suffered at the hands of any of these vile creatures.
So why?”
He eyed her steadily. “Does a man need a reason to pursue justice?”
“Indulge me.”
“Not today. Perhaps another time. I can tell you one thing. You’ll enjoy your little abode in Provence.”
“Really? And why is that?”
“It’s a five-level villa with extraordinary vistas of the Luberon valley, and you can walk to the quaint village of Gordes
in under five minutes. Horribly expensive, the lease payments are more than I paid for my cottage. And that’s not the best
part.”
“What’s the best part?”
Mallory’s bushy eyebrows twitched in delight. “It’s right next to where our Fedir Kuchin will be staying.”
CHAPTER
12
E VAN W ALLER sat back in his desk chair and read the spreadsheet for the fifth time. He loved numbers; his nimble mind grasped their complexities
easily, massaging data into precise conclusions. He made his decision, rose, poured himself a slender finger of Macallan’s,
and drank it. He put the glass down, picked up a pistol, and faced the man bound to the chair.
“Anwar, what am I to do with you? Tell me.” His voice was deep, cultured, and overlaid with traces of his Eastern European
origins. His tone was that of a disappointed father to a misbehaving child.
Anwar was a short man with a thickened, soft body who slumped in his chair, his arms and legs tightly bound. His face was
round and his skin would normally have been a light brown color, but now yellow and purplish bruises clustered on his cheeks,
forehead, and jawline. A knife cut traveled from his left cheek to his split nostril. The blood there had congealed and blackened.
His dark hair was slicked back solely with the sweat of fear.
“Please, Mr. Waller, please. It will never happen again, sir, I swear.”
“But how can I trust you now? Tell me. I want to find a way. I value your services, but I need to know I can trust you.”
“It was her. She put me up to this.”
“Her? Tell me.”
Anwar let a trickle of blood drop from his mouth and onto his pants leg before answering. “My wife. The bitch spends money
like it is water. You pay me well but it is never enough for her. Never!”
Waller sat down in a chair across from the captive. He put the gun down and looked intrigued. “So Gisele put you up to this?
To steal from me to cover her spending?” He clapped his hands together. The sound was like a gunshot and Anwar flinched. “I
had my doubts about her from the beginning, Anwar, I told you this, did I not?”
“I know, sir, I know. And as usual you were right. But for her I never would have done this terrible thing. It made me sick
to do it. Sick because you have been so good to me. Like a father. Better than a father.”
“But you’re a man. And a Muslim. You should be able to control your woman. It is part of your culture. Your faith.”
“But she is Brazilian ,” exclaimed Anwar, as though that would explain everything. “She is a she-devil. A wicked, wicked slut. No one can control
her. I have tried, but she beats me. Me! Her own husband. You have seen the marks yourself.”
Waller nodded. “Well, she is much larger than you. But you are still a man, and I despise weakness in men.”
“And she cheats on me with other men. And women !”
“Repulsive,” said Waller in an indifferent tone. “So you know where she is?”
Anwar shook his head. “I have seen nothing of her for a week.”
Waller sat back and spread his hands. “If we find her, what do you suggest?”
Anwar spit on the concrete floor. “That you kill her, that is what I suggest.”
“So you trade her life for yours, in effect?”
“I swear to you, Mr. Waller, I never would have thought of betraying you. It was that bitch. She made me do it. She drove
me crazy. You must believe me. You must!”
“I do, Anwar, I do.” Waller stood, walked over, made a fist, and drove it into Anwar’s already swollen face. The little
So why?”
He eyed her steadily. “Does a man need a reason to pursue justice?”
“Indulge me.”
“Not today. Perhaps another time. I can tell you one thing. You’ll enjoy your little abode in Provence.”
“Really? And why is that?”
“It’s a five-level villa with extraordinary vistas of the Luberon valley, and you can walk to the quaint village of Gordes
in under five minutes. Horribly expensive, the lease payments are more than I paid for my cottage. And that’s not the best
part.”
“What’s the best part?”
Mallory’s bushy eyebrows twitched in delight. “It’s right next to where our Fedir Kuchin will be staying.”
CHAPTER
12
E VAN W ALLER sat back in his desk chair and read the spreadsheet for the fifth time. He loved numbers; his nimble mind grasped their complexities
easily, massaging data into precise conclusions. He made his decision, rose, poured himself a slender finger of Macallan’s,
and drank it. He put the glass down, picked up a pistol, and faced the man bound to the chair.
“Anwar, what am I to do with you? Tell me.” His voice was deep, cultured, and overlaid with traces of his Eastern European
origins. His tone was that of a disappointed father to a misbehaving child.
Anwar was a short man with a thickened, soft body who slumped in his chair, his arms and legs tightly bound. His face was
round and his skin would normally have been a light brown color, but now yellow and purplish bruises clustered on his cheeks,
forehead, and jawline. A knife cut traveled from his left cheek to his split nostril. The blood there had congealed and blackened.
His dark hair was slicked back solely with the sweat of fear.
“Please, Mr. Waller, please. It will never happen again, sir, I swear.”
“But how can I trust you now? Tell me. I want to find a way. I value your services, but I need to know I can trust you.”
“It was her. She put me up to this.”
“Her? Tell me.”
Anwar let a trickle of blood drop from his mouth and onto his pants leg before answering. “My wife. The bitch spends money
like it is water. You pay me well but it is never enough for her. Never!”
Waller sat down in a chair across from the captive. He put the gun down and looked intrigued. “So Gisele put you up to this?
To steal from me to cover her spending?” He clapped his hands together. The sound was like a gunshot and Anwar flinched. “I
had my doubts about her from the beginning, Anwar, I told you this, did I not?”
“I know, sir, I know. And as usual you were right. But for her I never would have done this terrible thing. It made me sick
to do it. Sick because you have been so good to me. Like a father. Better than a father.”
“But you’re a man. And a Muslim. You should be able to control your woman. It is part of your culture. Your faith.”
“But she is Brazilian ,” exclaimed Anwar, as though that would explain everything. “She is a she-devil. A wicked, wicked slut. No one can control
her. I have tried, but she beats me. Me! Her own husband. You have seen the marks yourself.”
Waller nodded. “Well, she is much larger than you. But you are still a man, and I despise weakness in men.”
“And she cheats on me with other men. And women !”
“Repulsive,” said Waller in an indifferent tone. “So you know where she is?”
Anwar shook his head. “I have seen nothing of her for a week.”
Waller sat back and spread his hands. “If we find her, what do you suggest?”
Anwar spit on the concrete floor. “That you kill her, that is what I suggest.”
“So you trade her life for yours, in effect?”
“I swear to you, Mr. Waller, I never would have thought of betraying you. It was that bitch. She made me do it. She drove
me crazy. You must believe me. You must!”
“I do, Anwar, I do.” Waller stood, walked over, made a fist, and drove it into Anwar’s already swollen face. The little
Similar Books
