scar tissue along his left cheek was reminiscent of blisters. What had been a shockingly handsome face was now hideously deformed.
He nodded to the woman whom he’d come to depend upon to keep his household running smoothly and to covet his innermost secrets; she was his mother. “Thank you, Donna,” he said softly. “And will you please close the door.”
It wasn’t until after the death of his brother that Webb had asked her to come and live with him. At first she’d balked, then relented. After all there was more than enough room in the Hollywood Hills mansion for them not to run into each other. Webb had fired his former housekeeper because she was a snoop. The woman didn’t know he’d installed cameras throughout the house, and every night before retiring for bed, he’d view the footage. At first he’d believed it was a fluke and that she was just straightening up his desk, but when he saw her attempting to open the wall safe behind a painting, he knew he had to fire her. His mother could care less about his business dealings. She was grateful he’d moved her out of Watts to an upscale community where the price for homes started at seven figures.
Webb took his visitor’s extended hand and then gestured to two facing off-white leather love seats. “Please sit down, Mr. Monk.”
“It’s just Monk, Mr. Irvine.”
Waiting until the man was seated, he walked over to a well-stocked bar. “Would you like something to drink, Monk?”
“No, thank you. I just celebrated my sixteenth year of sobriety.” He lifted a frightfully thin hand. “It won’t bother me if you have something.”
Webb smiled again. “Congratulations on your sobriety.”
He hadn’t outlined what he wanted from Monk, but the fact that the man had agreed to meet with him would warrant a celebratory cocktail after he left. Opening the built-in refrigerator, he took out a bottle of sparkling water and poured it into a crystal glass. Sitting opposite Monk, he raised the glass in a salute. “I want to thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
Monk wanted to tell the man with the scarred face that he’d only agreed to come in person because Webb Irvine had been recommended by a mutual friend. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll let you know whether it can be done.”
“Are you familiar with Serenity Records?”
Monk nodded. “I’ve heard of them.”
Putting the glass to his mouth, Webb took a deep swallow. “They’re my direct competition and...”
“And you want them eliminated,” Monk said, reading Webb’s mind.
Crossing his legs, the president and CEO of Slow Wyne Records stared at the toe of his imported slip-on. “I think I better give you some background information on my dilemma. My late brother hired someone to eliminate Ana Cole. She’s responsible for the day-to-day operation of Serenity.” He paused long enough to take another sip of water. “Basil hired a sniper to take her out, but they missed and shot one of her relatives.”
“That was his first dumb mistake,” Monk drawled. “If you want to eliminate someone, you get up real close and personal and put a bullet in her head.”
Webb gritted his teeth. He wanted to tell the man in black that he shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but he didn’t want to alienate him. Not when he was prepared to pay him an obscene amount of money to give Basil in death what he wasn’t able to obtain in life.
“You can’t go after her again,” Monk continued.
“I know. That’s why we’ve shifted our attention to her brother. His name is Jason Cole.”
“Where does he live?”
“Boca Raton, Florida. We had someone on the inside at Serenity that told us he still lives in his parents’ home, but mentioned he may have a place in either Washington or Oregon.”
“Did this person tell you which city?”
Webb shook his head. “No. She’s no longer working there.”
Monk rested his hands on his knees. “Tell me about this Jason. Is he married? Does he have a
He nodded to the woman whom he’d come to depend upon to keep his household running smoothly and to covet his innermost secrets; she was his mother. “Thank you, Donna,” he said softly. “And will you please close the door.”
It wasn’t until after the death of his brother that Webb had asked her to come and live with him. At first she’d balked, then relented. After all there was more than enough room in the Hollywood Hills mansion for them not to run into each other. Webb had fired his former housekeeper because she was a snoop. The woman didn’t know he’d installed cameras throughout the house, and every night before retiring for bed, he’d view the footage. At first he’d believed it was a fluke and that she was just straightening up his desk, but when he saw her attempting to open the wall safe behind a painting, he knew he had to fire her. His mother could care less about his business dealings. She was grateful he’d moved her out of Watts to an upscale community where the price for homes started at seven figures.
Webb took his visitor’s extended hand and then gestured to two facing off-white leather love seats. “Please sit down, Mr. Monk.”
“It’s just Monk, Mr. Irvine.”
Waiting until the man was seated, he walked over to a well-stocked bar. “Would you like something to drink, Monk?”
“No, thank you. I just celebrated my sixteenth year of sobriety.” He lifted a frightfully thin hand. “It won’t bother me if you have something.”
Webb smiled again. “Congratulations on your sobriety.”
He hadn’t outlined what he wanted from Monk, but the fact that the man had agreed to meet with him would warrant a celebratory cocktail after he left. Opening the built-in refrigerator, he took out a bottle of sparkling water and poured it into a crystal glass. Sitting opposite Monk, he raised the glass in a salute. “I want to thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
Monk wanted to tell the man with the scarred face that he’d only agreed to come in person because Webb Irvine had been recommended by a mutual friend. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll let you know whether it can be done.”
“Are you familiar with Serenity Records?”
Monk nodded. “I’ve heard of them.”
Putting the glass to his mouth, Webb took a deep swallow. “They’re my direct competition and...”
“And you want them eliminated,” Monk said, reading Webb’s mind.
Crossing his legs, the president and CEO of Slow Wyne Records stared at the toe of his imported slip-on. “I think I better give you some background information on my dilemma. My late brother hired someone to eliminate Ana Cole. She’s responsible for the day-to-day operation of Serenity.” He paused long enough to take another sip of water. “Basil hired a sniper to take her out, but they missed and shot one of her relatives.”
“That was his first dumb mistake,” Monk drawled. “If you want to eliminate someone, you get up real close and personal and put a bullet in her head.”
Webb gritted his teeth. He wanted to tell the man in black that he shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but he didn’t want to alienate him. Not when he was prepared to pay him an obscene amount of money to give Basil in death what he wasn’t able to obtain in life.
“You can’t go after her again,” Monk continued.
“I know. That’s why we’ve shifted our attention to her brother. His name is Jason Cole.”
“Where does he live?”
“Boca Raton, Florida. We had someone on the inside at Serenity that told us he still lives in his parents’ home, but mentioned he may have a place in either Washington or Oregon.”
“Did this person tell you which city?”
Webb shook his head. “No. She’s no longer working there.”
Monk rested his hands on his knees. “Tell me about this Jason. Is he married? Does he have a
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