Page 23 of The Specialist

He left, and I pulled on a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. I ran a hand through my short hair and over my scruff. I spritzed on my favorite cologne from my collection and headed up to my office. I tapped on the cameras and studied the men waiting for me. Neither was familiar, but I had to agree with Mack. They didn’t look like they wanted to join the gym or belonged here. I doubted they wanted to complain about a piece of machinery or the temperature of the pool. They were both reclining in visitor chairs, their legs crossed. One sat perfectly still, but I had a feeling his eyes were taking in every detail. The other man was on his phone, scrolling. I returned my gaze to the one sitting still. There was an air about him I recognized, even on camera.

Despite his calm expression, perfectly tailored suit, slicked-back hair, and shiny shoes, malice clung to him. He was someone you didn’t want to cross. I studied him carefully. His hair was dark, as were his eyes. His face was unusual. Slim nose, heavy brows, smooth skin. I found it hard to judge his age. I had the feeling the skilled hands of a surgeon had a lot to do with his appearance.

What the hell did he want from me?

I made sure the extra cameras behind the desk in the office were running and grabbed a juice bottle, deciding to play up the gym aspect until I knew what they wanted.

Then I headed down the steps and walked into the general office. The men stood as I entered the room, and I nodded at them.

“Gentlemen,” I greeted them. “I was told you wanted to see me. Forgive my keeping you waiting. I was just cleaning up from a workout.”

The one I identified as the boss stepped forward, extending his hand. “Mr. Vulpe, thank you for seeing me.”

I shook his hand, noticing the lack of grip and the coldness of his skin. Definitely the boss. He specialized in issuing orders and not getting his hands dirty. He was weak. His sidekick simply nodded at me, standing to one side of his boss.

I frowned. “I fear you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name. I don’t know yours. Or why you are asking to see me. My managers could give you a tour if you want a membership.”

“I am not here about a membership.”

I sat down, taking a sip of my juice, every instinct on overdrive. “Then why are you here? And, more importantly, who are you?”

He sat down, unbuttoning his jacket. His tie was navy, matching his suit, a ribbon of darkness against the white of his shirt.

“Ivan Jones. My card.”

I took the card, studying it. “You’re in construction?” I asked mildly, even more wary. If he was in construction, or his last name was Jones, I was the Queen of England. As cultured as his voice was, I could detect a trace of a rougher accent at times—even stronger than my own. It put me on edge.

He inclined his head.

“I’m not looking to sell the building or do renovations.”

“I’m not looking to buy it. I want to hire you for a job.”

My eyebrows rose in surprise. “A job?”

“Your name was given to me by Barry Sinclair. He says you are the best demolition man he knows.”

I was surprised Barry would give out my personal information.

“I work for Barry on occasion. If you need a building demolished, you can hire his company and request my services. I don’t do freelance.”

“This is a special job.” Ivan’s eyes were frosty, his tone equally so. “Private.”

“Not interested.”

“What would make it interesting?” he asked. “Name your price.”

“There isn’t a price. I’m not interested.”

“There is always a price.”

“Not for me.”

“I would give you the best crew. Everything you needed to complete the job. My nephew would make sure you had everything.”

I paused, then asked a question. “Alex, I presume?”

Ivan pursed his lips and nodded. “I know he was here. My apologies. He gets ahead of himself.”