28. Brian

TWENTY-EIGHT

brian

I follow Windsor away from the party to the private part of the house and up to his study on the second floor. He unlocks the door, flips on the light switch, and ushers me inside. I wish I could just kill him right here, right now, but it’s far too messy.

Even though I’ve been to the Windsor Estate a few times before—enough to have the basic schematics down and know about some of the security he has in place—I don’t know enough to pull a job here. The risk of getting caught is still too high. And Mina doesn’t know to get out. I can’t risk her being detained if things go wrong.

Besides, this is a golden opportunity to be inside the belly of the beast with new eyes.

I scan the room, pretending to be interested in the books on his bookshelves and the paintings on his walls. He’s got The Count of Monte Cristo and Machiavelli’s The Prince on his bookshelf. These choices don’t surprise me. I’m not sure what exactly I’m looking for, but if there’s anything in this room I need to know about, now would be the ideal time to collect it.

“That’s a nice piece of ass you brought with you tonight,” he says by way of introduction.

I keep my face blank and shrug. “She’s okay on short notice. The agency assured me she was discreet at least.” I know this fuckface thinks she’s an escort, so may as well play into his assumptions. I’d rather he think she’s a paid companion than to think she might be some kind of threat to him—or leverage he can use against me. I’d rather everyone underestimate her. And I’d like for him to underestimate me—not a small challenge given our work history together.

There’s a buzzing sound and Windsor extracts a cell phone from his pocket. “Yes,” he says, holding a finger up to me. Taking a call in the middle of important enough business to leave his swanky party is just one more signal that he considers me the help and barely worthy of the level of etiquette he would offer others of his station in life.

I watch as he goes behind his computer and types a few things in, pulls up something I can’t see, then takes a thick white note card out of his desk’s middle drawer along with a Montblanc fountain pen, but not just any Montblanc. I hate that I know this fact, but I do happen to know that this pen cost him two hundred and fifty-six thousand dollars. I vow right here and now that I will take that pretentious-as-fuck fountain pen as a trophy when I’m done.

He ends the call and looks up at me with what I’m sure is a mere mask of apology and not actual contrition. “I do apologize, but I have to deliver this to someone down at the party. I shouldn’t be long. Please, make yourself comfortable and pour yourself a drink.”

He rushes out the door. I glance over at the top shelf brandy in the decanter. But I’m not tempted. For all I know, someone tipped him off that I’d been hired to kill him, and he’s beating me to the punch. Poison is typically a woman’s method of choice, but we both know Windsor couldn’t take me in a straight forward confrontation. I pour a glass anyway and place it on the outer part of the desk near one of the guest chairs.

Then I open the door to check down the hall. He is well and truly gone. I already checked for cameras. He’s got one in the hallway just outside the door, but nothing within this room to monitor someone he’s already invited inside. I assume this lack of surveillance is also for his own protection, so he can be free to do whatever seedy bullshit he needs to do within the confines of this room without leaving a record of it.

I slip on a pair of gloves, wipe down the doorknob I just touched, and take a look at his computer.

I don’t know what I’m even looking for or what might be useful to know in this situation. I hadn’t planned to be granted entrance into his inner sanctum. It’s a rare stroke of luck, so of course, I don’t trust it. I click through a few files and look at his browser history, then I immediately close out of everything.

I take a long slow breath. My hands are shaking and hot as I rip the gloves off and stuff them back into my inner jacket pocket. What the hell is wrong with me right now? I am so off my game. Ever since that fucking kid.

I pick up the brandy off the desk and go stare out the window trying to gather myself. I’m so tempted to risk poison just to have that shot of burning fire to calm my nerves.

There aren’t a lot of things that bother me, but someone who hurts kids does. It doesn’t matter the type of abuse, it’s the fact that kids are helpless and innocent. I was helpless and innocent. Aidan is helpless and innocent. Anyone who would prey upon a child is a far worse monster than I’ll ever be, and Windsor’s computer is filled with evidence that he’s that kind of monster.

Yes, I would have let Aidan blow up in that building, but it would have been a mercy killing. Not abuse. Not trauma. Not the things that steal your life from you and leave you either a terrified hollow shell forever, or empty of all conscience.

