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“They’ll come in from here.” He indicates whatever it is on his desk and the men move in closer. “We’ll have a boat here, keeping watch. Anyone drifts into the space, get rid of them, preferably without raising any alarms.”
“What about the Coast Guard?” Brad asks. “They have a habit of showing up when they’re not wanted.”
“If they do, they’ll be distracted. Ringo’s gonna be here.” He points to something else. “Both when we take delivery and when we do the exchange with the Russians. I have a feeling that dodgy engine in that shit-heap boat of his is finally going to fail.”
“I’ve been meaning to get it fixed.” A man, Ringo, I presume, shakes his head in feigned despair. He’s a beast of a man, tall and slim, and extremely scary looking. “Thought I’d get one more fishing trip in first.”
“Don’t get burned, will you?” Danny asks seriously, making a few of the men chuckle lowly. “Don’t want to ruin that pretty face of yours.”
More chuckles, and I have to force my own back. Ringo is probably one of the ugliest men I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I’ve seen some pig-ugly guys in my time. His pitted skin is like leather, his nose big enough to land a small jet on. I’ve not spent much time with him, but I’ve figured his personality isn’t exactly winning either. Poor guy hasn’t got much going for him. Except, maybe, the ability to kill from a mile range.
Ringo sniffs back the insults, but says no more, leaving Danny to go on. “We have an hour tops turn around. Get the consignment off, in the containers, checked, and we’re out of there. Then we wait for the—” Black’s head snaps up, finding me at the door, and I don’t mistake the flash in his eyes for anything less than fury. His fists ball on the desk. His men all turn and look at me.
I back up, not saying a word, and make a hasty retreat, heading back the way I came. I’ve seen his eyes in various states of fury, but never have I seen them burning that hard. I’m just about to hotfoot it up the stairs when I hear my name being called. But not by him. I turn toward the woman’s voice, finding Esther, the dark-haired lady who showed me to my suite last night.
“You must be hungry,” she says, indicating to her right. “I was just about to bring breakfast to your room, but since you’re here . . .”
It’s the first time she’s spoken to me. She’s English? She’s a very attractive lady, maybe late forties, with a slim body and clear complexion. She’s wearing the same as last night—a gray maid’s uniform. It’s plain. Boring. I look back toward Danny’s office, torn.
“He wants you to eat,” she says, winning back my attention. “The kitchen is this way.” Turning, Esther wanders away, and I resolve myself to follow, perhaps because she’s the only other woman I’ve seen since I arrived. It’s someone to talk to.
Entering the kitchen, an enormous space with more glass doors leading to the garden, I take a seat at the island. Esther doesn’t speak as she putters around, wiping the sides, emptying the dishwasher, putting a fresh pot of coffee on. The silence is awkward.
“How long have you worked here?” I ask, trying to make idle conversation.
“Long enough,” she says over her shoulder, swirling the coffee pot as the machine drips fat drops of caffeine into it. Long enough. That sounds like too long.
“You run the house?”
“I do as I’m asked to do.” She pours the coffee into a cup and passes it over, and I accept on a small smile. “You’ll do well to do the same.”
I say nothing but think plenty. Everyone does what Danny Black asks them to do. I should heed her advice.
“Bagel? Toast?” she asks, reaching into a cupboard.
“Toast, please.”
She loads the toaster with two slices of bread and presses the lever, sinking them. Then she goes about her chores again, as if I’m not here. I spin my coffee cup, wondering if she’s even curious about me and how I’ve come to be in her boss’s mansion. “I hope you don’t mind me ask—”
“You can leave, Esther.” Danny’s voice hits my back with force, sounding as angry as his eyes looked when I fled his office. I don’t turn around, and instead watch Esther scuttle off without another word. Dropping my eyes to the speckled gray and black marble counter, I start studying the various patterns, trying to make shapes and pictures out of them. I know he’s getting close. Every hair on my nape is standing to attention. I shudder, tense. And then his hand rests on my neck. But rather than tense more, I relax.
“Never listen in on my work conversations again.”
