Page 215 of Lethal Obsession

And therein lies the real danger, I think, taking in his pale, puffy face and watchful eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. Though he’s seated in the place of honor next to the glamorous female mayor, everything from Thorne’s hunched shoulders and lanky hair to his fixed expression gives the impression of a man who believes he deserves more than he has received. He responds to the mayor’s conversational efforts with curt monosyllables, his small eyes measuring the room and the people in it in the resentful way of a man who wonders where he ranks and catalogues every slight.

Thorne is dangerous not because he is impressive, I think, but precisely because he is not.

“Terrible tuxedo,” Pavel says disapprovingly. “Do they not have tailors in Miami?”

I grin. Pavel, like most of the European team, is strictly a made-to-measure, carefully styled kind of guy.

By contrast, Silas Thorne wears an almost comically ill-fitting tux that is clearly off the rack. Perhaps, given his Cartographer Club eccentricity, the dishevelment is intended as some kind of protest against convention, but instead of rebellious, he just looks unconsidered.

It’s blatantly clear that he is utterly out of place amid Kristi Hunter’s glamour and the tailored self-assurance of Roman and Dimitry, who are playing the part of gangsters on the loose to perfection.

But instead of insecurity, Silas affects an air of barely concealed contempt, disdaining his neighbors’ attempts at conversation and sitting with his arms folded, as if to make it clear that his presence is strictly under sufferance.

Oh, he’s dangerous, all right.

Nothing is more unpredictable than a mediocre man convinced the world has underestimated him.

Renata and I are still sitting in the control room monitoring the screens when Mickey’s voice crackles through the comms.

“Everyone is in place,” he says as Hunter finishes his less than impressive speech and dessert is served in the ballroom. “We’ve cracked the safe in the mayor’s office and gotten what you need. I’m in the nightclub VIP area with eyes on Novikov and his men. We’ve got the Cardeñas brothers watching the feed from the riverboat casino we shut down, so they’re not going anywhere. We’re good to go the minute you give the order.”

“Copy that.” I nod at Renata. “Safe’s open. Tell your boys it’s a go.”

Her grin almost splits her face as she picks up her phone. “We got it, boys. Time to drop the word in Ballsack’s ear.”

We watch her agent cross the room and lean down to murmur into the mayor’s ear.

“Oh dear,” Renata says as the mayor’s face falls faster than a Jenga stack. “Did someone just find out that the safe in their office isn’t so safe after all?”

Pavel shoots her a wary glance. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

Her mouth twists grimly. “Then don’t ask corrupt FBI agents to steal evidence that took people like me months to collect. And if you are bent enough to give that order,” Renata says, glaring at the mayor as she excuses herself from the table and exits the ballroom, “don’t be dumb enough to store said evidence in your office safe, just so you have leverage over your newly elected governor.”

“Ha.” Pavel raises his eyebrows. “Noted.”

I’m still grinning as I send a text message to Roman’s phone: Mayor’s off and running. Go time.

We’ve hacked the security cameras, but Roman and Dimitry are also wearing wires and mini cameras, so Pavel and I have a close-up view of everything that is said at their table.

“Sweetheart,” Roman says in a caressing tone as the applause dies down, stroking Kristy Hunter’s bare arm, “if your father is done playing to the crowd, we’d like a word before we leave.”

Her eyes widen. “Of course,” she says breathily. “But—you’re leaving? There’s a whole party after this—”

His mouth curls suggestively. “Dimitry and I prefer our parties where nobody can see them.”

“That sounds like fun.” Leaning toward him, Kristi squeezes her breasts together to create a crevasse of perfectly tanned, surgically enhanced cleavage.

Roman gives her the kind of scorching look that made him top eligible bachelor’s lists for years before he married my sister. “Oh, so you like to party, sweetheart?”

Her eyelashes almost knock him out with their fluttering. “Uh-huh!” She clearly has her sights firmly set on becoming the next Mrs. Roman Borovsky.

“Then let’s get business over with,” Roman says, sliding his hand up her thigh beneath the table, “so we can head out to my yacht.”

Kristi looks like she might actually orgasm there and then. Even so, I don’t miss the way her eyes cut questioningly across the table to Silas Thorne, who gives a subtle, curt nod that makes her beam.

“Daddy!” She waves imperiously at Marty Hunter Jr., who is currently pressing hands.

“And look at how Daddy comes running,” I mutter as Marty bustles through the crowd, pumping hands on the way. If I’d had any doubts about who pulls both Kristi’s and Marty Jr.’s strings, that momentary exchange just eliminated them.