Page 3 of The Protégé

Especially today.

I had too many things on my plate. I needed to locate TR, then rush to an important meeting that couldn’t be rescheduled.

A sudden surge of panic rose in me, sending heat all over my body. The fear of losing control gripped around my throat, making it hard to breathe.

Fuck.

I slowed my steps, spotted an empty chair, and sat down. I took out my phone, pretending to look at it while I concentrated on my breathing. Then I looked around the room for two red things, two orange things, and then went through the colors of the rainbow. This was a method my mother had taught me.

I thought I had these panic attacks under control, but Pablo’s death had overwhelmed me with grief. The same grief I’d experienced when my mother died.

It had been a month since my teacher’s death, and grief was still a fucking monster devouring me from the inside out.

When the heat subsided, I took another breath, rose from the chair, and continued wandering around. The eyes kept following me, probably speculating about what I was up to.

Let their imagination go wild.

I wasn’t going to leave this room until I got answers. The Condor was more of a father to me than my biological father. He’d given me a thief name, The Roc, a mythological bird more powerful than a condor. I grew into a man because of him. The Condor was only a month from retiring when someone took that from him.

When I got the call about his death, I’d been in Paris preparing to join Arrow Holt in Monaco to take down members of The Trogyn, a dangerous crime organization that spanned multiple continents with elite members ranging from politicians to royalty. Uncle Ray and Aunt Madelyn both died in a car accident in Milan two months before The Condor. My uncle and aunt had their children, my father, me, and countless friends at their funeral. The Condor only had me.

Death had surrounded me the past few months, draining my energy. It needed to get away from me.

A man sat in the far corner of the room wearing a gray suit with his black hair tied back in a leather band. Could he be TR? His back was facing me, so I couldn’t see him.

This man either knew my mentor, was the last person to see him, or knew the killer. Excitement thrummed in me as I walked toward him.

A man with a white beard nodded to a blonde woman standing beside a tall table.

She sashayed over to me. “Can I help you with anything, sir?”

“No. Just browsing.”

Blondie gestured to the bar on the other side of the room. “You must be new here. Do you need me to show you around?”

“I have a friend waiting for me.” I jerked a chin toward the black-haired man.

Nodding, she smiled. “Wonderful. If you need anything, please let me know. My name is Yvonne, and I’m the manager here.”

“Thank you, Yvonne.”

I strode over, pulled out the empty chair, and folded myself into it. The man didn’t have a hollow face like the image I’d seen. He placed his cocktail down and considered me with brown eyes. I had expected him to look surprised and demand to know who I was. Instead, his expression told me otherwise. Who was he? Had I met him before and somehow forgotten?

“It’s about time you showed up,” said the man. “Want anything to drink?”

What the hell?

“No.” I studied him, trying hard to remember if I’d met him somewhere. He had a long scar on the side of his neck and a strong face that could maneuver the dark world. Sharp brown eyes studied me as I studied him. He appeared older than me, but younger than my mentor.

He sat back, looking relaxed. “Ask your questions.”

This turn of events threw me off, but I kept my composure. Remaining calm and cool ensured I had the upper hand. I came here expecting to interrogate a criminal, only to have him take charge of the conversation.

Leaning back in the chair, I asked, “Who are you? How did you know I’d be here?”

“Grief has clouded your judgment. I expected more from The Roc.”

The fuck?No one knew my thief name except my mentor . . .

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