"Not at all," Talbot replied, unfazed. "This is a top-tier professional, Mr. Valmont." He considered Caius for a moment, then added, "Maybe the best I've seen."
Caius didn't look up from the photos. "Are you sure he worked alone?"
"Yes. If he wasn't, I would've found the connection."
Caius retrieved the photo hiding on the bottom of the spread. The man was captured on camera rolling a utility cart through the corridor. To his right the blonde woman, whose name he wished to erase from his mind, had been pressed to the wall by Ronan Wick. "What about her?" He shoved his finger at the woman in the photo. "Any chance she and our mystery man know each other beyond this interaction?"
"I doubt it. This was the only occurrence of them appearing on the footage together. He's bound to bump into people at such crowded events."
Caius thought about Jerico's words again. To shut Kimberly Holt up had cost him a lot of money. She'd almost fucked his career, but he'd managed to cover it up just in time.
But from what he'd remembered about the bitch, she was incapable of making any sound decisions. She wasn't any different from all those young gold-diggers with fresh tits and ass. Even stuffing all her holes was boring.They had to spike her drink to get her to give it up. And he didn't like when he had to put in all the work. Watching them squirm while trying to get him interested was far more exciting.
"Keep an eye on her," Caius told Talbot.
"No problem."
"Were you able to find out more about the man? His hiding place. What kind of car he drives."
"Not yet. We have nothing to go on so far except for the footage from both events. Once, he's out of the building, he's a ghost. We're still looking through surveillance from the neighboring business."
That stung. Caius didn't react, but he felt the deep, cellular irritation of being in the dark. He hated being anyone's target. At first, he hoped that his former buddies' failures were due to their own misjudgments, but now that he'd started to look into the situation himself and had confirmed Jerico's theory wasn't just a theory, he was almost certain that he could be next.
Caius swept the next photo into view, analyzed the stance, the angle, the readiness of the mystery man. "Did he come armed?"
"Not obviously. He could be carrying, but my men think he's more hands-on. The only evidence he left was in the Mid-Wilshire building—looped feeds and disabled motion sensors near the vault, but not in a way that would tip off anyone with experience. My guy had to scrap the system to figure it out with the tech we obtained on the black market. Regular government-issued software won't cut it."
A hint of admiration in the investigator's voice made Caius want to rip his tongue out. But he kept it together. "Any theories?" he asked instead.
Talbot hesitated, which irritated Caius further. "Well, whoever this is, he knows what he's doing. Too low-key, no loose ends. I'd say definitely private. But we haven't figured out yet what organization he belongs to or why he's doing this."
"And you're telling me after all this time, you still can't figure out who he is?"
The investigator kept his gaze on the desk. "It's going to take time, Mr. Valmont. If you believe he's targeting you next, I'll need unrestricted access to all your feeds. Your office, your property you share with your wife, your penthouse in the city. This guy won't be easy. He moves like he's used to blending in and vanishing. For all we know he could already be tracking your movements."
Caius's hands flattened against the wood, spreading just a little. "Find him. I don't care how much it costs. He took out two of my former associates and walked away."
Talbot nodded, gathering the photos back into the envelope. He was gone then, leaving the envelope at the corner of the desk.
Caius stared at it for a while, feeling angry and frustrated at the same time. He wanted to punish someone for these feelings.
He would find the mystery man.
And when he did, he would make sure there would be no more photos, no more questions—just a clean, permanent end.
Caius Valmont would not be made a victim.
Not in his own playground.
The private club was soundproofed and padded for the city's most toxic conversations.
Caius took the rear entrance—always did—and skirted the valets and the smoking hedge funders. Inside, the host recognized him instantly. No name, no nod, just a quick pulse of the eyes and the ushering toward the elevator.
The back room on the top floor was already staged—blackout curtains, half-moon banquette in oxblood leather, table set with a decanter and two tumblers, both untouched. The light came from a copper sconce on the wall that rendered every surface as grainy, half-human.
Caius could see the veins in his wrist, and when Wick entered five minutes later, the first thing he noticed was that Ronan's hands were shaking.
"Didn't think you'd ever call," Wick said. He sat, then immediately reached for the decanter and poured two fingers of whiskey, hand braced so the glass didn't rattle. "Why are we meeting here?"
