Ramirez glances down at the paper bag still in my hand. “Lunch?”
I look down at the bag. “It’s not mine.”
Before I can explain, Sammy Pawson reaches back from the driver’s seat and snatches it out of my hand.
“Be my guest,” I mutter, watching him peel open the bag and pull out the sandwich. He bites into it like he hasn’t had a meal in... well, at least since the shrimp last night at the museum.Punching people probably burns a lot of calories.
When we don’t pull away from my office, I breathe a little easier that maybe I’m not about to meet my Maker. There are too many witnesses. But still, I understand the tango of power has begun. Him showing up unannounced demanding my attention is all about control. And the only way not to let someone like Ramirez think he has complete control is to limit his access to what he wants—me. I check my watch. “I have a few minutes between clients, Mr. Ramirez. What can I do for you?”
He gives me a practiced smile. “You’re familiar with international banking, yes?”
I knownothingabout international banking. That’s why Seth Jackson is on the team. It’s taken months to set upCraig Miller’s portfolio of wealth-building for clients who are powerfully, politically, andcriminallyconnected. And quicker than a rumor can spread through junior high, the FBI made sure word got around until Jimmy Rook “stumbled” upon the not-so-secret ways I was making my clients wealthy. But rumors aren’t everything if you can’t back them up. The FBI had to filter hundreds of thousands of dollars into Rook’s investment account to prove I could deliver before he finally introduced me to Ramirez.
Or rather, introducedCraig Miller. He’s the expert and it’s his persona that I shift into effortlessly. “Intimately. I’ve handled foreign accounts from Dubai to the Caymans. I know how to navigate international compliance laws and move money to where it needs to be.”
“What about Italy?”
“Sì, sono preparato,” I say, assuring him I’m prepared.And grateful for taking Italian in college to impress Cassidy Jo, who dropped out after two weeks.“Just have your banker in Italy send me the documents, and I can make sure your accounts are ready.”
“Oh, we won’t be leaving that to email, Craig.” Ramirez adjusts the cuff of his sleeve, casual as ever. “Italy can be tricky. Beautiful, yes—but it has a habit of chewing up amateurs and leaving their bones on the beach.”
Was that a threat of scenic dismemberment?
“This requires a face-to-face meeting in Lagoverde.” He studies me. “To ensure there are no miscommunications and transactions stay clean.”
This is why Lorenzo Ramirez has never been arrested. Because he knows exactly what to say and what not to say in case anyone is recording. When I first met him, I suspected I’d be patted down, possibly given a cavity search, to look for a recording device. But no one touched me. That didn’t mean there wasn’t an underlying threat of it, and we weren’t going to take any chances on trying to get Ramirez to say something that his attorneys—the ones smarter than Rook—would somehow get thrown out of court before the ink dried on charges.
“You want me to go with you to Italy?”
“Is that going to be a problem?”
Sammy crumples the sandwich wrapper and looks back at me. If I were really a financial advisor to the criminally nutso, I’m sure I could charter a jet and be sipping espresso in Lagoverde by dinner. But the FBI doesn’t work that fast. I meet Ramirez’s gaze. This isn’t a request.
“It shouldn’t be,” I answer. “But I’d need to check my schedule. When would I need to be there?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
“Thursday.” I school my expression, hoping it looks like I’m mentally rearranging my schedule instead of trying to show how much that date complicates everything.
“That’s... quick,” I say. “Is there a reason for the urgency?”
“Edmond’s concerns require our immediate attention in Italy.” He flicks a glance at Rook. “And I’m afraid time is what we don’t have, Mr. Miller.”
Edmond. My muscles tense and Cybil’s face flashes to mind, nearly snapping me out of character. That’s the difference, isn’t it? I’mplayinga part. But Cybil? She’s in the middle of this for real. And if Earl Edmond is involved with Lorenzo Ramirez, that makes him dangerous.
Does she even know who she’s working for?
I’m second-guessing Katherine’s directive now. Turn Cybil into an asset. Great. But how do I do that without putting her in more danger? How do I warn her without blowing my cover? I can’t. I saw the look in her eyes in the bathroom. A harbored distrust of me. But I can’t sit here and do nothing. I have to try... something.
“I understand,” I say carefully, “but if I’m going to do my job right—keep everything tidy—I need time to do my due diligence.”
Ramirez waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t waste my time, Miller. If you can’t handle my business, I’ll find someone else who can.”
I know I’m treading a fine line. Getting to Italy, working alongside Ramirez’s bankers—that’ll put me close enough to his systems to find what I need. His files. The accounts. Maybe even the hit order to take out Danny Morales.
I nod slowly. “Time is money, Mr. Ramirez. I never waste either. I’m here to make you a very rich man—and protect your money while I’m at it. If that means Italy, I’ll make it work. But...” I pause long enough to make him lean in. “It’s important I know who I’m working for. That I can trust them.”
“And you don’t think you can trust me?” Ramirez gives a hearty chuckle. “Is that it?”
