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That’s another weird quirk of the Rhodes’. They actually raise live jaguars as pets.
I follow the security man up the sweeping marble stairs until we reach Tristan’s office. He stops, straightening as if he needs to be presentable for the task, before he knocks on the door.
“Come in,” Tristan’s levelled voice reaches us from the inside.
The buff man opens the door and nods at me to go in. As soon as I enter, the door closes. I have no doubt the security team member will stay in front of the office in case I pose a threat to his employer.
Not that I would. He’s an ally, and I take good care of my allies.
Tristan isn’t behind his large desk. He’s casually sitting in the lounge area, reading from a newspaper. He’s wearing a dark blue striped suit. Italian. Interesting. Nobles usually prefer English cut suits, but Tristan is an exception to his title in many ways.
He and his cousin have black hair and dark eyes that differentiates them in a crowd. Although Tristan is in his mid-thirties, he has the mind of someone much older. The most fascinating part is that he doesn’t like to show it — almost as if he’s living a secret life, as Harris suggested.
Upon my arrival, he neatly folds the newspaper and slides it onto the table, showcasing his family crest ring that rests on his index finger. Taking his time, he stands up and buttons his jacket. “Jonathan, welcome.”
I take his hand in a firm handshake. “Your Grace.”
“We’re past the titles’ nonsense. Tristan is enough.” He motions at the chesterfield sofa across from him. “Please.”
I unbutton my jacket and sit down, acutely noticing that the contact he said would be waiting for me isn’t here.
“Do you want anything to drink?”
My gaze discreetly takes in my surroundings, so I commemorate details in case there’s a need for an escape plan. I might consider Tristan an ally, but I never allow myself to get too comfortable. “I’ll take cognac on ice.”
“Excellent choice.” He strides across to his minibar and pours us both a drink. And while I know he prefers scotch, he returns with two cognacs.
That’s a good tactic to show how open-minded he is, and to put me at ease in return. Only, I never leave myself unprotected.
He pauses near the open balcony that’s directly opposite me before he settles across from me. Well, well…
“Have I shown up early?” I take a sip of my drink.
“No, not at all. Perfect timing as usual, Jonathan.” Cradling the drink in his hand, he leans his elbows on his knees. “I just thought we could talk about your needs before I put you in contact with my man.”
“I need someone to be found.”
His expression doesn’t change, but I sense how his mind is calculating. He’s a bit like me in how he masters which emotions to show and which to keep buried. “We’ll need more than that. Background?”
“Not much, except that he must’ve lived in Leeds or North Yorkshire for a while, or he could’ve visited them often.” After all, Moses lost all trace of him because he knew the area more than Moses did.
“How about your reason for wanting to find him?” He motions at my neck. “Does it have to do with that?”
The scratch Aurora left on my neck. It was like a cornered kitten trying to find a way out.
“Could be.”
“And?”
“Is knowing the reason necessary?”
“I’m afraid, yes, Jonathan. Let’s just say my man doesn’t like —” he makes air quotes “— ‘boring’ missions.
“It’s related to Maxim Griffin’s murders.” That’s all he needs to know.
Tristan raises a brow, appearing impressed. “That’s certainly not boring.”
“I assume you’ve heard about Maxim.”
