In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(65)

“Good Lord.” The elder Petrie scowled at the tablet with distaste.

“Oh, Sam,” Sveti murmured, alarmed. “Really? Now? At dinner?”

“He should know who he’s dealing with,” Sam said stubbornly.

Connie and Moira leaned forward to watch the video clip, curious, but Sam’s father pushed the tablet away, his lips very thin. “Later for this, if you don’t mind. I would like to finish my dinner in peace.”

Sam shoved his chair back. “True to form,” he said, as he got up. “You always cut people off before they have a chance to get to the point. That way you never risk having to change your mind.”

He stalked out of the room, to Sveti’s dismay. She got up to follow.

“No! Leave him,” Richard snapped. “There’s no point, until he’s had his sulk, and who knows how long that will take. Years, maybe.”

“Dad!” Constance shot Sveti an embarrassed glance. “Sorry,” she added. “My father and Sam tend to bring out the worst in each other.”

“It’s so frustrating for Richard, you see,” Moira confided. “Sam is so gifted. And I don’t just say that because I am his grandmother. His grasp of finance was . . . well, almost magical, his professors and mentors said. He shocked people with what he could do.”

“He was already at it back in high school.” Connie had a harder edge to her voice. “Sam the wunderkind. He interned with a hedge fund when he was sixteen one summer, and earned them twenty-two million dollars in a single weekend, just messing around. Taking risks he was not authorized to take. But he got lucky.” Her tone indicated that she considered this ability to be entirely wasted upon her brother.

“He sees patterns, you see,” Moira explained. “Other people just see a mass of data, but Sam sees connections, shapes, trends.”

“He could have gone anywhere,” Richard said bitterly. “Any bank or brokerage firm in the world would have paid him top dollar. He could have started his own company. Or had mine. The whole world flung itself at his feet, and what did he do?” His voice shook with old anger.

The woman Sam had called Dolores came in, bearing what appeared to be chocolate mousse cake, drizzled with raspberry sauce.

“I don’t know, actually,” Sveti admitted, as the woman served her.

“He threw it away!” Richard thundered. “He switched his major from economics to criminal psychology, his last year in college! After graduation, he applied for a job at the Police Bureau! As a patrol officer!”

Dolores froze, tray in one hand, plate in the other. Eyes wide.

“And he made detective after only a few years, right?” Sveti pointed out. “I’m sure this ability to see patterns is what makes him such a gifted investigator. It’s not like he joined a motorcycle gang.”

“You saw his scars!” Richard bellowed. “Do you know how close he’s come to being killed? And all this just to spite me! To punish me!”

“Dad,” Connie said. “Don’t yell, please. You’re embarrassing us.”

“And now, he wants to chase some seductive little chippie across the world!” He raked her with a scathing gaze. “Bodyguarding? Unpaid, I expect? I hope for his sake that you intend to make it worth his while.”

“Mr. Petrie,” she said, her voice quiet. “That is enough.”

Richard Petrie got up and walked stiffly out of the room.

Dolores hastily finished putting down the plates of cake. “I’ll get the espresso,” she mumbled, scurrying out.

In the silence, Connie and Moira’s attention was drawn once more to the sound of the video clip Sam had set to play on the tablet. Sveti leaned over to see what was happening in it. Oh, dear. One of the young women was about to show the camera the festering welts on her back, from having been savagely beaten with electrical wire. Sveti pressed ‘pause’ and met the two women’s questioning gaze with a smile.

“Not before dessert,” she said gently.



Sam opened the bedroom door and stepped inside. Sveti sat cross-legged on the bed, tablet glowing in front of her. She wore gray jersey pajamas and a tank top. Bland, cheap stuff that turned Grecian goddess graceful when draped over that regally upright body.

He closed the door. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was bad.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m tough.”

He looked down at the tablet. “What are you doing with that?”

“I just told Hazlett and his assistant about my arrival tomorrow.”

His heart rate kicked up violently. “Are you f*cking kidding me?”

She looked up, big-eyed and startled. “What? Sam, the guy is my future employer! I don’t consider him a security risk!”

“Maybe not him, but your own e-mail account might be!”

“But I have to communicate with them!” she protested. “I’ll miss most of the conference! I was supposed to be on two panels tomorrow!”

“You’re missing the panels because you almost got killed,” he said through his teeth. “Please. Keep your priorities in order.”

She tapped at the keyboard, hair swinging forward to hide her face. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I should have said something to you.”