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Male laughter.
After ending the call, I blinked several times. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. I slowly turned around, scanning the busy street. There was no boogeyman waiting with a neon sign, but I had no doubt I was being watched.
Just start walking. Get to the gallery.
The little voice was encouraging but that didn’t make me feel any better. I slid my finger across the screen, moving to the recent calls. The number appeared real, and I knew the area code by heart.
Chicago.
Terror skittered through me, enough so I almost started running. No. If someone was playing games with me, I refused to be a victim. I dialed the number. All I heard was a click then nothing. No voice on the other end of the line. No voicemail. Nothing. I took several deep breaths, shoving the phone into my purse then grabbing my coffee.
As I walked down the sidewalk, the sickening feeling remained. Before I reached the crosswalk, I stopped again, turning around slowly, my eyes drifting to the other side of the street.
A man stood on the corner with a phone in his hand.
Watching me.
Stalking me.
Hungering for me.
But instead of having shivers of desire, I had ones of fear.
CHAPTER10
Cruz
Violence.
It was a way of life, a means to an end. There were dozens if not hundreds of methods used, some entirely too primitive to be used any longer. However, my forefathers had perfected methods of interrogation and providing penance that certainly weren’t for the faint of heart.
My brother had adopted various methods as learned from our father. I’d never accepted the offered training or the insistence that I become just as ruthless. But as I headed toward the festive New Orleans café, I realized that if I hadn’t found the man in a public location, I would resort to the vilest methods of punishment, my rage that significant.
At least I was smart enough to know the heavy anxiety and anger wasn’t entirely because of the man’s treachery. The fact my mind continued to delve into the darkness of passion, overwhelming any and all sense of duty was the real reason.
Eden.
Otherwise known as the prize I’d sought for years.
It was within my reach, the sweet sense of victory in finally being able to destroy Devon Rosario’s life.
Hissing, I stood on the corner, glaring at the windows of the café across the street as I buttoned my jacket. My gun was positioned in the inside pocket. There was no reason to terrify the tourists flocking to the area.
“What do you want me to do, boss?” Jameson asked as he flanked my side.
“Remain outside. While I doubt Mr. Wallace keeps security with him, at this point I’ll remain cautious.”
“What do you want me to do if some asshole approaches?”
I glanced into his face, shaking my head. The man was itching for some action. “Handle it as you see fit, but no open disturbances. The last thing I need is to be challenged by the police.” I still had far too much work to do before I returned to New York.
“Consider it done.”
The light turned and as I headed across the busy street, I glanced up and down both sides, scanning for any signs of trouble. So far, the trip had been without incident, although my brother had believed an attempt could be made on my life. Why bother? Soon, he’d have children, providing an heir to the Montenegro Empire.
I headed inside the crowded facility, ignoring the hostess as I headed for the patio. The man had been in town only three days, frequenting the café at the same time and always sitting at the same outdoor table. The only difference in today’s event was that he wasn’t alone. The young man was handsome, albeit barely legal. Just the way Sanford Wallace liked them.
A part of me was surprised he’d brought his fine young catch out in a public location instead of keeping him chained behind locked doors. Maybe the aging man no longer cared what other people thought. What I found even more curious was that he’d landed in New Orleans. He’d been in a position to know about the connection with Rodriguez.
