Ultimate Weapon (McClouds & Friends #6)(31)

“I am shocked to hear it,” he said, his voice respectfully subdued. “Was it…?”

“Suicide?” Steele’s elegant shoulders lifted. “Murder? Who can say? Perhaps she saw or heard something she shouldn’t, perhaps she slept with the wrong person. I imagine it’s best for you that the story not be widely known. People might consider the piece cursed.”

Val made a noncommittal sound. “Forgive me if this sounds calculated, but considering the type of people who are most drawn to your work, it may enhance the torque’s value. Risk makes people feel alive. Danger is an indulgence for many of them.”

“Yes, of course. Carefully controlled danger. Like an amusement park ride.” Her tone was delicately contemptuous. “Do you like danger, Mr. Janos?”

“I am here, am I not?”

Her chilly smile pushed him away. She lifted a telephone set into the wall near the table. “Have you eaten? The food here is excellent.”

“I rarely eat in the evening,” he said. “But rules can be suspended. When temptation beckons, it is wasteful to resist.”

She ignored his flirting. “I had originally thought to invite you to a place that specializes in Italian food, in case you were homesick for ragú, or gnocchi,” she said. “Then I changed my mind, decided to range a little further afield.”

“You did well,” he said. “I seldom eat Italian food outside of Italy. No matter how talented the chef, la cucina italiana loses much of its magic out of context.”

“I agree,” she said. “Well, then. Your choices are the classic Japanese haute cuisine of Mr. Takuda, or that of his wife and associate, Mariko Takuda, who specializes in a more modern style of pan-Asian fusion dishes.”

“Choose for me,” he said gallantly. “I put myself in your hands.”

“Ah, you do enjoy risk.” She picked up the phone and spoke at some length in what sounded like fluent Japanese to whoever was on the other line.

“How many languages do you speak?” he asked.

Her gaze slid away. “Oh, I lost count long ago,” she evaded. “The question becomes irrelevant at a certain point. Shall I show you the pieces, while we wait for dinner?”

He assented. She turned on a light, and laid out her pieces.

Her work was stunning. The designs were bold and yet delicate, imbued with a sense of simmering danger, and the hidden weapons were as cunning and ingenious as they were effective. He understood why Steele’s work was becoming a hot investment. It was unique, timeless. The businessman inside him that desperately wanted to be let out was intrigued, already calculating the profits that could be had by organizing a private auction to select clients of Capriccio Consulting.

He tried not to dwell on how badly he wished his act was real.

A discreet knock indicated that their meal had arrived. Two attractive Asian women entered, clad in skintight, jewel-toned silk brocade dresses, pushing a rolling tray full of fragrant, steaming dishes.

Dinner was essentially a duel. He continued his attempt to flirt with her. She would lead him on for a few dance steps and then slam the door in his face. She ate little, despite the savory perfection of the food, and preferred the steaming green tea to the sake that accompanied the meal. He was pouring her another cup when her cell phone chimed.

She pulled it from some hidden pocket in her pants and glanced at the display, frowning. “Please excuse me for a moment.”

She retreated to the far corner of the room, and stood with her back to him, muttering in Portuguese, in a tone he wasn’t meant to overhear. “…yes, I told you she needs a bath…well? So? She always has a cold! If I only bathed her when she didn’t have a cold, she’d never be bathed at all…so heat the bathroom, and dry her hair…Cristo Santo, Rosalia, you’ll survive if she screams. I survive when she screams…no, not the yogurt. She’s constipated. Give her the fruit, and the bran cookies if she wants another snack…how should I know where the fuzzy pink blanket is? Look in the laundry room, or under the covers of my bed…”

The hot buzz that had been building up in his balls vanished.

The child. He’d been so titillated by his seductive role, he’d let his lies and his lust become almost real.

And this was his chance when she wasn’t looking. Her jewelry carrying case sat on the floor within arm’s reach. He had no idea if the room had hidden cameras. He weighed the risks and made his choice.

He poked the tiny, missile-shaped RF beacon needle tip right through the black leather of the case and insinuated it beneath. It left a tiny misshapen bulge, but by the time she noticed, it would no longer matter. It would only monitor her for maybe thirty-six hours, having so little battery power.

But Imre only had a couple of days, in any case.

“…so tell her I’ll be back soon. And only Elmo, or Pooh. The other ones give her nightmares. Yes. Just a couple of hours. ’Til then.”

She clicked the phone shut. He sensed rather than heard her sigh of frustration.

“You have a child?” he said quietly.

She whipped around, alarmed. “You speak Brazilian Portuguese?”

He shrugged. “Romance languages,” he said lightly. “Spanish, French, Italian, Romanian. You learn one, you learn them all.”

“Hmmph.” She gazed at him, eyes wide. He had scared her.