Hot pink. It's not a color I would choose, but it goes well with the darker coloring I inherited from my father. Carys insisted on buying my dress for this function. Convincing her to come was the least of my worries. I had more trouble talking her out of the ridiculous wardrobe choices for me.
"So, Native Barbie, are you enjoying the spectacle?" Carys clutches her champagne flute in her manicured hands.
I give her a sideways glance as I sip from my own glass. "Only you could get away with that."
There's a lot of lily-white in me, too, courtesy of my mother. People who need to classify me think I look odd, difficult to pinpoint. My focus skims around the high-ceiling ballroom and catches on the crystal chandelier that lendsthe majority of the light to where we're standing. I let the fingers of my free hand graze the gun attached to my thigh. For an event that was supposed to be small, it seems to have grown much bigger in the weeks since I met with Malik. Women and men in expensive dresses and tuxes mill around us, chatting in loud voices before wandering off.
"You go write your soul cleansing check yet?"
Carys laughs. "And only you could get away with that." Her amber eyes soften when she gazes at me. "How's your dad?"
Still dead.
"Same as always." I give a slight shrug. "The anniversary of Chad's death is hard." Not a lie. At least the emotions aren't, but the details of his death are different for every job. The date, the place, the method of murder are fabrications.
"Well, I hope you and your dad can work out your issues someday. Family is important."
Family. The word echoes around my brain, bumping into memories I keep buried.
Carys flags a waiter to deposit her empty glass and takes another. She signals to me, but I shake my head. "First you insisted on a dress you could move in, and now you won't drink with me. I swear you think someone's lurking around every corner waiting to kill you."
I laugh with her, even though it's not outside the realm of possibility. "You like that I'm prepared."
Carys sighs. "It's true." Her hand nudges a piece of her blonde hair back into its intricate braid. "I'm starting to think Lorcan's not coming. I should have called him and scheduled a meeting. You're right about the territory being ripe for deals if the two of them explode."
"Is it wise to pick a side?"
"Hmm. My side is probably obvious. At least this way it might appear like a genuine coincidence. The charities we support are here, and we happened to run into each other."
I'm about to ask Carys why her side would be clear when I catch sight of a blondish-brown head coming through the open doors of the ballroom. He's dressed in a dark blue suit and a pink tie, not a tux like many of the men. Two men flank him, as tall and broad as the man in the middle, but their suits don't scream money. I tip my head in his direction. "Who's that?"
Carys glances over her shoulder, and her lips curve into a smile. "Speak of the devil."
"Lorcan?" It's him. Malik had photos. They didn't do Lorcan justice. In the flesh, the man is the kind of dangerous, rugged handsome which makes others glance in his direction without realizing they've done it.
"In the flesh," she says as though she can read my mind.
"Have you ever?" I force my focus to Carys. She's fifteen years older than me, which makes her ten years older than Lorcan. Time has been good to her. Well, that and she has a dermatologist and cosmetic surgeon on call.
Carys shakes her head, but her attention lingers on Lorcan. "Being a woman in this business, you have to be careful who you get into bed with—remember that, Kim. A man will get you killed."
"Not all men." My mind strays to Malik.
Carys stares at me before nodding at the bar. "It seems Lorcan's been waylaid by one of the organizers before he got to the bar. I know what he drinks."
She orders three whiskeys and then sashays to where he is talking to a petite blonde who is giddy with nerves or attraction. Either is possible. He is bigger and more intimidating in person. Above his head there might as well be a flashing neon sign that reads danger. Tension circulates in the air, surrounding him, enveloping us.
"Lorcan," Carys drawls, allowing her southern accent to pop out. Her hips sway in a manner she reserves for those she trusts. No one takes a woman seriously in this business if they seem too womanly.
His head whips up at the sound of her voice, and a grin splits his face. He sidesteps the over-eager woman to embrace Carys. "I didn't realize you'd be here. It's been an age."
"A delightful coincidence." She flicks her attention to the other woman before focusing on Lorcan. With a slight bow of deference to Carys, the event organizer wanders off, hands clasped.
While he and Carys chat, I take in his features: the goatee, the slight dimple in his right cheek when he almost smiles, and his hazel eyes which are alight with surprised amusement.
