I’m interrupted by my phone actually ringing, and this time when I look at it, ready to reject another of Lucien’s calls, I’m surprised to see Camille’s name instead.My cousin and best New Orleans friend, she almost never calls, because I almost never answer.
If she’s calling, she has a good reason.
“Are you okay?”I ask, in lieu of a hello.
“I’m fine,” she says, a smile caught up in her drawling voice.“But I have a message for you.Lucien says he’s in town and you made him a promise.He also says he’s got something you need.”
Something I need.I almost snort.He doesn’t have the first idea about what I might need right now.He doesn’t even know why I was involved in a war on the streets of New York, or why we didn’t have the soldiers to fight it on our own.
I almost tell Camille off for passing messages for someone like Lucien Boudreaux, because it’s beneath her.But I catch myself before the words come out of my mouth.Because the thing about Lucien is that he knows things he shouldn’t know.He has plans no one else understands, and contacts that make him invaluable.
If he’s telling Camille he has something I need...
The problem is, he might not be lying.
And I can’t take the chance of calling his bluff.Not until I know.
“Christ,” I breathe.
Camille, that bitch, just laughs her breathy laugh, tells me to call her when I have time, and hangs up.
And I spin toward the apartment, trying to figure out whether I should get in touch with Lucien...or go about my business and make him go to the trouble of finding me, instead.
Brooks
“Does Sloane know you’re here?”
I almost punch him for even asking, but stop myself just in time.
After all, Duca de la Roca is a friend, and Joseph Rossi’s right-hand man.Not exactly someone you punch just because you’re having a hard day.A hard week.
A hard fucking month.
He’s also not the sort of person you tell about the hard month, though, so I keep my mouth shut on that score and settle for giving him the most withering glance I can manage on short notice.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just ask that, Duca.Stop fooling around.What do you have for me?”
The man has the nerve to stare at me like he actually doubts me, and I turn away from him, already tired of the game.If he’s going to play hard to get, I’m going to take the time to make sure I wasn’t followed when I came in here.The bar is slick and sleek, everything you’d expect from a bar on the roof of one of the swankiest buildings in Manhattan.Chromed-out furniture with dark purple leather on the details.Glass tables with rusted steel supporting the clear surfaces, and a floor that’s so black it looks like it must be hiding something sinister.The crowd here is equally shiny, a mix of girls too young to be out and men too old to be looking at girls like this.Dark suits and scowls on the men, while the girls are in candy pinks and bright oranges.Lipstick and pigtails and high heels.Loud music and laughter, and alcohol flowing like it’s fucking water.
I don’t have to ask to know this is one of Michael Rossi’s bars.Everything about it screams money and decadence, and though he isn’t a glittery person himself–far from it–he is an awfully good businessman.And he knows what the Manhattan crowds like.
Seeing as how it’s Michael’s, I guess the security is pretty good in here, but I’m not taking any chances.I watched the road behind me like a hawk on the way here and didn’t see any cars that raised the hair on my neck.But that doesn’t mean I didn’t pick up a tail.
Hell, one of the reasons we chose the bar at all is the way it’s set up.From where we’re sitting–a booth at the back, that gives us at least a little bit of privacy–we can see the one and only entrance to the place.And there’s so much noise in here that any casual observer would have trouble overhearing us.
Of course, Duca hasn’t given me anything worth overhearing.Yet.
I reach for the Sazerac in front of me, hating that the New Orleans special was the first drink I thought of when I got here, and turn to Duca again.“Are you going to give me what I asked for or not?”I ask sharply.“Because if you just wanted to get me out on a date, there are easier ways to do it.”
That gets a smile out of the man, and I grin in response.Duca is one of the best people I know, and would sell his soul for any of the Rossi clan–or Sloane, or Penny, or even me–but he almost never smiles.He also doesn’t do side jobs that Joseph doesn’t know about, though, and I was surprised when he called me and said he had information for me.
Because no, Sloane doesn’t know I’m here, and neither does Joseph.At least, not technically.As the best fixer in the city, I very rarely tell my clients how I go about fixing their problems, and right now Sloane is my client, not my friend.
And I’m not sure, yet, whether I can fix the problem she presented me with.
But when she told me what happened, I knew I had to try.Partially because it dovetailed with what I was already doing.
The smile melts off Duca’s face and he finally leans in like he’s ready to get down to business.I put my drink down and lean in as well, unexpectedly nervous.
