She stopped abruptly. “You want to attend the engagement party with me?”
“I was planning to head straight down into the Underworld this evening. But it turns out I find myself at loose ends tonight. I’m new in town. It would be nice to meet some people.”
She slanted him a suspicious look. “For your information, you don’t do innocent well. You want to keep an eye on me, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know who or what I’m chasing. We may be after a simple thief, but my gut tells me we’re dealing with a more sophisticated operation. If someone is watching me, which seems likely, that individual now knows that I’ve contacted you and has probably figured out why.”
“You think I might be in danger?”
“I don’t know,” Gabriel admitted. “I’d rather not take any chances.”
“The ball is a formal affair at the Amber Palace, one of the biggest hotel-casinos in the city. You’d need a tux. I doubt if there’s time—”
“I’m a Guild boss. Of course I’ve got a tux. Aiden ordered it for me.”
“Who’s Aiden?”
“Aiden Shore is my new administrative assistant. He’s very keen on making sure the Guild upgrades its image. He calls it branding. It’s becoming obvious that he sees the establishment of a new Guild headquarters here in Illusion Town as a golden opportunity for him to carry out his cunning plans. Pretty sure that, as far as he’s concerned, I’m just a useful pawn in his scheme. He came out of the public relations department at the Cadence City Guild.”
“Aiden went so far as to select a tuxedo for you?”
“Aiden has a genuine talent for organization.” Gabriel smiled a stunningly cold smile. “Don’t worry, the tux is cut to conceal a mag-rez pistol.”
“That is not amusing.”
“You know what they say about Guild bosses. No sense of humor.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The instructions from the client came in the form of another blocked text. Dillon Westover opened his phone with a sense of dread. Every time he thought he had things under control, the project got hit with a new twist. Nothing had gone right since Jones had pulled Lucy Bell out of the Underworld two months ago. It had been one disaster after another.
The message was short. The deadline is tomorrow night. No more delays.
He sent back the only reply that was acceptable. Understood.
He shut down his phone and went to stand at the tall windows of the living room. The big house was situated in an exclusive residential neighborhood. From where he stood he could see most of the Amber Zone, including the bright, gaudy lights of the Strip.
The client had approached him anonymously four months earlier. The money had seemed too good to be true, but he had been unable to resist because the job appeared simple and straightforward. All he had to do was put together a team. With his old Guild connections, that had been easy to do.
These days there were a lot of Guild men retiring earlier than they had planned, thanks to the new management that was taking hold at the top. The old-school bosses were being eased out—in some cases, pushed—in favor of new directors who were hell-bent on refurbishing the image of the organizations. The new bosses were sending a clear message that the Guilds intended to resurrect the proud, heroic traditions of the past while simultaneously employing the latest technology to do their jobs in the Underworld.
One of the ways they were sending the message that the Guilds were changing was by getting rid of the hunters who were deemed problems. The result was a growing pool of disgruntled mercenaries who had decided to move into what they liked to call security work. Freelance muscle.
The mercs were proving useful to a number of people like him who preferred to do business in the gray areas. Mercs asked no questions. All they cared about was getting paid.
He had taken the concept to the next level. He now had his own team of security specialists. That term was so much more respectable than mercenaries or freelance muscle. He paid well, and he got the best—at least he thought he was recruiting the best. But they had botched the job two months ago.
His phone pinged again. He took it out and saw the familiar Number Blocked. He opened the message.
One more thing. It’s obvious that Jones is the problem now.
No shit, he thought. He sent his response.
Yes.
The return text was predictable.
Remove Jones.
Dillon groaned. Sure, take out a high-profile Guild boss. He wondered if the client had any idea of the risk involved.