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He clasped his hands, then stretched them out in front of his body, cracked his knuckles. “Well, we’d better get down to it, then, hadn’t we? You waiting around, or checking out Jantz’s address?”
“The latter.”
“Then come back in six hours if I haven’t contacted you sooner.”
“Will do.” I gulped down the remainder of my coffee, put the cup in the sink—which was already half-filled with unwashed dishes—then walked back over and dropped a kiss on Stane’s cheek. “Thank you.”
His grin was decidedly impudent. “You do know that another crate of bubbles would be far more appreciated than a kiss—as lovely as a kiss is, obviously.”
“Consider it done.” I got out my phone and ordered him two. Who knew when I’d get the chance otherwise.
“Thank you, my dear. My liver appreciates it.”
“So does your wallet, no doubt,” I said, voice dry, “especially considering you’re undoubtedly making a nice profit on them.”
“On some of them, definitely. But me and the liver have acquired quite a taste for bubbles.”
I stepped toward Azriel, then hesitated and glanced back at Stane. “Get the rest of those screens up. Now.”
His smile faded. “On it, boss. You take care yourself.”
“We will.”
With that, Azriel wrapped his arms around my waist, tugged me closer, then whisked us out of there. We reappeared in the middle of a park. A pretty park, but still a park rather than the expected apartment. I blinked and looked around, then caught sight of the golden turret atop the Sydney Tower and realized what had happened. Azriel couldn’t actually take us to anyplace neither of us had been. We were here rather than Jantz’s apartment simply because I’d been through Hyde Park, and this was the closest we could get to the Elizabeth Street building.
“I can use static images as reference points,” he commented, “as long as they’re detailed enough.”
“Which is something we’ll undoubtedly have to do later.” I stepped away, then caught his hand and led the way. “A building in this part of town is going to have high-level security. You might have to influence the guard to get us in.”
“That will not be a problem.”
It never was. We walked down to the streetlights—dashing through Sydney traffic was never a good idea; not if you valued your life, that was, and I hardly wanted to survive the Raziq only to get sideswiped by a mad Sydney motorist—then back to the building. The entrance was discreet and the foyer plush—a palette of golds mingling with dark woods and clever lighting. A guard—also clad in muted gold—looked up from his desk and gave us a smile.
“And how may I help you folks today?” His voice was as smooth and welcoming as his smile, despite the fact that we certainly didn’t look like the type of folks who would know anyone wealthy enough to own a place like this, let alone be able to afford it ourselves. Which, of course, was rather deceptive, given that I could. Hell, I could buy the whole damn building had I wanted to. Mom certainly hadn’t left me poor, in any way, shape, or form.
“We have a meeting with Harrison Jantz in”—I hesitated, making a show of looking at my watch—“precisely five minutes.”
The guard frowned. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, because Mr. Jantz—”
“Mr. Jantz said it was urgent,” Azriel cut in, and waved a hand, doing his thought-altering bit.
The guard’s expression didn’t change. “Of course, but I’ll have to speak with Mr. Jantz first.”
“Fine,” I said, but raised my eyebrows at Azriel. How is that going to get us in when Jantz isn’t there?
He might not be, but our guard will nevertheless hear the expected response, and we will be cleared to go upstairs.
You’re a man of never-ending talents.
And I haven’t even begun to unveil the full depths of some talents yet. His mental tones were bland, but there was a hint of amusement running through the background of his thoughts, and a decidedly cheeky smile creasing the corners of his blue eyes. But it will be my great pleasure to reveal one particular talent over our years together, if the fates so allow.
I grinned. And I, dear reaper, cannot wait. Especially if that so-called talent was what I suspected it was. And really? If what we’d shared was but a taste of what he could do to me, then I was going to be happier—and far more contented—than a pig in shit.
I cannot see why you would equate a pig to your own future happiness. That makes no sense. His reply was distracted. The guard had made the call and was currently have a conversation with the nonexistent Jantz.
You’ve obviously never witnessed the joy of a pig rolling in mud and shit.
Nor do I want to.
