must be secure if a man like the Professor has no problem arranging for pretty serious jobs here. Someday
