Peter decided to trust his gut.
“I’m wondering who told you that? I’m happy to supply you with any security you might need, butassassination? That’s not something I’d do for anyone but the US government. I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed, or someone has played a very nasty trick on you.”
“But… five million dollars, would that do it?” Gilroy’s eyes were intense and a little crazy. Peter shook his head.
“Mr. Sprain, I know that tempers can run high, and I don’t believe for a second that you really want your counterpart at Biotech Universal dead. If I did, I would have to report you to the authorities.”
“So you’re saying no, but if he happens to end up deadandI happen to transfer five million dollars to an offshore account…?”
Peter gave Gilroy a hard look. “Then I would wonder how he died and refund you your money.”
“But I need—”
“You need to grow up,” Peter snapped. “You either challenge him or you don’t, but I won’t be helping you kill him. Is that clear enough for you?”
Gilroy was breathing hard, his nostrils flaring. Peter stared him down, not even remotely intimidated.
“Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?” Peter asked, squaring his shoulders and pulling up so that he was sitting ramrod straight in his chair.
“I know for a fact that this is something you do. Ten million dollars.” Gilroy put his hands on the table, looking like he was preparing to go into battle. With this level of determination hewas better off just fighting the guy himself than trying to make Peter do something he didn’t want to do.
“I. Don’t. Kill. People. For. Money.” Peter enunciated each word, putting his own hands flat on the table and mirroring Gilroy’s stance.
“Fifteen million.” Gilroy stared him straight in the eye.
Peter couldn’t help it. He laughed. Gilroy didn’t have fifteen million dollars to spend, not without approval from his board and certainly not in his personal accounts. Peter didn’t know what he hoped to achieve, but Peter would be damned if he gave in now.
Gilroy, furious at Peter’s mocking laughter, launched himself over the table with more agility than Peter would have given him credit for. Peter watched the alpha sail over the table, and when he was close enough to reach, Peter grabbed him by the neck, spun him on his back and snapped his neck.
Looking down, Gilroy lying on his back with his head hanging off the table at an unnatural angle, Peter wondered why he’d done it. He must have known that Peter wouldn’t let him get away with a full frontal attack. It didn’t make sense.
Sighing, Peter fished his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the police. He wouldn’t get in trouble—Gilroy had clearly challenged him—but killing the CEO of one of his largest clients was terrible for business.
After he called the police, Peter called his head lawyer and made sure that the legal team was ready for the possible fallout. Hopefully the new CEO would still want to work with him.
“Can I… should I be doing something?” the hostess asked, walking up but keeping a good distance between her and Peter.
“Like what?” Peter asked, frowning.
“I don’t know!” she sounded hysterical, and Peter took pity.
“Maybe call people who have a reservation and let them know that there’s been an incident?” Peter suggested, looking around the restaurant. Everyone but the staff had cleared out, and they all looked like they desperately wanted to leave, too.
The hostess looked relieved to have something to do, and by the time the police arrived she was busy making calls and offering up apologies.
“And what was the nature of your argument?” the beta officer taking Peter’s statement asked after Peter was done explaining things. Peter was about to answer when he caught sight of something peeking out from between the buttons of Gilroy’s shirt. He reached down to see what it was, and though it was obvious the officer wanted to stop him, he didn’t.
The thing poking through Gilroy’s shirt was small and black, and when Peter unbuttoned the buttons around it, a small microphone was revealed. It was an old design and nothing anyone at Tank Security would be caught dead using, but still fully functional.
And wireless.
Peter closed the buttons—covering up the mike—and turned to the beta taking his statement.
“It was a business matter. He wanted me to provide a service I wasn’t interested in providing. Was there anything else?”
The beta was still watching Gilroy’s shirt, his eyes wide. He looked at Peter and shook his head, closing his notebook with a snap.
“No, that’s it. You’re free to go.”