The door opens a few minutes later. “Oh, good, you’re still here. I’m so sorry for that interruption.”

“Not a problem.” I work to conceal my rage and utter contempt for this piece of garbage. I was already going to kill him, but I didn’t have any particular feelings about it before. It was just business.

“I’m so glad you accepted my invitation tonight. I have a job for you.”

“Oh?” Of course the great and powerful Drake Windsor would never sully himself by inviting me to such a lush affair of his equals if it wasn’t because he needed me to kill someone.

“Dante Valentino. Do you know him?”

I keep my face blank of all expression. “Who doesn’t?” I say. Dante is the man who hired me to kill Windsor. I wonder if he knows that already. Maybe he suspects and wants to kill Dante before Dante kills him.

“I know it’s gauche to kill within your own circle,” he says, “which is why the contract is so high. I’ll pay you five million.”

The silence stretches between us forever. Dante only offered me two for Windsor. And if this arrogant motherfucker hadn’t left me alone in his study, I might be tempted to change the target. Before this moment I could have cared less whether it was Dante or Drake Windsor taking their last breaths under my watch.

I let out a low whistle as if I’m impressed by this kind of money. I mean in the grand scheme of things, he paid a quarter of a million dollars for a writing instrument, so by normal people pen buying standards, he’s basically offering me the equivalent of a hundred dollars to take care of his problem.

I’m a little insulted.

“He must have done something to really piss you off.”

“You could say that.”

Putting out a hit on him would probably do it, though I still have no way to know he knows there’s a hit out on him. It’s not as though he’ll volunteer that information.

“When do you need it done by?”

He lets out a sigh. “As soon as possible, but that’s not very realistic, is it? You know Dante is always surrounded by heavy guard. He’s a hard man to get to.”

Just like you.

I nod and swirl my brandy around as though I’ve been savoring it this whole time.

“Did you plan to come to the Masquerade Ball on Halloween?” Windsor asks.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“You could bring the piece of ass with you.”

It takes all my self-control not to explode. I’m pretty certain he’s just playing a role now. His tastes run a lot younger.

“I could,” I say noncommittally.

“I’m inviting Dante. You could do it here.”

“It’s a lot of people. It’s pretty risky. A lot could go wrong. I’d need hazard pay.”

“What if I raise it to seven and I’ll let you stash weapons in my house ahead of time and turn off the security cameras? I’ll make sure my guards are all at the party and no one’s in the video surveillance room.”

“And I’m supposed to take that on a word and a handshake?”

“You can check it all out yourself. If it doesn’t meet your standards, you can postpone the kill. It’s a masquerade ball, so you’ll already be wearing a mask, and all the men will be dressed the same. Black tuxedos. Not a lot of variation there. It’s perfect cover.”

Yes, I’d thought pretty much the same thing. It doesn’t sit right with me that my target is now planning the kill of my employer a bit too closely to my own plans. I’m still not sure how much he knows or if he just suspects.

“Nine,” I say.

“Done.”

This guy? No, he doesn’t know about the contract. Maybe he suspects Dante is moving in that direction, but I’d bet he doesn’t know it’s already active and that it’s me. Drake Windsor doesn’t have the balls to invite his killer into his private study with a counter offer. That’s actually more Dante’s style.

“I assume this isn’t an open contract,” I say, keeping my tone neutral.

“Oh, God no! Could you imagine the scandal?”

“Then why did you invite five of my colleagues to this party? It’s really not your crowd.”

“Backups, in case you said no.”

“The money’s good enough, and you know I don’t have many scruples.”

“It’s what I love about you, Brian.”

“Then you’ve got yourself a killer.” I raise the glass of brandy and take the risk. This little bitch doesn’t have the balls to poison me.

When I get back to the party, I find Mina standing near a window, a concerned look on her face. I guess I did take longer than intended. I move in behind her and press a kiss against the side of her neck.

“Miss me?” Before she can turn or reply, I take her hand and lead her off through the crowd. I’d originally intended to take her somewhere where I could do filthy things to her and use that as cover to glean more information about Windsor’s security setup, but that won’t be necessary now.

“Where are we going?” she asks, surprised when I lead her toward the front door.

“Home.”