CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR“Couldn’t we talk in my office?” I asked.
“I’d rather not get out,” Del Vecchio said. “Someone might see me and I’d rather keep our meeting private.”
I glanced at the tall, gray-suited driver still holding the door. He gave me a bland smile, and I did my best to return the favor.
“Please.” Del Vecchio motioned me inside. “I actually do have some place to be. And I think what I have to say will interest you.”
It was a dilemma. Del Vecchio seemed anxious to talk to me, and I’d be happy to talk to him, too. But, apparently, it would have to be on his terms. I supposed if Del Vecchio really meant to do me harm, his driver would have shoved me in the car the minute he opened the door. Maybe my curiosity overcame my good sense or maybe the circumstances—along with the gun
