Lace & Lead

One of his large hands spanned her shoulder blades and she felt his awkward patting turn into slow circles on her back. Then he was holding her close, almost tenderly.

“I’ll be okay,” he told her quietly, calmly. “I’ll be back this afternoon. Go play in the garage. Just don’t use the torch.”

She still didn’t let him go.

He pulled back from her, his hands cradling her face, making her feel even tinier than she was. “Emma, trust me. I’ll be safe.”

The door closed behind him, locks clicking into place with unnerving finality.

He’d called her Emma. Not Miss Gregson.

Emma.

Peirce knew he would strongly dislike Arthur Gregson. He’d known that from the few times they’d met to discuss the contract, from the rare interactions at the Gregson estate, the attempted assassination and, more recently, from the comm call when the man had shown his true colours. But seeing the louse in person was different.

Worse.

Peirce clenched his fist under the table, refusing to let his face show any obvious sign of his disgust.

“You can’t do this to me,” Gregson sputtered for the third time.

“You broke the contract,” Peirce said calmly, more than aware of the lack of personal guards.

If he came to this meeting unprotected, Gregson must have been haemorrhaging money. Peirce knew he hadn’t come unprotected out of trust.

“I didn’t realise that hiring additional security would render our agreement null and void!”

“How about hiring those mercs to kill me and my men before you had to pay us the full amount?”

Gregson’s mouth dropped open. When he recovered enough, he pleaded his innocence. When he realised Peirce wasn’t buying it, he grew agitated.

Peirce sighed. The man was stuck on defending himself, even if all he was doing was repeating blatant lies over and over. At least he hadn’t asked about Emma.

Peirce didn’t want to have to shoot Gregson this early in the game. Better to leave that to Richard Stone. That way the loose ends would be tied up and Emma’s hands wouldn’t be dirty.

“You can’t blame me for trying to protect that little bitch! She was my way out!”

Gregson swallowed at the look on Peirce’s face, belatedly realising his mistake.

“Listen closely,” Peirce said, tone soft and dangerous. “You will not look for Emmaline. You will not hire anyone to find her, nor will you place any security flags on her for the rest of your miserable life.”

“She’s my daughter,” Gregson snarled, vein pulsating. “I can do whatever I damn well please with her. You aren’t a Lawman anymore.”

“True. But I have friends who are still in the service. They tend to frown on human trafficking, Mr. Gregson.” Peirce smiled, knowing it was more a baring of the teeth. “Come to think of it, I don’t think highly of men who engage in such activities.”

“You’re nothing but a goddamn merc! You aren’t paid to think!”

Gregson was trembling. Peirce knew it wasn’t from anger—the man was scared shitless—but he had nothing to lose from a confrontation with Peirce. Richard Stone was the real threat and Gregson knew it. This was just transference.

That didn’t mean that Peirce couldn’t add to Gregson’s stress level. In a smooth motion, he removed the gun from the holster at the small of his back and pressed it gently against Gregson’s temple.

“Speaking of thinking,” Peirce said as he leaned in, pressing the barrel harder to the flesh, “you are no longer permitted to even think about Emmaline.”

He leaned back as shock set in on the man’s face. “If you do, I will make it my personal mission to find you and introduce you to some of the persuasive techniques I learned in the wars.”

Peirce got up from the small table in the pub and turned to leave, holstering his weapon. Gregson didn’t have the balls to try to attack him.

“Don’t you know who I am? You can’t threaten me!” Gregson protested.