MacGowan didn’t bother to hide his irritation. Dylan hadn’t needed to hear the down and dirty details of Beth’s rescue. “Don’t worry, kid. She’s still a virgin.”
“I am not!” she snapped, effectively goaded.
“Close enough.” He kicked the extra chair out for her. “Have a seat. When you come up with stakes that interest me I’ll deal you in.”
“Why can’t we bargain with food the way we were doing?” Dylan said. “You just won my dinner.”
“Because I want her to eat. She’s so thin a stiff breeze could blow her away,” he drawled, mentally cursing himself for using the word “stiff” in conjunction with Beth. He was having a hard enough time already.
“You’re assuming you’ll win,” she said in a dulcet tone.
“I cheat.”
“So do I.”
“Dude!”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Porsche slid smoothly through the city streets, the headlights bouncing off the wet pavement. Peter loved this car. Genny insisted it was his treat for the long commute every day, but in his heart he knew it was impractical.
He really should give it up. It was too small for his growing family – using car seats in a two-door was better suited to the Cirque de Soleil – and Mahmoud had been eyeing it hungrily. Since Peter had no intention of letting a seventeen-year-old boy out with such a powerful piece of machinery, and because he didn’t trust Mahmoud not to give in to temptation and simply help himself, he was better off without the damned car, even if it made commuting into London less tedious. Maybe something nice and stodgy like a Vauxhall would put Mahmoud off. After all, he had a reputation to uphold with his mates.
He was heading toward the M3 when his mobile rang, and he punched the button on the steering wheel, and Genny’s sweetly American voice came over the speaker. “Are you still at the office?”
&n
bsp; “Just left, Miss Spenser,” he said in a sinuous voice he kept just for her.
She laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Don’t mess with me, you wretch. I’m bogged down with infants. Mahmoud just called. He was in town with some of his mates and needs a ride home. Can you pick him up?”
“Of course. Where is he?”
“I told him to go to the office.”
Peter made an unhappy noise. The security at the office was particularly lethal, something Mahmoud, with the blithe disregard of all teenagers, chose to ignore, having outwitted it on only his third try. He ignored all of Peter’s threats, warnings, and bribes, and he had complete faith that when he returned to the office Mahmoud would be sitting behind his desk, hacking into some of the world’s most secret files. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Please don’t, darling. My children need their father and I don’t fancy visiting you in prison. Speaking of which, have you heard anything more from MacGowan? Is he still planning to gut you?”
Again, he could thank Mahmoud for spilling the beans about that particular threat. “Nothing yet. I had another message from Isobel. She says she’s had word that he’s crossing the Atlantic on a freighter, so I imagine he’ll show up sooner or later.”
“And Isobel? Is she staying on Mars or wherever she and Killian have hidden themselves?”
He pulled into the underground parking garage. “No reason not to.”
“If you promise not to kill Mahmoud I’ll put the babies down early and have my wicked way with you.”
“Promises, promises,” he said lightly. “You want me to pick up anything for tea?”
“Not a thing. See you in an hour?”
“Depending on traffic.”
The building that housed the new Committee offices was small, sleek and modern. They owned the top two floors, and the first two were leased by a cover organization. It was after six, and everyone had left, though he’d noticed the light in his office as he’d driven in. Bugger Mahmoud, he thought grumpily, riding up in the elevator.
The outer hallway was dark, not even a security light breaking through the gloom, and for a moment he wondered if he’d been wrong, if he’d simply forgotten to turn off his own lights. He dismissed the idea – he was a careful man, and that care and attention to details had kept him alive in a very dangerous business. No, Mahmoud had definitely managed to break in, and he knew which parts of the walls had electric current running through them.
He opened the first door and froze. There was no mistaking the stink of sudden, violent death, and he slammed the door open to his office as rage and grief washed over him.