“Evade Inc.,” he said as he pushed a cardover the counter. It was black and minimalist, with muted gray letters stamped onto the card as though even the contact details were evasive. “I’m here to see Joseph Bailey?”
The girl glanced from the card to Cal’s face and back to the card. Her eyebrows creased together, and a narrow wrinkle grooved crookedly into the skin between them.
“Mr. Bailey is expecting you?” she asked as she reachedfor the phone.
“What I was told,” Cal said easily. He leaned farther over the desk to nod at her phone. “Check with him?”
She scooted her chair back from him and punched a number into the phone.
“Mr. Bailey,” she singsonged. “This is the front desk. I’m sorry to disturb you, but there’s someone here who says you’re expecting him?”
There was a pause, and she pursed her lips as she visibly gotthe wrong end of the stick. “Oh. Of course, Mr. Bailey. Yes. I’ll send him down now. Immediately.”
She hung up the phone and swiveled her chair to the side to fish a key card out of the dispenser. As she slotted it into the computer, Cal wondered idly what she thought he was there to do. People used to think he was a rent boy, but he was over thirty now and the market for middle-aged rough tradewas limited.
That was why he had worn a shirt and tie on a Friday night, after all. Signed up for fucking Tinder like he cared more about what someone liked to do than what their cock looked like.
“Here you go, sir,” the receptionist said. She plucked the card out of the computer and held it out to him. “This will give you access to the lifts and all available floors. Mr. Bailey is currentlyin the spa. He said you should go and meet him there.”
Cal plucked the card out of her fingers with a rough “thanks.” Great. He got to watch some poor sod rub wrinkly old flesh. That was how he wanted to spend his one night off.
He knotted his tie on the way down in the elevator and smoothed the black ribbon down over his chest as they reached the spa. The doors bounced open to reveal a minimalistspace of steel, glass, and pale wax-smoothed wood. A tall, gray-haired man with a face that looked as though someone had chiseled it from pissed-off granite stood on the other side. He looked Cal up and down, from cropped blond head to boots, and grunted.
It was hard to tell if he was disappointed or had gotten what he expected.
“You’re Elijah’s brother?”
It actually took a second. No one calledEl by his given name, probably because it made him sound like a Mormon who had gotten lost on the wrong side of town.
“Yeah.” Cal stepped out of the elevator before the doors could close again, and he stuck out his hand. “Cal Tate. Evade Inc.”
There was a pause, long enough to make the point that Chisel could fuck with Cal if he wanted to. Then he grabbed Cal’s hand with his rough, scarred mitt.
“Edward,” he said. “I knew your grandfather. He was a good man. Didn’t talk much. I always admired that about him.”
Cal scratched the back of his neck as he weighed his crappy bank account—for the work he did Cal made okay money at Evade, but he’d never saved anything in his life—against the fact that even his long-suffering brother would wash his hands of him eventually if Cal kept fucking up.
“If the police flag us down,” Cal warned, “I’ll pull over.”
Edward smiled as though someone had drowned his dog and then told him to say cheese. “That side of the business stopped being profitable a while ago,” he said. “Come on. Mr. Bailey’s waiting for us.”
He turned on his heel. There was a precision to the movement that Cal recognized. El moved the same way sometimes. The military trainedthat into you. No surprise there. Most of the good close-protection pros in the UK had a military background. There were a few ex-cops in there, but it was mostly the forces. Edward had probably been something a bit more specialist than a squaddie like El, though.
Cal fell in behind Edward as they walked through the curved tiled halls of the spa. It felt mostly empty. Most of the doors were opento reveal leather beds and smooth cream-plaster walls. Soft music and gentle voices leaked from under the few doors that were closed, and the air smelled like jasmine and oil.
He heard the sound of water before they reached the pool. It was tucked away down a low, black mirror-tiled tunnel, and the sound of the two men’s footsteps was loud off the bare walls. He tasted salt against the back ofhis throat instead of chlorine as the tunnel opened out into a low, dimly lit room, tiled in a small rust-red pattern. The irregularly shaped pool was the brightest lit space in the room, as underwater lights made it glow a flickering sapphire blue. The dark shadow of a body cut through the water like a knife, with strong, impatient strokes.
“Wait here,” Edward told Cal.
He walked over to theedge of the water and crouched down as the swimmer’s head, slick and dark as an otter, broke the surface.
“The driver from Evade is here,” Edward said as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Do you want to speak to him?”
“Why not,” the man said dryly as he pushed wet hair back from his face. “You’ve done everything else, after all.”
He pushed off the side of the pool and swam over to thesteps at the side. Water streamed down his long body as he climbed out—all tight muscle and pale skin. A ribbon of black fabric cupped his balls and stretched over the curve of his ass. His face was all sharp bones and elegance. He belonged on the cover of a magazine.
So much for old and wrinkly. Joseph Bailey looked like he was in his twenties, and Cal could see enough of that lean, wiry bodyto tell there were no wrinkles there. It wasn’t such a good idea to look. All of a sudden, Cal’s collar wasn’t the only thing that felt too tight. He should have read the client file, he supposed, because this wasn’t one of the usual perma-tanned, gold-chained old gangsters who usually rocked up.
