27. Ryder

27

"The plane just landed, sweetheart. The driver says we'll be there in forty-five minutes."

In reality, Ryder had been in Tbilisi for three days, scheming with Khatia and Ana. At first, they'd been working to a more relaxed timetable, but after the news of Julius Whitlow's death emerged, Ryder had brought the schedule forward because he wanted to get back to Vegas.

The police still had no suspects and no clear motive for the murder, assuming it was murder because there were no autopsy results yet. There were no signs of a disturbance at the property, although Whitlow's father said Julius had an extensive watch collection, and unless there was a second safe the cops were yet to find, several of the more expensive models appeared to be missing.

At the moment, the police were working on the theory that a targeted theft had gone wrong, but Ryder refused to rule out the possibility of revenge. Even Ron Hill—who was being remarkably talkative—said the man was a creep. He'd warned his former assistant to stay away from Whitlow unless another member of staff was present.

As for Luna, she'd hated him, but she still wanted to go to his funeral. To spit on his grave when nobody was looking, she said. Ryder suspected that her reputation mattered to her more than she'd ever let on, and now she was in self-preservation mode. People would expect her to pay her final respects. Tongues would wag if she was a no-show. And even if she skipped the wake, she'd still have to face Amethyst at the burial, so she'd need somebody to lean on.

All of which meant Tripp's golfing weekend with the boys had been unexpectedly cancelled, and what better way to fill the time than by flying to Georgia to hook up with a hot blonde?

They'd agreed to meet at Tres Amigos at one p.m. Elene had made the reservation, and even though she'd offered to meet Tripp at the airport, he'd opted to take a car. Partly because the jet was in France today, but mainly because they'd decided that getting Elene into a limo would be the easiest way to control her. To get her alone for a little chat. Tamaz, one of Khatia's colleagues, was doing the honours behind the wheel while Ana would be following on a motorcycle, ready to step in just in case anything went wrong.

Khatia was already at Tres Amigos, dining with another Blackwood colleague, and Ron Hill was in a holding cell at the office.

All the pieces were in place.

Ryder just had to play his part, and play it convincingly.

"I'm about to leave my apartment," Elene said.

"If we get lost, I'll call you." Ryder forced softness into his voice and wished he were on his way to meet Luna instead. "Can't wait to see you."

Khatia spoke in Ryder's ear as soon as he hung up. His miniaturised earpiece was glued into his ear canal, and he was grateful that he hadn't been to a barber in a while. Luna hadn't been a fan of longer hair at first, but now she admitted it had grown on her as well as on him.

"Naira is in the café opposite Tres Amigos, and Guram found a spot on a bench around the corner. He brought sandwiches and a newspaper."

"And a covert camera?"

"Of course."

Little happened for the next forty minutes, and Ryder hoped Luna was getting some sleep. Romeo Serafini had spent most of the day shovelling carbs into her, which left Ryder both relieved that someone was looking out for her and irritated that it was an overly smooth Mafia-adjacent Casanova. She'd still had a headache when she went on stage, but she'd texted to say that she'd survived the show and was going straight to bed.

"Elene is here," a male said. Guram, by process of elimination. "She just walked past me. Dark blue dress, silver shoes, silver purse. The shoes are like stilts—she won't be running anywhere in them. She's entering the restaurant now."

Naira was sitting at the front of the café, working on her laptop, and a camera clipped to the device streamed a low-res image of Elene to Ryder's phone as she greeted the ma?tre d' and followed him to a table by the window. Good for Naira, not so good for Khatia who was sitting at the rear.

"Hill was right about her being tall," Naira murmured. "At least six feet with the shoes."

Statistically, eighty percent of people lied on their dating profiles, but her physical attributes were the one area where Elene had told the truth. Excellent. The sedative dose they'd calculated would be appropriate.

"Target has picked up a menu."

Ryder crunched a mint and used the camera on his phone to check his hair. Good to go. The limo pulled up outside, and he walked into the restaurant. Elene spotted him right away and waved, much to the ma?tre d's irritation. The man clearly wasn't used to diners skipping his greeting. But Tripp only had eyes for one woman, and to be fair, she was the prettiest woman in the place. Not that Ryder would ever tell Khatia that—he liked his balls where they were, thanks.

"Hey, you look just like your picture." He leaned in to kiss Elene on both cheeks.

"That is a surprise? We spoke on a video."

"Most people use filters online. One time, I hooked up with— Never mind. We're not here to talk about the past." Tripp was such a fuckin' asshole.

"Did you have a good journey?"

"Yeah, I partied all of Thursday night, so I slept the whole way. Jetlag's a bitch, right?"

"Right. You didn't get stuck in traffic?"

"No more than in Vegas. The roads are smaller though." Tripp waved a server over. "Can we get some drinks?"

