In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(80)

He dropped in a chair, the gun dangling from his fingers.

“Ignore him,” Sveti said, her voice chilly. “He’s behaving badly.”

“Who is he?” Nadine asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Sam Petrie, a friend of mine,” Sveti said.

“Bodyguard,” Sam corrected. “I’ll accompany her everywhere.”

“Ah.” Nadine’s smooth brow creased. “That might be a bit awkward, because the gala tonight is by invitation only. But don’t worry, Mr. Hazlett’s security team can take over for—”

“It won’t be a problem,” Sam said. “I’m on the guest list.”

Sveti’s head whipped around. “You’re what?”

Nadine looked blank. “But this function is—”

“I’m a donor,” Sam said. “Look me up. Samuel Petrie.”

Nadine gaped. “Samuel . . . oh my! You’re that Samuel Petrie?”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s me. No worries. I’m on the list.”

“I should think so!” Nadine’s entire demeanor had changed. Her eyes sparkled. “We’ll roll out the red carpet!” Her gaze flicked back to Sam’s torso with renewed interest. “Well. You two are busy. I’ll leave this envelope with the info for tonight. A car will come at eight—”

“We’ll go on our own. The address of the venue’s in the envelope?”

“Of course, with directions. If you’d prefer, we can—”

“How much did he donate?” Sveti’s voice was crystal sharp.

“One point two million USD!” Nadine bubbled. “One of our biggest private donations so far, aside from Mr. Hazlett’s! Now we know who brought it in! You have more resources than we realized!” She nudged Sveti’s arm. “We didn’t know you had donors to bring to the table!”

Sveti’s face had gone white.

“Actually, there’s something you can help us with,” Sam said.

Nadine snapped to attention. “Anything! Say the word!”

“Sveti doesn’t have a dress for tonight,” he said. “And for obvious reasons, I don’t want her wandering the streets to shop for one.”

“Sam!” Sveti hissed. “I can handle this myself!” She looked at Nadine. “I have a dress in my suitcase that would be perfectly—”

“Price is no object.” He ran a practiced eye over the dress Nadine wore. “That looks like Dior. Did you get it here?”

She preened. “Quite an eye, Mr. Petrie! I bought this in Florence, but I do shop here. I know which shops would have what you need.”

“Could you contact them? Have them send us some possibilities in a size four. We’ll probably need alterations, too. Since she’s short.”

“Sam! You are embarrassing me!”

“Shhhh, I got this,” he soothed. “Sveti, what’s your shoe size?”

Sveti crossed her arms over her chest, mouth flat. He reached for the flats next to her suitcase and examined them. “Five and a half, narrow.” He glanced at Nadine’s elegantly shod feet. “I think we can trust you to find the right thing. For the dress, tell them romantic, clingy. Think old Hollywood. Earthy colors would work, rust or moss greens. Not black, or white, or anything too loud or bright.”

“I’ll get right on it!” Nadine bustled out, all smiles.

Sam closed the door behind her and braced himself to face Sveti’s fury.





CHAPTER 16

Sveti stared at Sam’s broad, muscular back, obdurately turned to her. She could not breathe. Price is no object. Her ass.

“One point two million dollars,” she said. “Holy. Fucking. Shit.”

“I do a lot of charitable giving.” Sam’s voice was gruffly defensive. “I checked into Illuxit’s anti-trafficking foundation. They met all my criteria, and I still hadn’t met my philanthropic quota for the year, so what the hell? I thought you’d approve.”

“I would, under any other circumstances!”

“What’s wrong with these circumstances?” He spun around, scowling. “I don’t get it! What is your f*cking problem?”

“Just how rich are you?” she demanded. “Spell it out for me.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Depends on the day, what’s happening with the market. You know, wars, coups, earthquakes, plane crashes, terrorist attacks. Pretty rich by almost anybody’s standards, I guess.”

“What does ‘pretty rich’ mean to you?”

“What do you care?” he demanded.

“Normally, I wouldn’t,” she said. “I would never have asked such a vulgar, invasive question if you hadn’t started swinging your money around and knocking things over. But since you did, I feel entirely justified. Is this money that you inherited?”

“No,” he said. “I just work with money I’ve made myself.”

“Made from what? Not from a homicide detective’s salary.”

He huffed out a sharp sigh. “I’m good with money, Sveti. After college, I invested in some tech start-ups that did well. I reinvested my profits with other ventures, and did well with those, too. Playing with money is something I do to unwind. Sort of like masturbating.”