Page 52 of Blacklist

“In a way,” I say. “I only work with very select clientele. My clients require the utmost discretion.”

A light goes on in his yes. “I understand. I wonder if I might talk to you about a little financial issue of my own.”

He eyes Luca nervously, trying to figure out how safe it is for him to talk.

Randolph is a money launderer. Not a terribly good one, because I found proof of it far too easily, which means he’s just smart enough to know what he’s doing but just stupid enough that he’ll get caught. Eventually. He’s been skimming off the top for years. I have proof but it wouldn’t take a genius to see his lifestyle doesn’t match up with his salary. Loyalty is a funny thing in the South though. I’ve seen it before. People forgiving those who shouldn’t be forgiven. Overlooking crimes to save face. Scandals are as prevalent here as anywhere else, but they tend to be swept directly under the rug.

“You can speak freely,” I assure him.

“Are you also in asset management?” he asks Luca.

Lucas straightens in his seat, suddenly interested in the conversation. He’s never one to turn down a chance to boast about his own occupation. “I’m more of a people person. I handle staffing issues, among other problems.”

I toss in an incredulous stare. Staffing issues? It’s possibly the worst double entendre for assassin that I’ve ever heard. Randolph swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort. He clearly gets the idea.

“What he means is that he’s discreet,” I explain.

“In that case…” He clears his throat, darting nervous glances at Luca. “I recently had an investment opportunity present itself. Very certain returns. I need to figure out where to put the money.”

“A mutual fund?” Luca suggests flatly.

“You’re never as funny as you think you are,” I warn him under my breath. I nod to Randolph encouragingly.

“It would be better if my wife didn’t know about it…” he says, adding as an afterthought, “Yet.”

“Sometimes separate finances are for the best,” I say.

It’s a common problem I’m asked to solve. When a rich man bores of his wife and takes a new mistress, he starts to think about hiding his assets. The less the wife knows about, the less he has to share in the divorce. Most wind up still losing a chunk to keeping the mistress happy in the process. But she’s on the hook, willing to trade her body for the finer things. A wife expects the finer things for putting up with you. Something Randolph’s wife feels acutely, I’m sure.

“I’m sure I can find the right investment for you,” I say. “Why don’t you and I discuss this further? I’ll need to know exactly what assets and so forth you would like moved.”

He dabs his nose with the handkerchief, appearing relieved that I seem willing to help. “I always count myself blessed to meet just the right person for a job so often at my own. I’ll be certain that the bill for your stay is adjusted accordingly.”

“That’s unnecessary.” I have no intention of accepting his handouts. “Consider it my appreciation for how well the Eaton has taken care of me in the past.”

This pleases him to no end. He rises to his feet and shows us to the door. In the lobby, Luca smacks my arm. “You’re doing this for his thanks?”

“I owe him one,” I say darkly.

“Whatever.” Bored Luca has returned. He jerks a thumb toward the bar off the lobby. “Drink?”

“I have plans tonight.” I check my watch. “There isn’t time.”

“Dance card’s full, huh?”

“I was thinking you might like to join,” I say as he walks with me to the valet station. I hand them my slip. Malcolm had sounded reluctant when he’d called with the details and I’d asked to bring a guest to the gala. Once I’d assured him it wasn’t a woman, he’d agreed. Everyone is likely to be on their best behavior at the event tonight. Luca’s presence will provide some much-needed chaos.

“What do I have to do?” he asks.

I shrug, knowing exactly how to tempt him. “Drink too much and start shit. You game?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I park the Vanquish in the private garage of Twelve and South. I’d closed on the penthouse over two weeks ago. Cash transactions move more quickly than financing, but I stayed at the Eaton until a professional decorator had finished the space to my preferences. Walking inside now, I know I made the right decision. It’s important to me to be seen, and one can’t help but be seen when half the walls are glass windows. But inside my house I want to feel free, not only of the expectations of others, but of myself.

The decor is simple—clean lines with nods to my travels. The walls have a fresh coat of bright paint and the wood floors are polished. Everything is arranged to my exacting specifications. An oversized abstract painting I purchased in Holland centers the lone living room wall. There’s an L-shaped couch in tan leather facing the window to the city below with two mid-century modern chairs opposite it and a live-edge coffee table stretching between them. The Persian wool rug, my concession to comfort, anchors the pieces.