Hunter: Perfect Revenge (Perfectly Book 3)

by Alice May Ball

  “No, Yvgeny,” he said, “I’m not.”

  “And yet in other ways, you seem so very intelligent.”

  His chin tilted up. “You play with big boys now, Pierce Agostini. You should be careful you don’t get burned.”

  Pierce spoke in a lazy drawl. “I know what I can handle, Yvgeny. But your concern is touching.” He touched Callaghan’s shoulder and the big man put the car into gear.

  Yvgeny said, “I was not speaking metaphorically.”

  He squinted against the sun into the car and straight at Princess. “You shouldn’t be with this man. He is not someone to be trusted. Come to me when you need help.”

  He stood and watched as Callaghan drove them out of the lot. Princess turned to see that his eyes were still on her as they headed out to the highway.

  Princess asked, “So, the auction didn’t run to schedule?”

  Pierce smiled and shook his head. “Seems not.”

  She frowned. “Yet, we got there in perfect time.”

  He raised his brows. “Uncanny, isn’t it? What a stroke of luck.”

  Princess said, “So, was Yvgeny there for the lot that you bid on?” Agostini nodded. “But how come you’re so chipper? You didn’t win the bid.”

  “Oh, some you win, some you lose.” She knew there was something he wasn’t saying. He added, “Just up there on the left, Callaghan. That family diner looks good for lunch, doesn’t it?”

  At the far end of a yellow Formica lunch counter in the little mom and pop diner, a tall man perched on a stool. He had a knotted Burberry scarf. Princess’s eyes widened as she recognized him. The winning bidder from the auction made no move as the group approached.

  Pierce sat next to him and the man put a brown envelope on the counter between them. Pierce said, “Did you have to let the bidding climb so high, Dino?”

  Without looking round, the tall man said, “Didn't intend to. Damned auctioneer pretty much railroaded it.”

  “I saw it,” Pierce said. “Of course, if either of us had complained…”

  Dino made an elegant and discrete shake of his head. “That could so easily be misinterpreted.”

  “Could sound a lot like collusion,” Agostini agreed and slipped a thick white envelope back to him. “Then that would lead to an investigation.”

  Dino took the envelope below the counter. His eyelids drooped as he peeked at the wad inside before he pocketed it. “The barker just extracted some juice for himself. Upped the sale price and so his commission rose along with it.”

  He took a sip from his coffee cup before he stood. “Shocking, isn’t it, the things people do to get ahead.” His hand touched Pierce’s shoulder as he left. “You still made a steal on the property, Pierce.”

  Pierce nodded. “Take care, Dino.” Dino stopped and gave Princess an appreciative glance. He told Pierce, “I’d look after that one, if I were you.” And he was gone.

  Agostini worked the laptop and made calls as they drove.

  “Hi. You got my email? Good. Go take a look at the club this afternoon. I’ve sent you sketches and lists of what I want. You need to work them up into plans, including the wiring and fittings, and get back to me with a budget.”

  The contractor on the other end started to shuffle papers and make the busy noises that people make when they want to stall. He cleared his throat and said, “Of course. And we’ll need to work out a schedule. We’ll get back to you.”

  Agostini told him, “Sure you will, and here’s your schedule: You need to be finished and out, with the place spotless and shining, next Thursday, no later than noon. I need your drawings by nine tonight, and a quote with your best finished price.”

  The voice on the other end sounded tight. “I’m not sure how practical that will be.”

  Pierce said, “I’m asking six people for bids, and you’re one of the lucky half-dozen. If you want to stay lucky, don’t imagine you can deviate from the specifications or the schedule. Just be sure you give me your best price. I won’t come back to you, and I won’t haggle.”

  He could have said it all in the email, but that part of a negotiation, he always found, went better when people had his voice directly in their ear. They knew more what to expect.

  There were five more calls like that to make. Princess’ club was going to make a fantastic venue to set open his venture. He thought about having Princess there for the big event, taking care of guests, making sure everything ran properly.

  He took a sideways look at her, staring out the window like a bored teenager. Imagined her the way that he saw her the first night, that capable, defiant look in her eye. Her hair back, showing the soft, pale skin of her neck. Her cheeks blossoming. Her breasts swelling under the white shirt.

  “The club is going to be fantastic,” he told her. “You want to see the plans I have?”

  She didn’t look around. “The club was already fantastic. What I want to see is your plans for handing it back to my father and me.”

  At every turn, Agostini surprised her. She had no idea whether what he did at the auction was legal, but it was certainly sharp. He and Dino had talked about the risk of an “investigation,” and it was obviously something they wanted to avoid. And that thing earlier. A chill ran through her. She couldn’t think about it directly.

