Page 69 of Prodigal Son

“Yeah. Something’s off. He’s nervous about something. Now, maybe I’m a driver, and I don’t know this kinda stuff. But if you asked me, someone who wants to kill you in cold blood doesn’t get nervous and sweaty.”

“You’re right,” he agreed. “Something’s planned, and either it wasn’t Clive’s idea, or he’s nervous about it.”

“I’m right?”

“You need to get back in there. I’ll head upstairs and see what I can find out.”

Axelle took a breath that rattled in her throat. “By yourself? That’s too dangerous.”

“I’ve dealt with worse things by myself.”

“At least let me come. As backup.”

A half-smile tugged at his mouth. Then dropped away. “If you don’t go back, Clive’ll get suspicious, yeah?”

She sighed. “Yeah.” Her belly clenched tight with dread, and she didn’t understand it. But she really didn’t want him going upstairs by himself. He wasn’t exactly the most physically intimidating man. “Be careful, though.”

Another smile. “You too.”

~*~

Raven resisted the urge to fidget. She’d noticed it just before Axelle excused herself from the room – and that was a breach of the plan she meant to take the girl to task for later. Sweat had gathered at Clive’s temples. It now trickled down the sides of his face; a single drop quivered, ready to fall, at the sharp edge of his jaw. He was sweating like a man who’d just run a footrace. She noticed other little things, too. A faint quivering in his fingers, a constant wetting of his lips; the way he blinked too often, and too quick, dark lashes flickering. A tension in his shoulders. Either the man had food poisoning…

Or he was incredibly nervous about something.

Under the table, Vivian’s foot nudged up against her own: she’d noticed as well.

That was probably what had sent Axelle from the room, but God knew what the girl thought she’d accomplish out there on her own.

Raven felt her clothes beginning to catch at her skin as her own fear-sweat response kicked in.

“Mr. Mahoney,” she said, thankful her voice stayed even. “We aren’t keeping you from something, are we?”

He froze, mid-gesture, as he talked about the sample packages he could offer her. A tight smile. “I’m sorry?”

“You seem…distressed.”

“Do I?” He pushed his hair back again, revealing the beaded dampness on his forehead. He looked at his hand afterward, the shine on it, lip curling. “I apologize. I’m afraid I’m feeling rather unwell. Cold and flu season, you know. I–”

“Clive,” Raven said, and his gaze snapped up to hers, eyes white-rimmed, wild as a spooked horse’s. “I don’t think you’re involved,” she said, bluntly. “Not directly, anyway. Just tell us what’s happening.”

“Us…?” He glanced toward Vivian–

And the woman was on her feet in an instant, a smooth, startlingly fast movement. Her gun was in her hands already, pointed at Clive.

“Shit,” Raven breathed.

The door opened, and from the threshold, Axelle said, “Shit.”

Clive’s gaze darted that direction. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. The color had bled out of his face, his rich tan going sickly pale. “I don’t – I’m – I can’t – I’m sorry.”

The crack of a gunshot split the air.

~*~

Albie had spotted a rectangular switchback stair behind the reception desk up front, with polished bannisters and white spindles, a throwback to a bygone age. He himself took the concrete and steel emergency stairwell in the back. No alarms sounded. No one waited for him when he eased open the door at the second-floor landing.

It was a ghost town.

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