Wicked Intentions

38

A cheerful bell rings when I push through the front door. The place smells like incense and old books. Jazz plays softly in the background. A man looks up from a big oak counter carved with a weird battle scene involving dragons and meets my gaze with a level one of his own.

We size each other up.

He’s somewhere north of fifty, neither young or old, neither handsome or ugly, dressed in an average dark-blue suit. Joe Average.

I get the sense his average appearance is carefully crafted.

I also get the sense he’s been expecting me.

Strolling in his direction, I take in everything about the room, including the security cameras masquerading as speakers on the walls. When I get to the counter, I lean my elbow on it and give him a corn-fed, backcountry dumbass smile meant to convey I’m not a threat, and might even be a little slow on the uptake.

He stares at me. His left eyebrow slowly lifts into a condescending arch. In a tone so dry it’s practically dust, he says, “Is that what they’re teaching in the American military now? How subtle. I’ve seen bulldozers with more finesse.”

I instantly decide I like him. “Haven’t been in the military for a long time, pal,” I reply. “I’m just a smiler.”

His tone grows even more disapproving. “The smiling American. How cliché.”

I say softly, “I’m anything but a cliché, friend. Where is she?”

His lips purse. He exhales a small, annoyed breath. If he rolls his eyes, I might have to punch him in the face.

“She?” he repeats, a little cattily, I think.

“Mariana.”

He blinks, taken aback, but quickly recovers, smoothing a hand over his tie as his face shifts into a neutral expression.

“You’re surprised she told me her real name.” I’m feeling all kinds of macho and self-satisfied. I resist the urge to puff out my chest and calmly gaze at him instead.

He folds his hands on the counter and drills me with a look. “If you knew her the way I know her, you’d be surprised, too.” His gaze drifts over my leather bomber jacket to my jeans, then flicks up to my hair, which I combed by dragging my fingers through it. His mouth takes on the shriveled appearance of a prune. “You’d be very surprised indeed.”

I dig that he’s not trying to pretend he doesn’t know who I’m talking about. And I don’t take it personally that he obviously thinks Mariana’s too good for me. We’re pretty much on the same page there.

Even if she is an international jewel thief wanted by all the police.

I straighten, fold my arms across my chest, and smile wider.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“Listen, buddy—”

“It’s Reynard,” he interrupts. “Please refrain from calling me any more nicknames. A grinning American addressing me as friend, buddy, and pal is quite literally my definition of hell.”

“No need to get pissy. And what d’you have against Americans, anyway? We saved your asses in World War II. If it wasn’t for us, you’d all be speaking German.”

“Let’s not get into a debate about history, Mr. McLean. I never enter into a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent.”

Bypassing the zinger—which I have to admit is a good one—I say smugly, “So she told you about me.”

From his coat pocket, Reynard withdraws a pair of glasses. Snooty as s**t, he puts them on and looks down his nose at me. “Don’t flatter yourself. I looked you up in a database.”

By now my grin must be blinding. “But you had to know my name in order to look me up.”

After a pause, he says, “I’m jealous of all the people who haven’t met you.”

“Tell me where she is.”

His irritation is palpable. “Mr. McLean—”

“I can help her,” I insist, bracing my arms on the counter and getting into his face. “Whatever trouble she’s in, I can get her out of.”

He stares at me for a long time, his gaze sharp and assessing. “You’re an interesting man, Mr. McLean, I’ll give you that. But you seem to be operating under the mistaken impression that your help is wanted.”

“You talkin’ about you, or her?”

A muscle in his jaw flexes. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

I drop the nice-guy act and growl, “And I think it’s time for you to realize that dumb motherfuckers who stand in the way of something I want have extremely shortened lifespans. Tell me where she is and where she lives, or I’ll break every bone in your body.”

His patience finally snaps. Eyes blazing with fury, he whips off his glasses and lays into me.

“This might surprise you, you gargantuan i***t, but you’re not the first man on earth to threaten my life, nor would you be the first to cause me harm for protecting her! And if you had even one functioning brain cell, you’d realize that a woman in her position would never tell anyone where she lived—especially someone like me who could be pressured by someone like you into giving up that information! For the love of all that’s holy, I have no idea what she sees in you! You’re proof that evolution can go in reverse!”

Red-faced, he huffs. He jerks the glasses back onto his face. Then he peers at me through them and shouts, “Why the bloody hell are you smiling again?”