Page 174 of Black Reign

“He’ll survive.”

My assistant nods without expression and leaves.

I reopen the photograph.

The faint curve of Vesper’s cheek fills the screen.

She wants me to know she’s close.

Fine.

Let’s see how close.

The next afternoon, I’m having a drink at the Connaught before a Blackwell client meeting when a boy approaches my table carrying a paperback book.

Not a child.

Sixteen, maybe seventeen.

Hoodie beneath a cheap raincoat.

Nervous enough to keep glancing toward the exit.

I know immediately.

My hand stops around the espresso cup.

“Mr. Blackwell?”

Interesting.

“Yes.”

He holds out the book.

“A lady asked me to give you this.”

My pulse changes.

“What lady?”

He shrugs. “Don’t know.”

“Describe her.”

“Had a scarf.”

“Hair?”

“Couldn’t really see.”

“Accent?”

He thinks.

“American maybe?”

Useless.