CHAPTER 9
Of fucking course, a kinky piece of shit like Campeau would arrange a meeting in aglass cage.Fucking of course he would. Goddamn son of a?—
“What’s wrong?”
“Fuck off,” Will said stiffly as they got out of the rental car. Or, hell, maybe it was one of Cole’s actual cars—no reason for him not to buy something fancy when he wasn’t trying to hide his identity, and a Porsche Spyder was decidedly fancy even for the bougie streets of downtown Montreal. Or maybe he was just trying to imitate Campeau’s vibe. Either way, the ride from the hotel to the Port of Montreal had been fun—would have been more fun if Cole had let him drive, but whatever.
Then the fun stopped as Will got a glance at what the Port of Montreal Tower, where the handoff was supposed to take place, looked like.
All glass.Glass.Sixty-five meters of glass with a steel skeleton and what was very likely a lovely view of the city of Montreal in one direction and the port in another, and did he mention the glass? Glass every which way?
“Are you afraid of heights?”
Will stared at Cole. “Are you serious? Do you not remember chasing me naked onto Marcus’s balcony and throwing shit at me until I had to jump and grab the railing on the apartment below?”
“Idoremember that.” Cole smiled wistfully. “Quite fondly, in fact.”
Of course he did.
“You didn’t seem afraid of heights then, but it could be because you feared for your life more.”
Will sighed. He was already tired after more than twenty-four hours of running around without sleep or enough coffee, and this conversation was just making it worse. “Drop it.”
Cole stopped walking and put a hand on his arm. “If you’re going to have a problem going into the Tower, I’d rather know about it now than find out when we’re supposed to be tackling Marcus.” Figuratively in Cole’s case, Will assumed. He was in a suit with delicate stitching that wouldn’t withstand a tackle.
“It’s not the height,” Will said after a moment, and motioned for Cole to start walking again. As they did, he added, “It’s not the exposure, either. I don’t mind that. It’s…” How did he put this? “I don’t like theillusionof support.”
“It’s not an illusion,” Cole said as if Will were the biggest dumbass on the planet. “That glass is incredibly strong.”
“Probably,” Will agreed. “But knowing that doesn’t help. There’s just some part of my brain that sees thin air behind a veneer beneath me and says ‘Fuck it, you’re about to die.’ Actual thin air isn’t a problem, though; I can handle that fine.” He squared his shoulders as they reached the front entrance of the Tower and used Campeau’s special security card to open it. “I can handle this too. I won’t freak out on you. I just don’t like architecture that lies to me.”
Cole pulled out his phone and tapped a program he’d loaded onto it back in the hotel, with Campeau’s reluctant assistance. “Cameras are now off.”
“Funny what being a billionaire can buy you,” Will muttered as he looked around. Elevator, elevator, where was the elevator? Ah. “You think he ever brings his hookups here?” he asked as they walked over to the elevator—thankfullynotglass—and got in.
“No.” Cole shook his head. “It’s too exposed. You saw how he crumpled as soon as we presented him with photographic evidence.”
“To be fair, that was a hell of a lot of photographic evidence,” Will said.
“The point stands. Campeau is only bold in enclosed spaces. This is more the kind of place he’d bring investors for private meetings.”
Of course it was. The elevator began to rise, and Will checked his watch. Fifteen minutes until Marcus was supposed to arrive. The only illumination in the elevator came from the glowing buttons and a strip of emergency lights along the floor. It lit Cole’s face strangely, making him appear cold and alien. Which—all right, Cole Dalton could give an ice sculpture a run for its money at times, but Will felt like he was making good progress chipping away at that front. He wasn’t entirely sure why he even wanted to, but…
Jobs are more fun with friends. Gotta make it as easy as possible to track down the Puffin.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that.
He resisted the urge to text Davey and share some whine about how his libido was the most inconvenient thing in the world. “Still think we should have sourced a gun.”
“We’re in Canada.”
“Canadians use guns too.”
The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. “Marcus doesn’t,” Cole said with finality as he stepped out into the viewing area. The glass cage itself was a few floors up, at the end of a wooden spiral staircase beside the elevators, which—meh. Hopefully they could take him down before he went up there. Every exterior wall on this level was glass as well, but the space in front of them was pretty open except for the occasional unpowered kiosk, a few seating areas, and a lot of strange blue balls with flat faces littering the floor.
It was a pretty barren space, all things considered. “Not a lot of places to hide.”
“We’ll make do.”
