Sting

While still debating, he spotted the handsome black agent emerging from the hotel’s parking garage on foot, carrying a pair of duffel bags. The agent crossed the street then turned and struck off down the sidewalk toward a waiting car. Not the one they’d taken to Tobias.

It was like a gift! Only a coward or a fool wouldn’t have acted on it. Why not seize an opportunity to underscore that if you messed with Billy Panella, you did so at great personal risk?

He slipped from his hiding place between two buildings and moved along the sidewalk. As he approached the car, the agent was deceived by the hoodie. He’d actually lowered the car window. Last thing he said was, “Kinnard, what the hell are you—”

Phfft!

Smiling into the phone now, he wondered what the Asian banker would think of the coup he’d pulled off tonight. Who needed hired help? “I didn’t request the wire transfer because I didn’t need the funds after all.”

“I see.”

He didn’t see, of course. He didn’t have an effing clue.

“I hope you’re not unhappy with our service.”

He reveled in the man’s deferential tone. Everyone wanted to keep Billy Panella pacified. “I contracted men to do a job. They turned out to be incompetent and untrustworthy. The job wasn’t completed, but your bank’s service wasn’t an issue.”

“Splendid. I’m glad to hear that.” He paused. “What service may I perform for you today?”

What was this guy, a whore? Well, in a manner of speaking, he was. Which was why it was going to crush him to hear this.

“I want you to close all my accounts.”

“I’m sorry?”

He adjusted the electrolarynyx. “I want you to close all my accounts. Subtract whatever service charges apply, then withdraw every last cent.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m moving these funds to another financial institution. Is that clarifying enough?”

The guy seemed to have swallowed his golden tongue. Seconds passed.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes, Mr. Panella. I’m just—”

“Can you handle this request, or do I need to speak with your superior?”

“No, I’ll handle it.”

“Thank you.”

Obviously flustered, the banker asked for the details of where the funds were to be transferred. In the background, his computer keys were clicking. “And your password, please?”

He gave it.

&nbs

p; More keyboard clicking. “Thank you, Mr. Panella.”

“You’re welcome.” It had been such a successful twenty-four hours, he felt like being expansive. “Let me say, this isn’t a reflection on you. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you. I like your accent. Very classy, very—”

“Excuse me. I need the second password.”

“What?”

“Jordan Bennett’s password?”