Page 68 of Prodigal Son

“Afternoon,” Albie greeted, aiming for tired, bored. He assumed that was how businessmen felt on the regular. “Here to see Mr. Mahoney. I have an appointment.”

“Of course, sir.” But the man paused, a half a breath, hand on the doorknob, before finally turning it and opening the door, waving Albie in with an elegant gesture.

Albie had no doubt there’d be cameras on him. He’d dressed the part, and he’d even tidied his hair in the reflection offered by a bit of broken glass in the empty building, but he knew he didn’t fit in with this crowd. There was something off about him, a hard-to-identify lack of sophistication, and they’d be watching him with close attention.

“Mr. Mahoney is still in his meeting,” the receptionist informed him, glasses flecked with light from the lavish chandelier overhead. “But you’re welcome to wait in our lounge.”

Albie expected a tile-floored canteen with terrible plastic chairs, but was instead led to an actual lounge: plush shag-look rug, sofas, chairs, even a baby grand tucked into a corner by the window. He had a view of a lush back garden, its marble wall crawling with pink roses. A sleek kitchenette ran along one wall, with a full-sized fridge and even a range and fountain soda machine.

This place was a bit unreal.

“Someone will come for you when Mr. Mahoney is ready,” the receptionist said, and left him with a bow.

Abow.

He gave it a minute, searching for cameras in the corners of the room; doubtless they had to be there, but were well camouflaged. Then he gave a little show: checked his watch; stood and wandered over to the soda fountain; selected a coffee pod for the machine and started it brewing. The coffeemaker was at the edge of the lounge, right by the door, and as coffee streamed down into a paper cup, he ducked out into the hallway.

And ran straight into Axelle.

~*~

To her credit, she didn’t scream. She thought she deserved kudos for that.

But she did rear back and make a wild reach for her purse, and the gun inside it, before two strong hands latched onto her upper arms and squeezed tight, holding her in place.

She sucked in a breath–

And realized it was Albie who held her.

Albie wearing a suit.

In the moment between realization and speech, she let her gaze drop down and skim over him. The jacket was a little big, and his shirt fit oddly – over a vest, she thought. He wore a flak vest under the crisp white shirt and black tie. Otherwise, it was an unexpectedly good look on him.

She said, “You look like a Blue’s Brother.”

His grip tightened. “What are you doing out here?”

She shrugged and he let go, sparing a brief, startled glance at his own hands, like he couldn’t believe he’d squeezed so hard. She dimly wondered if she’d have bruises later.

She whispered. “There’s something up. That Clive dude is acting all smooth, but he’s sweating like a pig in there. What areyoudoing in here? You’re supposed to be across the street.”

“I can’t tell anything from out there. I needed to–”

They both registered footfalls moving toward them.

Albie grabbed her arm, a little more gently this time, and towed her into the first available door – which proved to be the women’s restroom. It was empty for the moment, but that didn’t stop Albie from walking down the line and opening each stall with a nudge of his fingers, double-checking.

Axelle would have called him paranoid, but her heart was racing, her own nerves manifesting physically.

When he was done, he turned to her, one hand on his hip, a move that pushed his coat back and revealed his shoulder holster. “What’s your read on the guy?”

She was a little surprised to have been asked. “He’s a real slick son of a bitch. With the clothes, and the hair, and the perfect teeth. Raven was into him, I could tell that.”

His brows jumped. “She what?”

“She blushed, you know. She was thrown, definitely.”

“Raven?Really?” He shook his head. “Nevermind. What else? You said he was sweating?”

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