I’m not unsettled by the fact that he knows so much about my day. If he wasn’t able to collect information about people without them knowing, he’d be out of business by now—or dead.
He has his areas of expertise.
And I have mine.
If I don’t get what I want by the time I’m done with him tonight, I’ll be more than happy to introduce him to my own set of professional skills.
Which I suspect he already knows about.
This should be interesting.
* * *
I’m sitting at the table in the finest restaurant La Mer has to offer—one of the finest in all of Monte Carlo, in fact. The adrenaline running through my veins is surprising. It’s rare that another man can evoke this much excitement in me. It only occurs rarely, right at the moment I make the final kill. Figuratively or literally.
I never have my back to any room I’m in, but my intuition tells me that my first guest of the evening won’t be making an entrance through the front of the restaurant. Thus, I’m not surprised to see a man slip through one of the cleverly disguised exits toward the kitchens.
When he sees that I’ve predicted his unorthodox entrance and I’m already seated facing him, a grin hitches his mouth. His face matches his voice: youthful, cocky, carefree. All, no doubt, very attractive to the opposite sex, especially under a certain age. Sure enough, at least a few heads of second (or third) wives turn as he makes his way toward me. He has dark hair and eyes, and a lean but muscular build filling his suit so perfectly that it must be hand-tailored.
The tables here are all set far enough apart from one another to avoid overhearing nearby conversations. Multi-million-euro deals are made in this restaurant on a regular basis. Privacy is key.
“Well, this is a relief,” he says, falling into the chair opposite me with nonchalant ease. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be as attractive in person as you are in your photos.”
I don’t so much as crack a smile. He can play this game his way; I’ll play it mine.
“Why did you agree to meet?”
“What, no wine first?” He hints.
I stare at him for a moment, then make a small gesture to one of the waiters. Within half a minute, the bottle is brought over. The two of us stare at one another as it’s uncorked and poured for me to taste. One quick hard glance up to the sommelier, and he simply pours a glass for each of us instead.
The man across from me takes a long, savoring sip, closing his eyes as he lingers over it.
“She does have remarkable taste, Magnus. I think she might just be a keeper,” he says, opening his eyes to grin at me.
I don’t take that obvious bait.
He gives me an assessing look, then falls back into his seat. “I think the question isn’t why I agreed to meet, but why you asked in the first place.”
“You seem to know all about me, so why not tell me,” I say with a thin smile.
One side of his mouth curls up. “You want to know why so many of my targets are the same as yours.”
I give nothing more than an almost imperceptible nod of the head.
He takes another sip, inspecting the glass in his hands as he swallows. When he brings his gaze back to me, all hints of humor are gone.
“Because they all, in one way or another, have dealings with my father—the man I eventually plan on killing.” He raises one eyebrow my way. “The same man I suspect you want to kill as well.”
Chapter Thirteen Magnus
Richard Coleman.
I’m well-practiced enough to give away nothing, even when he mentions the name, a name I’m quite familiar with.
“So I was right then,” he says with that cocky grin on his face. On any other man, it would have been long gone by now.
He takes a sip of his wine as he considers me from across the table. “I suppose there’s no point in keeping the truth from you.”
I wait, watching him set the glass down and straighten up in his chair.
“I know that my father killed yours because I was there when it happened.”
Once again, he’s managed to surprise me. But I’m the grandson of Aloin LaCour, the man who taught me that a poker face is the most powerful weapon in any man’s arsenal.
“The problem is…he also killed my mother.”
My eyebrows rise at this bit of information, mostly as an acknowledgment. When Richard’s wife and son disappeared, presumably in a plane crash over the Atlantic, I suspected foul play even then. Mostly, because I knew how good he was at covering up murder, considering how long it took for my father’s body to wash up ashore.
When the Pirate started making the circuit, I knew it had to be someone close to Richard, also with the same agenda that I had. I never would have guessed it was his supposedly long-dead son.
“I guess that leaves us at an impasse, no?”
“I don’t see it that way,” I say, giving him a level gaze.
He sighs a soft laugh. “Do you honestly think I’d let you get away with the deed that is rightfully mine?”
“I think you’d have no choice.”
“Even with all you know about me?”
“Some boy playing pirate is no match for me.”
“This boy playing pirate has taken down men almost as powerful as you.”
“The operative word being ‘almost,’” I say, still with my eyes firmly trained on his. “Which means you also know what separates me from those men.”
His jaw hardens, the first tell I’ve seen in the man so far. Admirable.
“So, I assume the matter is settled?” I say, mostly as a formality.
He doesn’t answer; he simply considers me for a long moment. “Why haven’t you killed him yet?”
“I have my reasons.”
“I think you have a list, and you’re simply working your way up to my father.” He smiles
