Page 216 of Lethal Obsession

Not that it’s going to help either Marty Jr. or his surgically enhanced daughter.

Yeah, I think grimly, watching Kristi Hunter preen. I haven’t forgotten the way you stitched me up in my own club, sweetheart.

“Hey, punkin.” Marty Jr. kisses the inch-thick makeup on his daughter’s cheek.

“Daddy,” she says, leaping to her feet and pulling Roman with her. “This is Roman Borovsky.”

“Of course!” He pumps Roman’s hand enthusiastically. “Great to have you back in the 305, Roman. So glad you could make it on such short notice.”

“Sure.” Roman’s noncommittal response contains just enough disdain to make it clear that Hunter is not his priority. “I made time because I was reliably informed your major donors would be here tonight.”

“Oh, they are, they are.” Clapping Roman’s shoulder, he gestures expansively around the table. “I’ll introduce you around shortly. But first, why don’t you and I have a drink and—”

“I said major donors, Hunter.” Roman cuts him off, his tone low and glacial. “So far all I’ve met are politicians and small-time Miami players. I don’t have time to drink with you. I have a party to get to on my yacht—and besides, if I’m going to commit my considerable resources to restoring order in Miami on your behalf, I want to talk to the organ grinder, not the fucking monkey.”

“Damn,” I say, grinning despite myself. “He’s good at this.”

“It’s not our first rodeo.” Pavel grins. “Look at Thorne’s face.” He points at it on the screen. “He did not appreciate Roman dismissing him as small-time.”

Sure enough, Thorne’s small eyes have narrowed, something mean shifting behind the wire rims, cold, quick, and dangerous. Hunter glances at him nervously. Thorne tilts his head slightly toward a side room.

“Why don’t we adjourn to another room,” Hunter says, his jovial mask not cracking at all, “and I’ll introduce you to the people you’re looking for.”

Roman glances impatiently at his phone as he stands. “This better not take long.”

“That’s the signal,” I say into my comms. “It’s go time. Flick the switch, Paddy.”

Going by the immediate deafening roar and the shaking of the ballroom walls, my second instruction was entirely unnecessary.

“Get down!” Roman yells, throwing himself at Kristi Hunter, shielding her from the supposed danger. “Dimitry,” he shouts. “Get Hunter and his wife. Where is all the fucking security?” he goes on as Dimitry tucks the terrified couple under his arms.

He’s clearly not the only person asking that question, although he is the only one who knows the answer—which is that by now Hunter’s security, like Thorne’s, are either dead or incapacitated.

Silas Thorne is crouched beside his chair, looking in horror at the side room he was about to adjourn to, which is now a pile of rubble.

“Who matters here?” Roman barks at Hunter. “We’re under attack, and we need to get the fuck out. Who do I need to protect?”

“Him.” Hunter nods shakily at Thorne.

“Seriously?” Roman does an excellent job of feigning incredulity. “That’s your money guy? Okay, fine,” he says, giving Silas a contemptuous look as Hunter stammers some kind of response. “I can get you out of here, but you have to do what I say.”

Thorne frowns, looking for a moment like he might argue.

“Paddy,” I say into the comms. “We need a little more persuasion.”

Almost instantly, another explosion sends smoke and debris into the ballroom, throwing the already panicked crowd into total chaos. A phalanx of Roman’s men appear at our table, grim faced and rifles at the ready. “We need to go, boss,” says one of them.

“Him, too,” Roman says, jerking his head at Thorne.

“No fucking chance,” says his man tersely. “The whole city is under attack. The yacht is the only safe place, and I don’t know who is a threat—”

Oh, nicely done, I think, seeing Thorne’s eyes widen and his entire stance change.

“My name is Silas Thorne,” he says, speaking directly to Roman. “And we’re on the same side here. If you get me to safety, I guarantee you won’t regret it, Borovsky.”

Roman glances at his security guard. “Can we do it?” He does a good job of making it sound like a legitimate concern.

The guard’s only response is a grudging nod. He gestures to two of his men to go around and fetch Thorne. “But until we’re safely on the yacht, you do exactly as we say, you got it?”