Ah ha, no. Leaving Cole alone wasn’t in the cards. “’Fraid not, honeybee,” he said with a shrug. “I’m like a burr—I cling something fierce.”
Cole looked somewhere between surprised and resigned. “You’re not making a smart choice.”
“Haven’t you heard?” Will grinned. “I get by on looks and charm, not brains. Everybody says so.”
“And what would your brother say if he knew you were risking your life when you didn’t have to?”
Oof. Cole was pulling out the big guns. Luckily, Will was prepared for this particular shot across the bow.
“He’d say to never leave a friend behind,” Will said. “Sure, he’d yell his head off at me for doing something dangerous,but he’d never actually expect me to abandon someone I care about.” Especially not someone Davey knew Will wasinterestedin, which he did. “Now stop frettin’ about my family and start thinkin’ about yours instead.”
Cole narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that nobody says no to your mother.”Even when they want to.“If you can get her to set up a meeting between us and Alders, he’ll be on his best behavior.”
“I think you’re overestimating just how frightening Mother is.”
Will scoffed. “Are you kidding? I’m underestimating it, if anything. You’re just used to her. Like dosing yourself with iocane powder until you build up a resistance.”
Cole sighed. “Of course you like that movie.”
“Hey, you’re the one who recognized the line,” Will said. “And it’s iconic, thank you very much. Now, can you do this without your mother losing her shit?”
“Mother doesn’t ‘lose her shit.’” Will could practically see the quote marks. “She verbally flays you until you wish you could just die and get it over with.”
“Aw, don’t worry, baby.” Will slung an arm around Cole’s shoulders and pressed an obnoxiously loud kiss to the side of his head. “You ain’t doing it by yourself. I’ll be right there in the trenches with you.”
Cole turned and looked at him for a long, silent moment. Will felt like he was getting pretty good at reading the man’s expressions at this point, but not this one. Whatever was happening in Cole’s head, whatever the odds he was weighing and how he felt about them, he didn’t let it show. When he finally nodded, Will felt like he was on the verge of gasping with relief.
“All right,” Cole said. “I’ll see what she can do.”
What Lucille Dalton could do, apparently, was get them a meeting with Alders in a private tea room in one of the largest and most expensive hotels in Manhattan. Will had to borrow a jacket just to get through the front door—it wasthatfancy. He also got to listen, secondhand, to Cole sit through a verbal beatdown the likes of which left him grateful that he didn’t have a mother of his own. Jesus Christ, that woman was intolerable beyond the first dozen words, and even that felt generous.
That said, they were surrounded by people of all sorts, plenty of cameras, and enough wealth that not even Harry James Alders could throw his weight around too heavily. Which was good, because the moment they stepped into the room, a pair of large men who smelled faintly of smoke came over and frisked both of them. They even went so far as to inspect the crutches themselves before propelling Cole and Will over to the table where Alders was sitting.
There was no tea on the table, no tiny food or delicate china. There was just a single bottle of whiskey with a rather striking black and white label, and three glasses. One of them was full. The other two were turned upside down.
“Gentlemen.” Alders gestured to the chairs on their side of the table. “Sit.”
Will made sure Cole was down first before sitting himself. He let his eyes drift a bit, taking in the people in the room—four more, all of them in matching black suits—and the way Alders held himself. He sat straight, but not rigidly; confident, not louche. When he noticed Cole staring a bit too long at the bottle, Alders smiled. Something he wanted to show off, then?
“You recognize the vintage, I take it.” His voice was a bit raspy, like he’d already had several drinks.
“It’s a Valerio Adami bottle,” Cole said. “One of the 1926 batches of Macallan, I take it?”
“Mm, you have a good eye,” Alders agreed. “I bought it from a collector a few decades ago. I never planned on drinking it, honestly, but recent events have forced me to reevaluate my stance on collectibles.” He waved a heavy hand at the bottle. “What’s the point of having something precious and never taking the opportunity to enjoy it to the fullest?” He reached out and grabbed up the full whiskey glass, swirling the amber liquid around a few times as he inhaled. “I suppose I should be grateful to you boys for that lesson.”
With that, he threw the contents of the glass to the back of his throat like it was rotgut, coughing once he swallowed. “A little rough going down, but that’s what happens when you get hasty,” Alders said. “I hope you see where I’m going with this, gentlemen.”
Will wasn’t so sure he did, but that was fine; Cole seemed happy to take the lead here. “Neither of us stole anything from you at the party you threw, least of all the Iberian Puffin.”
“I have evidence that says differently.”
“You have a con artist who’s made a career of winnowing himself into the good graces of people more intelligent and powerful than he is telling you that we’re responsible,” Cole said firmly. “Maybe he’s shown you video, maybe he’s got an audio file that sounds vaguely like one of us. I can counter anything he says with video that’s atleastas verifiable, and I can do better than that. I can tell you who actually has the Puffin.”
Alders shifted in his chair. “Not you, then?”
“No. Lilith Gowan, actually.”