He answered in perfect English. "Of course, sir."

"Ladies first."

"A bottle of Borjomi, please."

"And for you, sir?"

"What's Borjomi?"

"Carbonated water, sir."

"I'll have regular water. Bring some wine too. Babe, you prefer red or white?"

"White."

"Champagne?"

Elene beamed at him. "Of course."

"A bottle of your best champagne, and can we get a basket of bread rolls?"

"Certainly, sir."

Ryder wasn't too worried about being likeable—Elene was after Tripp's money, not his personality. All he had to do was be not entirely obnoxious, and she'd keep up the charade. Still, he asked her plenty of personal questions, both because women liked to talk about themselves and because he didn't. But she'd taken a similar class—or possibly read a magazine if Luna's "how to please a man" lessons from Imagine were any indication—and kept turning the conversation back to him. It was the same playbook she'd used on Hill.

"So you live in the north of Las Vegas?" she asked.

"Right on the edge, where civilisation meets sand."

"You didn't want to live nearer to the middle? By the casinos and the restaurants?"

"It's easy enough to get to the Strip when I need to, and I prefer the peace of the desert and the mountains."

"How long have you lived in your beautiful home?"

"Five years." Which fit with the date the Prince of Porn moved to Tampa. "Before that, I lived on the family estate in Colorado."

"Why did you move?"

"The area my parents live in is boring as hell. Full of retirees, nothing going on. You ever been to the US?"

"No, never, but I hope to visit soon."

Elene served up a saucy smile, and Ryder was confident she'd fallen for the pretence.

"How much vacation time do you get?"

She claimed to work as a personal assistant at a marketing firm, although that was probably a lie like everything else.

"Four weeks, but I think I'm going to leave my job."

"Why's that?"

Something to do with the ten million bucks she stole?

"I started making jewellery." She tapped the necklace she was wearing, ornate swirls of silver wrapped around rainbow-hued opal. "This is one of mine."

"Very nice. Where do you sell them?"

"In craft stores, mainly, but I started a website, and then some of my videos blew up on social media, and now I can't make pieces fast enough."

Mack spoke in the background. "Got it. We'll start searching for wire-wrapped jewellery. If we can find her store and buy a piece, hopefully it'll give us a return address."

Ryder smiled at Elene. "That's a good problem to have."

"Do you think I'd be crazy to leave a secure job?"

Now she was asking him for career advice?

"How much does a necklace go for?"

"It depends on the stone and the amount of work, but this one would be thirteen hundred lari. About five hundred US dollars."

"And how long do they take you to make?"

"I can make two like this in a day."

"Profit margin?"

"The stone and the wire cost just over two hundred lari. The metal is priced by weight."

"If sales are stable, you'd be crazy not to quit your job," Ryder said, and he meant it. Elene came across as smart and confident and passionate about her side hustle. If she enjoyed making shiny things and had plans to continue doing so, what was the motive for stealing a small fortune? Not for the first time, Ryder wondered whether they had the right woman. But Hill had watched the video and was absolutely certain that Irina and Elene were the same woman, plus there were the little lies Elene told, such as the one about the weather in Tbilisi.

The server came over. "Can I interest you in dessert?"

Ryder studied the menu. "I'll have the churros."

Elene followed suit. "And I'll have the same."

Over dessert, Ryder promised to take Elene to see the Strip, a promise he'd feel almost guilty for breaking because her fake persona was more likeable than he'd imagined it would be. Hands down, she was the most capable swindler he'd ever met. He'd always thought Ron Hill was a gullible fool for falling for her shtick, but now he felt a modicum of sympathy for the man. Not much, because the motherfucker had still stolen Luna's money, but he'd been hoodwinked by the best.

"What do you want to do for the rest of the day?" Ryder asked. "Do you have to work? I mean with the necklaces?"

"No, I'm all yours."

Given that she'd been sending him nudes, she was probably expecting an invite to his hotel room, but no way was Ryder going there.

"One of my buddies told me there's a monastery at Jvari? How do you feel about visiting? I want to take some pictures."

Yeah, she was surprised. "Uh, okay? Yes, there's a monastery. It's very old."

"I'll let the driver know. In case he needs to get directions or something."

"It's easy to find. Just outside the city."

But Ryder texted anyway so Tamaz could prepare.

Twenty minutes later, they exited Tres Amigos, and the limo was waiting, complete with two glasses of chilled champagne. In case Elene didn't fancy the bubbly, Tamaz had drugged all the bottles of sparkling water too.

"After you," Ryder said, and let her climb into the back seat first. She slid over to sit behind the driver, and he stopped himself from grinning like an idiot when she picked up her allocated glass. She was smart, but not smart enough to suspect he was playing her at her own game.

"Here's to fun in Tbilisi," he said and clinked his glass against hers.

"To fun in Tbilisi."