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“You always want to take me to bed, so that is nothing new. As for my husband, he is fine.”
“And he’s home tonight . . . ?”
LeFevre folded her arms across her chest and leaned back. “Where he is, is none of your concern. I have told you before. We have an open relationship. He has his mistresses and I have you. As long as we are discreet there is not a problem.”
Hurley did his best to look wounded, and she laughed him off. “Are there any other men that I need to know about?”
“I have lost track, there have been so many, but you are definitely in the top five.”
Hurley felt his cell phone vibrate in the inside pocket of his suit coat. He snatched it out and looked at the caller ID. It came up as private. There was a good chance it was Stansfield. Hurley closed the phone and put it back in his pocket. He didn’t need HQ ruining a promising evening. Looking back at LeFevre, he said, “I’m sorry, where were we?”
“You were about to tell me about all the women you have been sleeping with.”
Hurley laughed. “There’s only you, baby.”
“I am not so naïve. I know you too well. You are a very thirsty man. It would be impossible for you to be so saintly in between our rendezvous.”
Hurley was about to reply when the phone began to vibrate again. He checked the small screen and again it came up as private. He grunted disapprovingly and silenced it again. These new phones would be the end of him. Hurley detested the notion of his bosses’ being able to get hold of him whenever they wanted. He was used to going days, weeks, and sometimes even months without checking in with them. These phones were nothing more than a leash, and he had known it the first time they gave him one. He closed the phone, stuffed it back in his pocket, and forced a smile on his face. “I’m sorry, darling. I hate these things.”
“You are a man of international intrigue,” she said with a thin smile. “I would imagine the call might be important.”
“Not as important as you.” He reached out and grabbed her hand. “Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow.” The phone began to vibrate for a third time. The smile melted off Hurley’s face and his chin dropped in frustration.
“I don’t want to see you this way,” Paulette said. “Take your call. Get it out of the way. I will go to the washroom and when I get back you will be relaxed again.”
Hurley nodded, knowing she was right. If the phone kept ringing he might kill someone. “Thank you.” He pulled the phone out of his pocket and watched her slide out of the booth. Flipping it open, he pressed the green Send button and said, “This had better be good.”
The metallic voice on the other end said, “Don’t be a prima donna. I didn’t send you over there to ignore my calls.”
It was Stansfield. “And I’ve done just fine all these years without you snapping my leash every time the wind blows.” Hurley listened to silence for a long five seconds. He hated these damn phones. The call had probably dropped. He was about to hang up when he heard an uncharacteristically angry Stansfield begin to speak.
“Things have changed,” the old warrior snapped. “I’m on my way over in the morning. I want you to pull Victor and the boys immediately . . . stick them in a hotel and tell them I don’t want them to move unless I say so. Have I made myself clear?”
“What the fuck are you talking about? I’ve got things under control. I don’t need any help.”
“And I don’t need you second-guessing me. There are things you don’t know. I will explain in the morning.”
“But . . .”
“But nothing,” Stansfield said. “Consider it an order to be followed precisely, as you should have done back in Beirut all those years ago. If there are any decisions that countermand my order between now and tomorrow morning you are done. Am I understood?”
Hurley looked around the restaurant. Covering the phone and his mouth with his free hand, he asked Stansfield, “Why don’t you just tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Don’t be stupid. We’ll talk in person. Now carry out my order and give my best to Paulette.”
“How did . . .” The line went dead and Hurley pulled the phone away from his ear to look at the screen. How in hell did Stansfield know he was with Paulette? He stared at the phone for a long moment. Every instinct he had was telling him not to make the next call. Rapp was no good. He had broken every rule in their dirty little book and if he wouldn’t come in on his own, he needed to be dragged in. But Hurley had rarely if ever heard Stansfield more adamant. The individualist in him wanted to ignore his boss’s order and leave the men right where they were for another twelve hours, but Stansfield had made his intentions clear. After another m
oment of indecision, Hurley said, “Screw it.” He pressed the number 2 and held it down until the phone started to dial the number.
“Hello.”
“You’ve been yanked. Head back to the hotel and sit tight until I give you further orders.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Listen, dickhead. You think this is a debate club? If I wanted any shit out of you I’d come down there and squeeze your head. Pack everything up and get your ass back to the hotel, and do it now. Get some sleep, and I’ll call you in the morning.”
“But . . .”
