They took Favreau to a room about half the size of a barn, that may have been the most luxurious office he’d ever seen. The chairs, the sofa, the desk, the paintings on the wall all oozed money. The kind of money he’d like to have.
He still wasn’t sure what had happened out there. One minute Alexandra was running away from him, the next he was being grabbed by a couple of goons. He didn’t understand why they’d made such a fuss about Alexandra, although the pistol in her hand had been a pretty good indication that something was up.
Where had it come from? And why did she have it?
Had she only made a move on him to get to that party? Was she trying to horn in on his deal and snatch the merchandise? Or was she what he’d first suspected — a spy for Valac?
But if the last were true, why would they grab her like they had?
Whatever she was, Favreau realized he had meant nothing to her. He was merely a stepping stone. All the attention she’d given him had been a con, and he’d fallen for her like a chump.
And that made him both sad and angry.
The two hard cases escorting him took off his cuffs and sat him on the sofa. One of them was the guy from the bar the other day. The one who hadn’t said anything.
To Favreau’s right, in a big red armchair, was the guy who had made the speech tonight. Leonard whatshisname. Pappy Leo. And for a man who supposedly had more money than God, he didn’t look all that happy. Like he didn’t want to be here, now or ever.
Behind the big desk was a man with a ponytail.
Jesus. Fifty-something years old and he wore his hair like a schoolgirl. What was that all about?
Favreau had never seen the guy before, but he assumed it was Valac. Reinhard Beck. Nobody got a face with all that wear and tear without going through some heavy-duty shit. He reminded Favreau of the guy from those beer commercials. The most interesting man in the world. Only this one had that ponytail, and a look in his eyes that said he’d happily squash you like a cockroach if you got in his way.
Favreau didn’t intend to get squashed. Not if he could help it. He just wanted to make this deal and get out of here.
Assuming there was still a deal to be made.
He was about to say something to that effect when the door burst open and the tall gray-haired man from the bar came in, pushing the whore in front of him. That’s what Alexandra was, wasn’t she? Another opportunistic tart whose only real interest was taking a guy for everything he had, even if it meant screwing with his head and heart.
Favreau wondered what they’d done with her partner. Coop. Hopefully, they tied him to a chair and beat the shit out of him.
The gray-haired man shoved Alexandra toward the sofa and told her to sit her ass down. She looked as if she wanted to strangle the guy, but did as she was told, not bothering to give Favreau even a single glance as she sat. They weren’t two feet apart and she acted as if he didn’t exist.
Bitch.
Instead, her eyes focused on Valac, still sitting behind that big desk as if he were the true king of St. Cajetan. Maybe he was, meaning the guy in the red chair was an impostor. A sock puppet. Someone so used to being controlled and manipulated and dragged out of his hole to perform for the crowd that he could barely look anyone in the eye when he wasn’t on stage.
That was exactly what was going on, Favreau realized.
When had the coup taken place?
Months ago? Years?
Favreau didn’t have much sympathy for guys like him. All that money and what did it get him? Anyone who was weak enough to let someone muscle in on his territory deserved whatever blew his way.
It took awhile, but Valac finally spoke. “Mr. Favreau, I think you owe us an explanation.”
“Me?”
Valac wagged a finger toward Alexandra. “You are the one who introduced this unpleasantness into what should have been a simple business transaction.”
Favreau sat forward. “Hey, she’s got nothing to do with me.”
“No?”
Valac picked up a remote from his desk and flicked a button. Behind him a large-screen TV came to life, displaying surveillance footage of Favreau and Alexandra going at it in the ballroom.
Valac froze the image. “Would you like to retract that statement?”
Favreau glanced at Alexandra and saw she had turned away from the monitor. He waited a moment, thinking if only she would look his way, then maybe…
But no. She wouldn’t give him the time of day.
“I’m just a patsy here,” he said. “I don’t know what she’s up to or who she’s working for and I don’t want to know. I came here to make a deal with you and that’s it. As far I’m concerned, we could’ve handled all this over the Internet, but it was your idea to turn it into a vacation getaway. Not mine.”
He was talking too much, sounding too desperate, and he knew it. But he couldn’t help himself. It was all true, wasn’t it?
“I would like to believe you, Frederic.”
“Then believe me. I’ll give you the codes, you give me my money and let me off this goddamn island.”
“You have them with you now?”
“I probably shouldn’t, but yeah. They haven’t left me since I got to St. Cajetan.”
“Show me.”
Favreau started to reach into his jacket pocket, but Valac signaled to the hard case from the bar, who grabbed Favreau’s wrist.
He winced. “What the hell?” The guy’s grip was like the bite of a pit bull. “You people already searched me. I’ve been through a metal detector. You know I’m not carrying any weapons.”
“Neither was she when she arrived,” Valac said.
“Yeah, well, I don’t know anything about that.”
With a nod from Valac, the thug released Favreau.
Favreau rubbed his wrist, then stuck his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out the two key cards he’d removed from his wallet earlier. He handed them to the thug, who in turn took them to Valac.
Valac studied them. “Very clever, Frederic. I must admit I would not have given these a second thought.”
“That’s kinda the idea,” he said.
“Which of them holds the codes?”
“The one with the tiny nick on the corner.”
Valac inspected them. “I don’t see any nicks.”
“Look closer. It’s there. I made it myself.”
“That may be true, but I still don’t see it.”
“What’re you, blind?” Favreau started to rise, but the second hard case stepped forward and shoved him back down.
“Do that again,” Valac said, “and I will have him break your legs.”
Favreau swallowed. This wasn’t going the way he hoped it would.
Valac held out the two cards to the thug who had brought them to him. “Karl, check these with the reader.”
The thug took them and headed for a computer station to Valac’s left. Favreau noticed Alexandra was tracking the guy with her gaze, looking at the cards. He couldn’t help staring at that face and body of hers, wishing she hadn’t turned out to be such a bitch.
Why couldn’t he catch a break when it came to women?
Valac said to him, “I assume you put some type of protection on the card?”
Favreau snorted. “You think I’m stupid enough to hand those things over to you without an insurance policy? You transfer the money to my bank account, let me verify the transaction, and I’ll give you the password when I’m safely back home.”
The gray-haired guy laughed. “That’s a bit one sided, wouldn’t you say?”
“How so?”
“How are we supposed to check the authenticity of the codes if we don’t know the password?”
Favreau shrugged. “I guess you’ll just have to trust somebody for once in your life.”