Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 78850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“Come on. There’s got to be something you want.”
He took another drink before he set down the paper cup. “No. I’ve got a wife who’s a fine piece of ass and two beautiful children. No amount of money would ever tempt me to put them in jeopardy, even if I wanted to kill the person you’re asking me to kill.”
“Fine piece of ass? That’s how you talk about your wife?”
He gave me a cold stare. “Damn right.” For a man who had fallen into a life of retirement, he still had a body primed for battle. No dad bod for this guy. “She likes it. Trust me.”
I was a bit jealous because I would never have a husband at all, let alone one who wore his heart on his sleeve like this guy. “Bones—”
“It’s Griffin now.”
“You’ve got to help me out.”
“I don’t have to do anything. You aren’t my problem.”
I grabbed the sunglasses and pulled them off my face, showing my hideous bruise.
Griffin didn’t blink an eye.
“I’m in deep shit and was told you could be helpful.”
All he did was stare.
“I hope to be a man’s fine piece of ass someday, but that’s not going to happen if I’m dead in three weeks.” My arms folded on the table, and the blender at the counter went off as it mixed a drink. “There’s gotta be something you can do.”
The only soft feature he possessed other than his wedding ring was his eyes, startling blue. Far too pretty for a man so rough around the edges. “Who’s the guy?”
“Grave Toussaint. He’s in Paris—”
“I know who he is. Even if I were still in the game and in my prime, that contract would cost a fortune. More money than you’ve ever seen in your life, I assure you.”
I released a sigh, my disappointment heavy. “Then maybe I can get some free advice?”
“Move every year. Start in St. Petersburg. It’ll take him a long time to trace you there. Then a small village in the Hungarian countryside. Marrakech—”
“I’m not doing that.” I shook my head. “I’m not going to spend my life looking over my shoulder every fifteen seconds.”
Griffin grabbed his coffee and took another drink, slouched down in his chair, his expression still a bit bored. “Then his enemies are now your allies. I would start there.”
“And do you know who those people are?”
He considered the question for a long time, his arms folded over his chest, his tattooed wedding ring clearly visible under the fluorescent lights. “Only one name comes to mind. Cauldron Beaufort.”
“So you think he’d help me kill him?”
“I don’t know. Never met the guy. But word on the street is Cauldron is the only man Grave has ever feared.”
I couldn’t picture Grave fearing anyone. “Why?”
Griffin gave a shrug.
“Do you have his number?”
“You think your proposal should happen over the phone?” he asked incredulously. “And I just told you, I’ve never met the guy.”
“Well, I need to find him.”
“He lives in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat. That’s all I know.”
“That’s the French Riviera, right?”
“You must have gotten an A in geography.”
“You talk to your wife this way?” I snapped.
He grinned. “She’d slap me if I did.”
“I have a feeling she and I would get along pretty well. Unless she walked in here right now and saw us together…”
“Why would that matter?”
“Because you’re having coffee with a woman she doesn’t know.”
“My wife knows her ass is the only one I’m interested in.”
THREE
CAULDRON
The girls sunbathed on the loungers toward the front of the yacht as I sat in the shade, a drink in my hand, an untouched charcuterie board on the center table with cured prosciutto, Tuscan olives, chocolate-covered almonds, and fine French cheeses from Beaulieu-sur-Mer. My linen shirt was open down the front, the sea breeze running over my bare chest, licking away the sunscreen I’d applied for the fifth time that day. The ocean was a fair blue, Cap-Ferrat still in sight in the far distance. Other yachts were visible, keeping their distance, their helicopters parked on every top deck for a quick getaway.
One of the staff approached. “Hugo says they’re ready for you, sir.”
I gave a slight nod in acknowledgment and downed the last of my drink. Wiping my mouth with the back of my forearm, I headed inside the parlor then into the private study where I conducted my business.
I sat on a white couch that faced the enormous screen, another charcuterie board waiting for me, this time with smoked salmon and crystallized oranges. My drink was already on a coaster alongside it.
The screen changed, showing my appearance on the couch, my shirt still unbuttoned, my skin kissed by the warmth of the French sun. Then Hugo appeared, in his study at my estate in Cap-Ferrat. “Jeremiah is ready for you. Shall I patch him through?”
“Yes.”
“When the meeting has concluded, there’s something I wish to discuss with you, sir. If that’s alright.”