  They traveled over country that seemed featureless and dull to Princess. Callaghan drove for the better part of an hour. Towns slid by in the distance, but they never drove on a road bigger than a two-lane.

  And the damned man was so hot. She couldn’t think directly about that for too long either or it could blur her sense of purpose.

  Turning into a low-rise suburban subdivision, they passed clusters of well-kept houses with tended lawns out front and new-ish cars in the driveways.

  Callaghan pulled up at a chain-link around what had once been a carefully planted front yard. Now it was overgrown with brown and gray grasses.

  Agostini pushed the bell and rapped his knuckles on the door. The owner took his time to open up. An old man in a wheelchair wore a faded wool dressing gown with pajamas underneath. Tubes ran from his nostrils to an oxygen bottle strapped to the back of the wheelchair.

  “Dale Honer?” Pierce said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Dale Horner’s eyes narrowed as he scowled up at Agostini and then at the rest of his party. The look he gave Princess was simply, Who are you and why are you here? He obviously wasn’t expecting her, Pierce Agostini, or anyone else. And he wasn’t thrilled by the surprise.

  Agostini leaned down to speak to Horner. Princess couldn’t hear any of what he said, but the tension on Dale Horner’s cheeks and jaw told her that what he heard hadn’t filled him with joy either.

  With a dark scowl, Dale waved his arm to call the group inside. Then he turned his chair. He made no effort to hurry the manoeuver or to disguise the awkwardness of it.

  Stepping into the corridor, Princess was immediately aware of disinfectant, day-old PJs and slippers past their retirement age. Behind it all as they passed through the house, everywhere, was a faint whiff that Princess couldn't ignore or dismiss, and that she couldn't pretend was anything other than weak, stale urine.

  Pierce touched her arm. It was meant to reassure her, but as she looked up at his face, she saw that he must have felt the same surprise flash of lightning that she did.

  His eyes searched hers. Still, he put his hand on her shoulder and she felt comforted. Like whatever happened here, Agostini would look after her.

  She had to remember that in Marley’s bar, when the old man pulled a gun, the first thing Agostini had done was to pull her behind him. To put himself between her and the weapon.

  In the living room, a big man stood waiting in a white tunic and pants with long black hair tied back in a ponytail. Horner said, “I only have Nate here for two hours, Mr. Agostini.” Horner’s voice seemed to have a military beat and the sense of command, long worn away by age and care.

  Princess thought that if she listened long enough,
she could hear his whole history, like a forensic trace or an archaeological document. She hoped she wouldn’t hear too much more of it.

  “Nate’s got about twenty minutes of kitchen chores to do,” the old man told all of them, Nate included. “After that, if you ain’t through talking, you’ll be finishing up while Nate scrubs me in the bath.”

  Mr. Horner did not seem eager to reach that feature of his day. Nate kept his light, professional smile in place. Princess sat in the only available armchair, which was not comfortable at all.

  Pierce Agostini hitched the creases in his suit pants to settle onto the mottled brown velour couch. He told Callaghan, “Help Nate to fix us all some tea.” Nate’s eyes stayed on Pierce as Callaghan accompanied him out of the room.

  Agostini sat back and expanded his arms like he was never in a finer lounge. He could certainly be an actor if he chose, she thought. He told Horner, “I’ll get right to it, Dale. I believe you have a grandson. Got into Princeton. You must be very proud of Angus.”

  “Proud? Poor bastard's dying under the weight of the fees. He’ll never be able to do what he qualified for, not for anyone other than a Wall Street bank. Angus went to university to help people out of poverty. Those damned bankers make him do nothing but grind other folks down into it. Folks just like him, often as not.”

  Agostini said, “Farmland like yours should be fetching around eighteen hundred dollars an acre about now.”

  Horner narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, I knew this would be about the farm spread. It was you called yesterday, wasn’t it?” His eyes flicked over at Princess, as though he associated her with his obvious distaste for Pierce Agostini.

  “I already told you on the phone, Mister, I ain’t selling. At today’s prices, the whole parcel wouldn't be enough to pay off Jordan’s loans. I’d sooner he had something to inherit. Could be worth something by then.”

  “What you say makes perfect sense.” Agostini smiled. “But if you would, hear what I have in mind. I think you’ll be glad you did.” Agostini leaned forward, closer to Horner, and he lowered his voice. “What I’d like to do, Dale—I want to buy that land, and you know that I do. I’ll give you twenty-two hundred dollars per acre.”

  “It's over the market rate. And it's a generous offer. I still don't want to sell, though.”

