Damon’s jaw locks and I sigh. Fucking buffoon. “Vivienne,” I say, sweetly. “Would you please ask your friends to give us afew moments alone? I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t of the greatest importance.”
Vivienne purses her lips, thinking. And eventually, when she’s made us wait long enough, she concedes, stepping aside and motioning for us to enter. “Honey beats vinegar, my dear Damon. Please, make yourselves comfortable. I’ll join you in a minute.”
With her head held up high, she waltzes away to her bedroom.
Damon and I stride into the living room, the wide historic windows providing a panoramic view of the Eiffel Tower and the surrounding gray skies. I find the bar and pour myself a whiskey neat before joining Damon on the sofa, both of us tucking ourselves into the farthest corner.
Damon glowers at me, hiking his ankle over his thigh. “It’s 11 a.m., Quinton. Have some self-control.”
I scoff. “I’m not the one with substance abuse issues, Cavanaugh. This drink won’t derail my whole life.”
“Wow,” Damon hums, clicking his tongue. “How would the medical board feel if they heard you speak about a disease with such disdain? They should pull your license for such lack of compassion and understanding.”
“Yes, and then we can both be unemployed,” I mutter, my temples pulsing from his constant yammering.
Damon snorts. “Even with no job, I’m worth more than you’ll ever be,Quinny. But don’t worry, you’re not the only philanthropist around. If you wanted, I could sponsor you. Give you a little monthly allowance.”
“I enjoy the work I do,” I retort. “It keeps my mind sharp. Plus, there’s something special about helping make the world a better place.”
Damon blinks. “By peddling opioids for migraines? Yes, you’re a true savior.”
My jaw locks. “NovaTech doesn’t fuck with opioids and you know that. Don’t you dare undermine the work we do.”
“The work you do?” He cocks his head, contempt gripping his features. “Such as sell off patents to money-hungry hedge fund managers?”
My lip twitches. “It wasn’t my choice, Cavanaugh. We had two bad quarters. The board made a rash decision.”
“For which you had final approval.”
I slam the whiskey glass on the side table, veins buzzing with anger. “What do you want me to say?! Huh? That it’s entirely my fault that Emery is gone? That she’s been kidnapped by a fucking lunatic because of me? Fine! Yes, it’s my fault! Happy now?”
The front door to Vivienne’s condo slams shuts, and she suddenly appears before us, eyes clouded in stunned curiosity.
“Emery’s been kidnapped?” Both Damon and I stiffen as Viv circles the living room, sitting down on a chaise opposite us. She crosses her legs, the silk robe drawing open as she reveals her bare legs. “Well? What happened?”
I clear my throat, leaning forward and resting my forearms on my knees. I roll my hands together, my insides roaring with unease. “Two nights ago, on New Year’s Eve, Emery was taken from the resort,” I begin. “I-I received a ransom message to my satellite phone and a video of Emery. I… We’re putting the money together now, but…but I believe they’ll kill her either way.”
“We need to call Nariq Al Husan,” Vivienne says, reaching for her phone. “The General will?—”
“No!” Damon barks, abruptly standing. “No police. No Interpol. They were very clear.”
Vivienne’s hand relaxes. “Then I am not entirely sure why you are here.”
“I need your help tracking her location,” I say, swallowing. “The video file. Perhaps… I don’t know. Perhaps there’s a location embedded in the data.”
“And you expect me to extract said data?” she asks, brows furrowed. “I am sorry, Quinton, but that is far beyond my area of expertise.”
“See?!” Damon grunts. “I told you it was a waste of time coming here. Let’s go! We need to get to Macau.”
“Vivienne, please,” I say, desperate for a sprinkle of hope. “You must know someone. Have some sort of contact that can assist us. Please, Viv. She’s… She’s going to die. I… We can’t let her die.”
Vivienne takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Quinton, but my contacts at Interpol don’t operate on a contractual basis. Unless it’s ordered by the President or is an active case, they will not lend their aid.”
My teeth clench. “And what about your contactsoutsideof Interpol? I know you, Viv. You must know someone. Anyone.Please.”
She purses her lips, her skeptical gaze floating between me and Damon. “I might know someone.” My eyes light up. “But it’ll cost you, Quinton. This person, they’re not tied to any country, to any bureau. They have no loyalty. They only value cash. Are you sure that’s someone you want helping you?”
“I’d hire Satan himself if that’s what it took to get Emery back,” I say with utter resolve. “Take us to them.”
