Part 32 (1/2)
”How was I supposed to know you were going to be riding with him?” McGuire snapped.
”All I'm saying is that our backer's getting angry. I told him you guys were the best. Don't embarra.s.s me. Get this thing done. Get this thing done.”
”Gillette's a dead man,” McGuire said quietly. ”Count on it. We're bringing in the best.” He winced. ”The problem is that this guy's worked for us before, so there's a connection issue. But he'll get it done,” McGuire said confidently. ”Despite Quentin Stiles.”
”Good.” Cohen looked out across the water. ”There's something else we have to talk about,” he said. ”Something that could derail everything.”
McGuire glanced over. ”Oh?”
”Yeah, and it's going to mean another job.”
”Christian.”
Gillette looked up from a financial statement he was reviewing. Stiles stood at the office door. ”Yes?”
”I have information for you.”
”What?”
”That e-mail you got the other night in New Jersey. Right before you were attacked?”
Gillette sat up in the chair. ”Did you find out where it came from?”
Stiles nodded. ”From a store location in Los Angeles. Beverly Hills, specifically.”
Gillette put down his pen slowly. Faith Ca.s.sidy had stayed at the Beverly Hills Wills.h.i.+re Hotel. She'd told him that when she called earlier.
The phone rang and Gillette recognized the number on his caller ID. ”I have to take this, Quentin.”
”Sure.” Stiles backed out, closing the door.
Gillette picked up the receiver after the third ring. As agreed. ”h.e.l.lo.”
”Falcon?”
”Yes. What do you know?” he asked impatiently.
”Give me the response first.”
Gillette nodded, pleased that the informant was sticking to the procedure. ”Five.” This was the fifth time they had spoken.
”And.”
”The season is winter. Now, what do you have?”
”The adversary moved. The subject has been played and will deliver in the morning.”
”Thank you,” Gillette said quietly. ”Call me right away with anything else. Got it?”
”Yes.”
Gillette hung up the phone, then opened the top left drawer of his desk. The number was scrawled on a piece of scratch paper hidden below two manila envelopes. He gazed at it for a few moments, then dialed.
”h.e.l.lo.”
Gillette recognized Jose Medilla's voice right away. There was no need to bother with coded confirmations. ”Jose, it's Christian.” He hesitated. This was a moment he hadn't been looking forward to. One Jose probably hadn't been looking forward to, either.
18.
Quid pro quo. Literally, this for that. Literally, this for that.
There's always a quid pro quo. Nothing comes for free.
GILLETTE MOVED INTO THE LOBBY of the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel and headed up the plushly carpeted stairs toward the main lobby. He was surrounded by a security detail-five of Stiles's men. Stiles was already inside securing the lobby and dining room.
Earlier in the afternoon, Gillette had increased Stiles's fee to ten thousand dollars a day-over Cohen's protest. Stiles was dedicating so much of his time and so many resources to the job, Gillette felt it was necessary. And this wasn't going to last much longer. One way or the other, it was going to be over soon.
As he reached the top of the stairs, Gillette spotted Stiles standing beside a huge vase of fresh flowers on a table in the middle of the lobby. A wire ran from one ear down into Stiles's turtleneck, and a thin silver microphone curled around his cheek to his lips.
”I don't like this, Christian,” Stiles said, as the men formed a barrier around them. ”I don't like having you out in the open like this. Not after what happened this morning.”
Gillette moved closer to Stiles and glanced around the lobby. ”It'll be fine, Quentin.”
Stiles's expression turned grim. ”Don't tell me how to do my business, Christian. And I won't tell you how to do yours.”
”Like I said, it'll be fine.”
”Why don't we set up in a private room upstairs?” Stiles suggested. ”That would be more intimate anyway.”
Gillette shook his head. ”It's our first date and I tell her we're eating in a private room because my head of security is worried someone might try to kill me if we eat in the dining room. That doesn't seem like a plan to me. Not if I want her to stick around through dessert.”
”Still, I-”
Stiles stopped speaking as Isabelle moved toward them. She was wearing a black, strapless dress with her dark hair up off her dainty shoulders. For jewelry, she had on diamond earrings, a sapphire necklace, and a gold bracelet on her left wrist. Black suede heels finished her outfit. There was a hint of red on her full lips, and her fingernails were the same color.
Gillette gazed at her face as she neared him. Always mystery in those brown eyes-and it seemed more p.r.o.nounced tonight. Like she was scared of something-or someone.
”h.e.l.lo there,” Gillette said quietly as she moved inside the security detail.
”Hi.” She clasped her hands and looked down.
It was an uncomfortable moment for her, he knew. So he leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss on one cheek. The scent of a pleasing perfume came to his nostrils as his lips touched her soft skin.
”It's good to see you, Christian,” she murmured.
Gillette slipped an arm around her, his hand coming to rest on the small of her back. He gave her a gentle hug. ”It's good to see you, too.” He nodded to Stiles over her shoulder, thankful Stiles hadn't searched her. ”Did you enjoy yourself today?” He'd arranged for a woman from the Waldorf to spend the day with Isabelle. To take her to Fifth Avenue to buy a dress for tonight, to take her to have her hair done, and to help her pick out jewelry.