  Agostini raised his hand. “Hear me out, Dale. I know you don’t want to sell. What I want the land for—in eighteen months from now it can go back to crops or grazing land. Whatever you want. I’ll continue to own it, but I’ll lease it back to you annually for a dollar an acre. Plus,” he took an envelope from his inside pocket, “I think this is the amount of Jordan’s school fees. I'd like to give that to you as a signing bonus.”

  “Where's the catch?”

  “I don't know, Mr. Horner. As far I can see it, the only catch is,” he lifted his eyebrows and pushed up his bottom lip, “if you take the deal, you may find me a little harder to dislike.”

  Clouds of expression passed over Horner’s craggy face like slow, changing weather. Eventually, he looked up with moist eyes and his head shook. “Thank you, Mister.” He pressed his lips tight together, then said, “I don't know what else to say.”

  Princess wanted to hug the man.

  Back in the car, she asked him, “Was that performance for my benefit?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She shook her head and tutted at him. “Acting all human like that.” Agostini adopted a parody of an innocent face. “Well, I’ll tell you, it isn’t going to work.”

  “As always, Princess, I’ve no idea what you mean. It’s worked already. I’ve got the deeds for all three properties in the bag.”

  “And why do you need all of those properties?”

  “Still think you can trick the villain into spilling his dastardly plans?” He grinned and shook his head. “Calhoun, it’s been a long day. Book us into a decent hotel somewhere nearby. We’ll drive back tomorrow.”

  The imposing Hotel Excelsior proclaimed itself the finest in the state. It was surely the oldest, all high rooms, Greek columns, and plaster details picked out in gilt. After Pierce freshened up in his room and made a few calls, he went down to the long, dark bar for a steak and a bourbon.

  If Princess wanted to eat, she would probably order room service. He guessed that after a day like today, she wouldn’t have much of an appetite, but you couldn’t ever tell. Things take people in surprising ways.

  The bar had no other customers. His steak was thick, juicy and tender, exactly as rare as he liked. After he ate, he moved up to sit at the long, heavy bar.

  The bartender, Charlie, was a tall, stacked redhead in a starched white shirt, scooped vest, and well-cut black pants, nipped in at a high waist. When she talked, she shook her red curls, and when she laughed, which she did a lot, she tipped her chin up and let out a sparkling ripple. Her dancing green eyes held him and her tongue often parted her full, ruby lips.

  Pierce hadn’t much else to do that evening, and Charlie was making it pretty clear that she’d like to get off when she got off. The thought depressed him.

  Then he caught sight of Princess coming down the wide, formal stairs. Her hair was wet and she hadn’t put on any makeup. Her thin dress and boots were fabulously out of place in the grandness of the big hotel.

  He felt an urge to run up to her, grab her, and take her out on the town. Find some little place to dance where they could do whatever they liked because neither of them would ever be there again.

  What it was that drew him so powerfully to her was a mystery. The girls he usually dated—okay, he didn’t really date, he had to call it what it was—the girls he usually fucked once and never wanted to see again, they weren’t a bit like her.

  She didn’t put on an act, she didn’t wear a mask of any kind. What you saw was what you got; she was who she was, and if you didn’t like it, too bad. That was enough for Pierce to respect her right there.

  Maybe that was it. He was coming to respect her. Today must have been pretty hard for her, but the only times she made any kind of a complaints were on the drive in the morning, right at the beginning.

  When there had been serious situations to face, Princess was cool. He certainly liked that about her.

  When the whole deal with Hotsteppa’s was over and it served its purpose, he wondered if maybe there would be some kind of a way. Probably not, he thought. She’s never going to forgive you. Shame. Nice idea.

  He took another pull of the bourbon while Charlie told him another outrageous thing that her sister did. Or maybe she did something that outraged her sister; he’d stopped listening a while back. His back lengthened as Princess turned toward the bar.

  She saw him and he thought she was going to change her mind and not come. He watched her think about it. Not looking anything like a fashion model or a celebrity. Looking like a real woman.

  She decided and approached the bar. “Have a drink,” he offered.

  She came nearer. She smelled of soap and fresh strawberries in hay, and an elusive trace of a fragrance that he couldn’t place. When she said, “What?” he was going to say the next thing more quietly, to make her come closer still. He’d done it with a million girls before. But not Princess. He didn’t want to do any of that bullshit with her.

  He didn’t think Princess was a girl he would ever get the chance to be himself with, but as he swirled his glass, he found he was wishing.

  “Some champagne,” he offered her. “Or maybe a champagne cocktail. Charlie can fix one of those, can’t you, Charlie?”

  Charlie pressed the tip of her tongue to the inside of her lip and said huskily, “Like you never tasted.”