Spiders in the Grove (In the Company of Killers #7)(23)

“Five million dollars,” I say, and Jackie gasps. “That should be enough to get you in the door on the last night, and to buy a few more girls.” Four or five at the most, but I better not tell Jackie that.

“But what about tomorrow night?” she asks.

Oh, now she wants to go to all three! Make up your damn mind, woman!

“I need you there on the final night,” I explain. “And if you go on night two, you’ll end up spending the whole five million and have nothing left for night three.”

“But—”

“No,” I cut her off this time, “you do it my way, or you don’t buy anymore girls.”

“Save,” she corrects me icily.

“Save anymore girls,” I correct myself just to make her happy. “And don’t be so judgmental of Izabel; she’s playing a role just like you. You just keep an eye on her for me; report everything back to me: who you see her with, what she does, anything that happens to her.”

“OK,” Jackie agrees, pauses and then adds, “But now what do I do with these girls?”

I laugh shortly. “You’ll have to take them with you,” I tell her. “Can’t leave them alone because they could blow your cover. Can’t set them free right now, or it’ll look suspicious. How are they taking it? The girls—how do they feel about you?” Please don’t say you told them you rescued them.

“I told them I was saving them,” she answers, and I shake my head. “Most are taking it well—they’re hopeful, and ready to go home.”

I let out a long, deep breath; the fingers of my free hand rub in a circular motion against my temple, trying to tame a growing headache.

“Jackie, listen to me”—I point my finger sternly, as if she can see it—“you have to take the girls with you, and hope like hell none of them freak out by being forced to go back there, and end up blowing your cover.”

“Why can’t I just leave them with Schwarzenegger and Stallone in the hotel?”

“Because then who’s going to look after you?”

She sighs.

“I think I can handle it myself,” she says. “I made quite a show—it was actually kinda fun, the acting part—and nobody threatened me, or dragged me away; honestly, I think they enjoyed it.”

“What kind of show?” I’m afraid to know.

“Well, I know we talked about acting like I was too good for conversation to keep people from getting too into my business, but…I kinda went another direction last minute.”

My left brow hitches up. “Yeah?” I question suspiciously.

“It just happened,” she explains. “But it felt more natural in the moment.” Her tone changes from nervous to proud. “That’s the work of a real actress, a great actress: go with what feels right; it always makes for a more believable character.”

“Tell that to Spielberg,” I say.

“I’m sure Tom Cruise tells him all the time,” she comes back.

I shrug. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Wait—am I really having this conversation?

“Look,” I say, “I don’t care what role you’re playing, as long as you don’t get yourself killed, or your cover blown.”

“Aww, are you worried about me, Niklas?” she teases.

“Well, of course I am,” I say. “You die and I lose all my damn money.”

She laughs, and it’s obvious she doesn’t believe my reasoning. “OK, bad-boy Nik, you keep telling yourself that.”

I grin. Just a little.

I end the call relieved. Relieved that Jackie is alive and seems confident she can keep it that way. Relieved that Izabel is right where I expected her to be. And even more relieved that she’s in a position that poses less of a risk to her life.

Going into this, I had no way of knowing if Izabel would be at this auction, but it was the only one scheduled in that area, and seemed like a no-brainer.

I wish I could tell myself to sleep well tonight, but I’m not at home, unfortunately. And I won’t be sleeping.

Slipping my cell phone into my front pocket, I turn back to the dimly-lit room, and to the man sitting in the chair, watching me.

“You won’t get away with this,” he warns. “When this is all over, my men will hunt you down, and they’ll kill you.”

Casually, I take a seat on his expensive sofa, kick my dirty boots up on his expensive coffee table, and pluck a cigarette from my sixty-dollar jacket.

I light up, taking my time.

“When this is all over,” I say, take a drag and hold it in my lungs, “as long as you do what you’re supposed to do, maybe you’ll be alive to tell your men to hunt me down.”

He snarls at me; he wants to beat me to death right here in his living room, but that’s not likely to happen.

I look over at his daughter; she sits quietly, tight-lipped, her hands tucked between her thighs.

“Does she know what you do?”

“Leave her out of this,” he demands.

“I’m not the one who brought her into it,” I point out. “You were, Mr. Lockhart.”

“Daddy, what is he talking about?”

“Don’t worry about it, baby.”