keep you alive, at least until I have convinced you to help me. If you insist on forging ahead with your current pastime of raiding Luttrell’s brothels, I expect your body will soon turn up in the river.”
To his surprise she hesitated.
“I will admit that I have a few concerns about the strategy that I have been employing on the raids,” she said reluctantly.
“Only a few concerns? How often do you think that the Trojan-horse strategy could have been repeated using the same damn horse? Sooner or later, even a fool will catch on, and I can promise you that Luttrell is no fool.”
“The thing is, the fake smoke is so effective. It always empties out a house within minutes and it creates great confusion,” she said.
“But it is also a very obvious tactic. You won’t get away with it again, not if you use it against a Luttrell operation. He’ll have his enforcers waiting for you next time.”
“You sound very sure of that.”
“Very likely because that is what I would do in his place. If I operated a string of brothels, trust me, I’d have enforcers watching the clients like hawks by now.”
She cleared her throat. “You are nothing if not forthright, sir. But I refuse to believe that you would have me murdered in cold blood if I staged a raid against one of your operations. That is not your style.”
He smiled at that. “You know little of my style. But I will promise you that nothing that ever happens between us will be in cold blood, Adelaide Pyne.”
She stilled, evidently struck speechless.
“Fortunately, this is a hypothetical conversation,” he added. “As you pointed out, I’m not in the brothel business.”
“What if I raided one of your gambling clubs or taverns?” she asked icily. “Would my body end up in the river?”
“No. My methods tend to be a good deal more subtle than Luttrell’s.”
“Such as?”
He could be patient, he reminded himself. Patience was a virtue in his profession. The ability to wait for the proper moment to strike, combined with his natural intuition, had won him more victories than he could count. Impulse and strong passions were the greatest sins that could beset a crime lord. He had considered himself to be free of both for years . . . until Adelaide Pyne.
“We digress, Mrs. Pyne,” he said, making a valiant effort not to grind his teeth. “Let’s return to the point of this meeting.”
“This meeting, as you call it, is not going well.”
“That is because you are being difficult.”
“It’s a gift,” she shot back.
“I have no trouble believing that.”
She tapped the tip of her umbrella against the pedestal that held the ugly artifact. “Very well, sir. You said you needed my help on an urgent matter. Why don’t you explain exactly what it is you wish me to do for you? Then, perhaps we can discuss the possibility of a mutually agreeable bargain.”
The word bargain sparked a lightning-bright warning. He was willing to pay her for her services, but the notion of negotiating with her gave him considerable pause. On the other hand, it was not as though he had much choice in the matter. Adelaide Pyne was his only hope.
“I have a rather long and somewhat complicated story to tell you,” he said carefully.
“Perhaps you will be able to cut your tale short when I inform you that I have an artifact in my possession that I believe belongs to you. A family heirloom, I suspect.”
It was his turn to be stunned. Impossible, he thought. She could not possibly have the lamp.
“What are you talking about?” he asked finally.
“I refer to a rather odd antiquity shaped something like a vase. I believe it is about two hundred years old. It is fashioned of some metal that resembles gold. The rim is set with a number of cloudy gray crystals.”
Anticipation flooded through him. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he allowed himself a measure of hope.
“Damn it to hell,” he said very softly. “You found the Burning
Angela Andrew;Swan Sue;Farley Bentley
Reshonda Tate Billingsley