eyes.
Mayday House was safe … for now.
Upstairs, the door closed behind her, Erica sat heavily on the edge of the bed. She rubbed her face, took a couple of deep breaths, then rifled in her bag, first pulling out a 9mm Glock, then a cell phone.
She dialed, waited until the familiar voice came across the line, and said, “I’m in.” She immediately disconnected from the call.
Gus walked into Malta’s Bar and Grill. Its casual name belied its expensive and classy interior. Definitely upscale. Exactly where he’d expect to meet a client looking for personal security.
The restaurant host, busy reorganizing poster-sized menus, looked up when he approached the front desk. “Gus Hammond,” he said. “I’m expected.”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Hammond. Follow me.”
He did and was led to a table in the back, not quite a booth, but made private by being enclosed in pony walls, surrounded by greenery, and placed a discreet distance from the other tables.
As to the occupier of the table, until he stepped closer, Gus saw only his back. He started to offer his hand, but let it drop when he recognized the man in the chair.
Gus usually rallied fast, but seeing Hagan Marsden—here—was a real head kick. It had been six years since they’d met. Gus had intended it be forever.
Hagan didn’t bother standing, nor did he offer a handshake. What he did was scan Gus from his ankles to his face. “Looks like the male whoring business is treating you all right, Hammond.” He did another scan. “Maybe I took a wrong turn in the road, working for a living instead of fucking for one.”
Gus considered his options: walk away, slam a fist in the bastard’s mouth, or take a seat.
He sat. “From what Dinah told me, you’d never have made it. So you were probably smart to stick to your paper clips or whatever the hell it is you get for a penny offshore and sell at a thousand percent markup.” He was about to signal a waiter when one arrived at his shoulder. “Vodka, lots of ice,” he said.
“Brand, sir?”
“The best you’ve got.” The waiter gone, he turned back to Hagan. “If this is about Dinah, you’re wasting your time. She’s in Miami. I’m in Seattle. That should answer all your questions.”
“I know all that. It’s one of the reasons I set this meeting up. And as to the bitch of the century, I don’t give a fuck where she is.”
“Hm-m, that’s a switch from a few years ago, when you tried to throw me off a twenty-story balcony.”
“I was seeing a little red that day. Watching Barracuda Woman living the high life—with a piece of male ass young enough to be our son—and me so goddamn broke, I— Forget it.” He glanced away, his expression sour. “Bitch doesn’t describe that woman. More like miserable cu—”
“Don’t go there, Hagan.” Gus picked up a knife, made circles with its point on the white tablecloth. “The way I see it, Dinah might have been a whole lot friendlier if you’d kept your fists in your pockets instead of using them on her face.”
Hagan’s voice dropped an octave. “That’s a goddamn lie. One of her lousy ploys to get sympathy and pump up the settlement.”
“Right,” Gus said, letting his tone drip with disbelief and balancing eight inches of knife between tabletop and index finger. “Still … that’s no way to talk about your wife.”
“Ex-wife.” He took a drink of what looked like single-malt scotch. “And as it turned out, getting rid of the bitch was the best thing that ever happened to me.” He shook his head and pursed his lips. “Even if it did take the next ten years to get back a quarter of what she took from me.”
“Her and those unsavory business partners of yours.”
Hagan shrugged, but the gesture was more defensive than nonchalant “I owed people. When they saw that Dinah was going to clean me out, they wanted their pound of flesh while there was still some on the bone.”
“Either way, it looks like you’ve
Mayday House was safe … for now.
Upstairs, the door closed behind her, Erica sat heavily on the edge of the bed. She rubbed her face, took a couple of deep breaths, then rifled in her bag, first pulling out a 9mm Glock, then a cell phone.
She dialed, waited until the familiar voice came across the line, and said, “I’m in.” She immediately disconnected from the call.
Gus walked into Malta’s Bar and Grill. Its casual name belied its expensive and classy interior. Definitely upscale. Exactly where he’d expect to meet a client looking for personal security.
The restaurant host, busy reorganizing poster-sized menus, looked up when he approached the front desk. “Gus Hammond,” he said. “I’m expected.”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Hammond. Follow me.”
He did and was led to a table in the back, not quite a booth, but made private by being enclosed in pony walls, surrounded by greenery, and placed a discreet distance from the other tables.
As to the occupier of the table, until he stepped closer, Gus saw only his back. He started to offer his hand, but let it drop when he recognized the man in the chair.
Gus usually rallied fast, but seeing Hagan Marsden—here—was a real head kick. It had been six years since they’d met. Gus had intended it be forever.
Hagan didn’t bother standing, nor did he offer a handshake. What he did was scan Gus from his ankles to his face. “Looks like the male whoring business is treating you all right, Hammond.” He did another scan. “Maybe I took a wrong turn in the road, working for a living instead of fucking for one.”
Gus considered his options: walk away, slam a fist in the bastard’s mouth, or take a seat.
He sat. “From what Dinah told me, you’d never have made it. So you were probably smart to stick to your paper clips or whatever the hell it is you get for a penny offshore and sell at a thousand percent markup.” He was about to signal a waiter when one arrived at his shoulder. “Vodka, lots of ice,” he said.
“Brand, sir?”
“The best you’ve got.” The waiter gone, he turned back to Hagan. “If this is about Dinah, you’re wasting your time. She’s in Miami. I’m in Seattle. That should answer all your questions.”
“I know all that. It’s one of the reasons I set this meeting up. And as to the bitch of the century, I don’t give a fuck where she is.”
“Hm-m, that’s a switch from a few years ago, when you tried to throw me off a twenty-story balcony.”
“I was seeing a little red that day. Watching Barracuda Woman living the high life—with a piece of male ass young enough to be our son—and me so goddamn broke, I— Forget it.” He glanced away, his expression sour. “Bitch doesn’t describe that woman. More like miserable cu—”
“Don’t go there, Hagan.” Gus picked up a knife, made circles with its point on the white tablecloth. “The way I see it, Dinah might have been a whole lot friendlier if you’d kept your fists in your pockets instead of using them on her face.”
Hagan’s voice dropped an octave. “That’s a goddamn lie. One of her lousy ploys to get sympathy and pump up the settlement.”
“Right,” Gus said, letting his tone drip with disbelief and balancing eight inches of knife between tabletop and index finger. “Still … that’s no way to talk about your wife.”
“Ex-wife.” He took a drink of what looked like single-malt scotch. “And as it turned out, getting rid of the bitch was the best thing that ever happened to me.” He shook his head and pursed his lips. “Even if it did take the next ten years to get back a quarter of what she took from me.”
“Her and those unsavory business partners of yours.”
Hagan shrugged, but the gesture was more defensive than nonchalant “I owed people. When they saw that Dinah was going to clean me out, they wanted their pound of flesh while there was still some on the bone.”
“Either way, it looks like you’ve
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