The Wrong Gentleman(32)

“She might be in more danger if she doesn’t help us. If our target has taken an interest in her then she could be a considerable asset.”

My hand squeezed the mobile. “She can be an asset without being read in.”

“Not if you two don’t have much to do with each other.”

“Like I said, you need to trust me.” Perhaps I could create some kind of story that would ensure Skylar said no to a second date with Walt. There was no way I’d endanger her by telling her who Walt was, but I had to do something.

“Well, we’ll see what tonight brings, but it’s an option, Landon. We need to think about the operation.”

I growled and took a left, the hotel coming into view. It wasn’t an option. Skylar was innocent in all this, and I wasn’t about to put her in danger.

“Where are you? I can hear car horns and traffic.”

“I’m just coming up to the hotel.”

“Make sure you get these photographs. We can talk about the crew member another day,” Reynolds said.

We wouldn’t be talking about Skylar. I wasn’t going to put her in harm’s way.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” I said and ended the call.

I glanced up at the hotel that, with its intricate, flowery architecture covered in turrets and cherubs, looked better suited to Paris than the edge of the Med. It didn’t look real. Not the real I knew, anyway.

I stepped inside the lobby and took in my surroundings, trying not to be blinded by the expanse of white marble before me. Chandeliers hung from the huge, domed, stained-glass ceiling.

It would never occur to me to bring a date to a place like this. I might just be getting used to having millions in the bank, but I’d had a little money for a while now. I enjoyed good things in life, and London was a glamorous place, but this was a different level of living. I wasn’t sure what kind of person would be comfortable here.

A man like Walt, I supposed, but it didn’t seem like Skylar.

I crossed the lobby and saw the entrance to the restaurant.

“Bonjour Monsieur. Do you have a reservation?” the host asked in a thick French accent as I peered inside, trying to catch a glimpse of Skylar and Walt.

“No, I was just hoping to have a drink.”

“Very good, sir. Le Bar Americain I think will suit you very well, if you just make your way . . .” He directed me across the lobby, but I didn’t want a drink.

“There’s no bar in the restaurant?” I interrupted him.

“I’m sorry, no. But if the Bar Americain doesn’t suit you then maybe the lobby bar.”

“Thank you.” The lobby bar would have to do. At least there I’d have a view of the restaurant entrance. If I couldn’t observe the dinner itself, I’d have to content myself with photographing everyone who entered and left the restaurant. Unfortunately, Walt wouldn’t be so stupid as to leave with the three additional guests.

I took a seat at a small table where I’d be hidden from direct view, but where I could see people coming and going. I pulled out my phone. I’d have to be discreet as I took pictures of everyone who entered. Then I’d let Reynolds, or his client, sort through the patrons to find the people they were looking for.

I needed to do a thorough job or Reynolds would have another reason to get Skylar involved.





Twenty





Landon


The fresh ocean air filled my lungs as I focused on the menial work of cleaning down all the chrome on the decks. It was almost like a meditation, neutralizing the adrenaline that had been pumped through my body last night.

Outside the restaurant, I’d captured image after image of everyone entering and leaving. Most of the shots would be useless, but I was sure I’d captured Walt’s guests among the tourists and regulars, and I’d sent what I’d got to Reynolds. And I’d managed to get back on board without anyone noticing—the night had been a success. I just hoped it led to Walt’s downfall.

Unexpectedly, Walt and his five guests had left the boat just after seven this morning. I’d brought up all the luggage from their rooms—it looked like they would be gone for a while. If only I’d been at the center of things. I would know whether or not Walt had really only been in town to have the meeting last night and now had left or whether something had drawn him away. At least it meant that he couldn’t ask Skylar out again, which meant she was of less interest to Reynolds.

“All crew, all crew to the mess, immediately,” the captain’s voice rang out on the radio.

As I strode into the kitchen, Skylar walked in through the other door, gathering up her hair and fixing it into a ponytail. I couldn’t remember ever seeing her with it up, and her long neck, which I knew tasted like honey, had me fisting my hands to ensure I didn’t reach for her. So much for me ignoring Skylar and keeping focused on the operation. It wasn’t working despite the fact I’d barely seen her since that first night. I kept telling myself I was good enough at my job not to let my pull toward Skylar compromise the mission. I hadn’t made the money, celebrated the victories I had without being better than some guy who fucked up because he had his head turned. But could I enjoy Skylar and do my job? I was asking myself that question more and more often.

Reynolds suggesting I use Skylar had brought things to a head for me, and there was no use denying my ongoing attraction to her any longer. Skylar was physically my type—there was no doubt about that. But spending time around her, I found myself drawn to her. To the way she worked hard without it showing, the way she seemed to carry around a pain inside her in the same way soldiers who’d been in battle did, but she tried to hide it. It connected us by some invisible thread. I felt I knew her better than I did, cared about her welfare more than I should. I just couldn’t explain it, and as much as I tried, I couldn’t shake it. It was as if Skylar was really two people—the one she showed and the one she hid—and I wanted to uncover both.