Page 86 of Oddly Fine

Hayes reached for his weapon just as he heard three light taps on his goddamned window.

“Beckett Thérault?” a suave, cultured voice asked.

Although it was too dark to discern facial features, Hayes guessed from the voice and stature that it was an adult male. Hayes flicked on the overhead interior light so he could see the guy’s face.

The man standing next to the driver’s door was the very definition of sleek. With slicked-back, dark brown hair, and a closely trimmed beard, he looked like a runway model in his Gucci suit. His eyebrows lifted in amusement, as if he’d anticipated their reaction to his unannounced approach. Standing there patiently waiting for them to speak to him, he had the knuckle of his index finger bent and ready to knock again should they decide to ignore him.

“Agent Thérault—if you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to have a little chat.” Even though his voice was slightly muffled because of the closed window, his pattern of speech indicated his inherent arrogance and belief that he had the world at his feet.

“Why do I feel like this fucker is the man I currently want to strangle?” Whether Beckett was talking to himself or to Hayes was debatable.

“I can hear youuu,” the man said in a singsong voice and smiled brightly.

“How many years would I get—” Beckett pondered, clenching and unclenching his fists as he tried to decide what to do.

When Hayes looked at him inquiringly, Beckett completed his question. “For the murder of a mob boss. How many years in prison?”

Hayes snorted and replied, “There’s a freshly-dug grave just 20 feet away. There’s only a crime if they find the body.” He didn’t want to get involved. But he hated being caught off guard.

Beckett mulled that over for a minute.

“Gentlemen, please. I’m only trying to help—all I’m asking for is the opportunity to have a discussion.”

Something about the exceedingly polite manner of speaking got on Hayes’ last nerve. The irony of this guy possessing that trait was not lost on him.

With a sigh, Beckett reached across the middle console and Hayes’ chest to press the button to lower the window.

“Matthew Rosario, I presume,” Beckett said coldly.

“In the flesh.” He gave them a regal nod. His voice was melodic—soothing almost. It made Hayes want to sneer and bare his teeth at the posh bastard.

“I should make a coat out of your goddamned flesh for the mess you’ve made of my brother’s life.”

A look of vulnerability and guilt crossed Matthew’s face.

“Yes—and if I thought that might help, I’d happily let you, but there is, I believe, a better way to help.”

And just like that, he’d said the magic word that would let him into the treehouse.

Beckett sighed again and unlocked the car doors.

“You’re riding in the back,” Hayes informed the oldest son of the infamous crime family, real-estate mogul, and apparently Beckett’s new brother-in-law. This situation was such an unlikely reality that it only served to confirm what Hayes already knew: he’d gotten involved with the craziest family in Canada. There was no doubt about it.

There had been some hesitation in determining where exactly they should go. The general consensus was that discussing things in the parking lot of a public cemetery was not appropriate, but beyond that—

But then Matthew had asked Hayes to drive through the now-darkened streets of Montreal, giving him directions towards the edge of the city. They approached a recently constructed complex of condos with a giant sign in front identifying it as the Rose Complex.

“Just a young couple looking for an investment opportunity, are you not?” Matthew asked as they pulled into the visitor’s parking area.

He and Hayes gazed in wonder at the humongous complex.

In total silence, they followed Matthew into the building. Beckett had snapped back to reality after getting into the elevator, looking at Hayes with panic in his eyes that he hoped Hayes would correctly interpret as “please tell me you’re armed.”

Of course, Hayes had always been an excellent mind reader. Coughing, he turned sideways to cover his mouth with his bent arm, offering him a quick look at his holster on his hip.

Beckett relaxed a bit after that. After all, Hayes never missed—but that didn’t make him bulletproof.

“You’ll have to excuse the lack of staff, but—” Matthew said, as they exited the elevator at the penthouse level and started down a narrow hallway that led to a single door. “I thought it best to keep this meeting—quiet.” He waved his hand in front of the door and the door latch released. He pushed the door open and invited them in with a dramatic, sweeping gesture that was similar to that of a magician on stage.