Page 65 of Prodigal Son

But he took a moment. A handful of seconds. To feel truly, deeply sorry for this man. For his filthy home, and his tidy workshop, and his ugly, ugly death.

Then he climbed into the van.

Nineteen

Axelle’s hands tightened on the wheel of Raven’s Land Rover as she braked to a stop at the curb. A uniformed valet stepped from beneath the awning and headed her way, ready to take the car. Her anxiety climbed with every second that ticked by, every step the valet drew closer. While she was driving, hands sure and steady on the wheel of the car, she’d known that the ball was in her court.

If a threat materialized, she could evade it…or, if need be, mow it down. She had absolute faith in her ability to outrun the police, or any kind of goon squad that might be sicced on them. Not because she had the faster vehicle – the Rover was luxurious, and powerful, but shedidmiss her GTO – but because she was, hands-down, the better driver. Simple statement of fact.

But once she stepped out of this car, her advantage was gone, and she was just little old her again, in over her head, reliant on people she didn’t know that well or trust all that much. About to walk into a lion’s den.

As if she could sense Axelle’s hesitation, Vivian said, “It’s quite alright,” from the backseat. If it was meant to comfort, her tone fell well shy.

“Come on, ladies,” Raven said, gathering her bag and popping open her door before the doorman could get to it.

Axelle let out a shaky breath and peeled her clammy hands off the steering wheel.

~*~

Raven had no doubt that the true Gleaux headquarters was wedged tight between the ribs of some slick, shiny high-rise somewhere owned by Pseudonym. But the office of its CEO resided in a four-story, white stone townhouse affair that bridged the gap between residential and glass-fronted business sectors. It sat on the end of a long row of such townhouses, each wide and grand, with marble balustrades surrounding their front gardens and black-painted doors with gilt-edged plaques beside them.

A doorman in a smart uniform ushered them into a lobby dressed like that of a vintage hotel. A charming sort of opulence with its floor-length drapes, plush rugs, muted lighting, and the cascading crystal chandelier that hung above the circular front desk, throwing off soft yellow light that fanned across the floor and ceiling in shard-shaped geometrics.

The male receptionist looked up from his computer and regarded them through rimless spectacles. “Good afternoon.” He had the BBC voice down pat. “May I ask for your name, please?”

As instructed earlier, Axelle stepped forward to offer one of Raven’s cards.

“Raven Blake,” Raven said, slipping her sunglasses into her bag. “I’m here to see–”

“She’s here to see me, Geoffrey,” the same smooth male voice from the phone said.

Raven turned to the owner of that voice, and her first thought was:Handsome.

Her second thought was:Damn. Really fucking handsome.

“Hello.” He stepped forward and offered his hand. “Clive Mahoney.”

He was younger than she’d expected, close to her own age, and he wore his black hair too long in the front. It worked. But his eyes were the feature that arrested her: bright, almost electric blue.

Oh, behave, she told herself as she accepted his shake. She was around beautiful people all the time. Now was not the time to lose her head to something as silly as instant attraction.

“Hello,” she said, firmly, and gave what she thought was a very formal handshake.

He turned her loose immediately, didn’t linger, or press her hand, or try to make her feel trapped. She noticed that. His smile was wide, and straight, and white – she noticed that, too.

“If you ladies would be so kind as to follow me,” he said, stepping back and indicating a direction with the sweep of an arm. “I’ve got a conference room all set up, and refreshments have been ordered.”

The problem, Raven reflected, as he led them down a short hallway, was that everything about his manner and appearance had set her at ease. If her family was any indication, that sort of ability was anything but trustworthy.

~*~

Albie lowered his binoculars with a frown. “Half the offices have the curtains drawn, and the other half are empty.”

“Hmm,” Miles hummed from behind him. He was fiddling with his laptop, trying to bring up the feed on the tiny camera he’d given Axelle to place. “She hasn’t taken it out of her bag yet…” He trailed off. “Wait. Empty?”

Albie scanned again, to be sure. “Yeah. I can see the desks, and there’s no one at them.”

Scrape of shoes on the gritty rooftop, and Miles joined him, lying flat on their bellies, peering over the low retaining wall of the building across the street from the Gleaux offices. They weren’t exactly inconspicuous, and he didn’t exactly care. His nerves had been jangling ever since Raven announced her mission this morning. Something waswrong. He just had to find outwhat.

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