“You wanted her tortured first, remember?” said Rickard. Someone—I suspect it was Hunter—tipped off the police and they arrived before I could get it done.”

“And the boathouse?”

“It wasn’t as deserted as your people thought. I was disturbed by the owners and had to get out before the police arrived.”

“You couldn’t just kill her before you left?”

Rickard wasn’t about to say that Imogen had caught him off-guard and knocked him into the water before tearing free from the rotted post he’d cuffed her to. In hindsight, both had been supreme errors of judgment. Slips like that would plant more than a seed of doubt in his employer’s mind about his ability to finish the job. And that simply wouldn’t do.

“Circumstances overtook me,” was all he’d say in reply.

“Then let us insure that circumstances always bend our way in future.”

The dial tone cut in.

Hung up on again? Rickard jammed his phone into his pocket. He fucking hated that. And he fucking hated his employer. If it weren’t for the huge sum of money he was being paid, he would forfeit the work in exchange for putting a bullet in the unctuous bastard’s face, after he’d introduced the serpent by way of its ceramic-bladed fangs.

He was in the private parking lot under the tower where he lived with Alisha. Thirteen floors above him, in the converted loft, his beautiful young wife would be waiting for him. She wouldn’t be expecting him back yet. Nice surprise coming, Alisha honey.

He locked his Lexus, the tools of his trade secure in a hidden compartment under the backseat, and walked through the silence and faint exhaust fumes of the underground lot. Other cars were parked in their allotted spaces, but it was a workday and many of the tower’s residents were out, so much of the lot was empty. His heels tapped the concrete, the echo a faint drum roll in his ears. It was like the buildup to a shocking turn of events.

He wondered again about his employer’s words. Where are you?

He stopped and listened.

Checked the shadows.

Nothing.

Don’t get paranoid, he told himself.

He called the elevator, taking out his keys that would allow him private access to the uppermost floor. While the elevator descended with a mechanical roar, he placed his back to the doors and looked back into the parking lot. There was no movement, no subtle sounds of a man in hiding. He exhaled. Turned as the doors swept open and he took a step inside.

The man standing in the elevator held something in his right hand. He was in the process of lifting it.

Rickard jerked, and so did the man.

But then the man came forward with a sheepish grin on his face.

“Jeez! Don’t you just hate it when that happens?” he said.