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Ollie: Anyone ever tell you you’re grumpy, Cin? Anyway, why is Temperance sniffing around him?
Me: Because she thinks I have a crush on him.
Ollie: Do you?
Me: No.
Ollie: So what’s the problem?
Me: What’s his number, you pain in the ass?
Ollie: Charming.
When he gave it to me, I saved it to my contacts then replied:
Me: Thank you. How’s Alistair?
Ollie: Wonderful as always.
Me: Any jobs for me?
Ollie: Nope. Your calendar is pretty quiet for the moment.
Me: Might not be a bad thing. I’m out of the country.
Ollie: Where are you?
Me: Croatia.
Ollie: Why? AND why am I only hearing this now?
Me: Long story. I’ll tell you all about it when I come to visit.
Ollie: You’d better. Keep your ass alive, Cin, or I will be pissed.
Me: Love you too, dick.
Ollie: Bye, bitch.
Lips curving, I tossed my cell down on the bed and picked Muñoz’s up again. Spying an unread message from a contact with no name, only a number, I read the text with interest.
Need you in London tomorrow. Will provide address when…
The message preview cut the text off at that point. When I tapped on it, oddly enough, it opened that non-native calculator app again.
Bizarre.
But that was a dead end and I couldn’t see anything in the message inbox either.
Yawning, I checked my cell, saw Star had sent me an address in someplace called Uvala Lapad, and I replied to her with a thumbs-up, then found Goldstein had messaged me too.
God, Interpol agents were always such a drag, but he was the worst.
Goldstein: McClure’s dead?!
Me: What did you think was going to happen when you reported he had a sex slave in his fucking basement?
Goldstein: The whole point of me infiltrating his office was to gather evidence, for fuck’s sake.