"Who is this bright spot of loveliness behind you?" He nods at me. He searches my face, appraising, but his gaze never travels my body in an assessing way.
"This is Kim." Carys gestures with her hand flung wide. "She's the best at what she does."
As an introduction, I couldn't have hoped for better. The grin on my face is genuine while she slings an arm around my waist in a motherly fashion.
"What's that?" His voice carries a hint of an accent that isn't Bostonian. Of course, I know from the file his parents sent him and his brother to boarding school in Ireland.
"Everything." Carys beams at me.
"That's quite a compliment." Lorcan takes a drink and tilts it in my direction. "What do you think of that?"
"It's not much of an exaggeration."
He chuckles and again his gaze roves over my face as though he's trying to piece me together. My hot pink dress is garnering little attention from him. Should I be pleased or offended?
"You got any mates? I'm looking for someone like you."
Carys tightens her grip on me and sips her whiskey. "She's taken. Keep your mitts off her."
He raises his glass, eyeing me over the top. "People who can be bought aren't for me, Carys. You know that."
She scoffs. "Not true, Lorcan. I do know you. I've played this all wrong. I should have told you she was thinking about leaving my organization."
"I am terribly unhappy." My gaze connects with Lorcan's, and I offer a mischievous smile.
An answering smile spreads across his face. "That so? Now, Carys, you need to treat your everything woman a touch better before someone swoops in and sweeps her away."
"As long as you aren't the someone, Lorcan." She glances at me. "I appreciate the effort, but I'm afraid once he's on the hunt, he can't be deterred."
"You make me sound terrible." Amusement pours out of him.
"I used to like you," Carys says. "Finn, on the other hand..."
"...is an acquired taste." Lorcan's grin fades. "One I've gone off recently."
She glances at me and then back to Lorcan. I've seen that look on her face before. She's trying to figure out the best approach.
"Sorry to hear that," I murmur, surprised by the sudden chill in the air.
His lips quirk up. "You wouldn't be sorry if you knew him." He empties his whiskey. "It's been a pleasure, ladies. Thank you for the drink. You know me well, Carys." With a nod to his men, Lorcan drifts into the crowd, leaving me and Carys to finish our drinks on our own.
"Shit." She sighs and taps her glass with a fingernail. "I should have left Finn out of it."
"Can't ask him if he wants a deal without letting him know there's a deal to be done."
"Their organization buys arms, just not from me." Carys purses her lips. "It should be me. It'd be a good time to slip in there. Maybe we can still salvage it later."
"Are you doing that or..."
"If you get a chance to ask, fine by me. Plant a seed, see if it grows."
Lorcan breezes through the crowd with his two burly security guards trailing behind him. He's a small fish in an arms world. Carys does much bigger, more ethically comprised deals than this. She hasn't let me near those yet. If I get out of here tonight with what I want, I'll never see them. I'm going to need to work fast to recapture his attention. His late arrival means there are two hours until this event finishes, and he's cut our conversation short.
"I'll see what I can do."
"You're not one to be charmed," Carys draws out the words, and I think she must be watching Lorcan like me.
I smirk and raise my eyebrows. "Is there a but?"
A smile plays on her lips. "No, I suppose there isn't."
"You've got nothing to worry about," I say. "If I can get him to consider a deal, I will. And, if not, it's been a pleasant evening. We haven't been to an event like this in a while." I knock back the rest of my whiskey and wiggle my glass at her. "Another?"
"No, I have people I want to connect with. Tonight is bigger than I expected."
"I'll be at the bar."
Carys and I move in opposite directions as she heads off to make or solidify her contacts. I sidle up to the bar and place my empty glass to the side. This end of the bar is for standing, but farther down, there are a number of stools with people perched on them, chatting away to each other. The ballroom is vast and airy, though the perfume and cologne circulating are enough to cause an asthma attack. Above the bar, pendulum lights are set low to match the rest of the mood lighting. Most of the charitable events I've attended with Carys have been dimly lit. It must seem too intrusive to ask for money with the brightness turned to full.
I'm waiting for the bartender, wondering how I can slip myself into conversation with Lorcan when a shoulder brushes mine.
"Be a shame for someone as talented as you to be unhappy with your employer," a deep voice says in my ear. His lilting accent is a sound I could get used to. It calls me back to the hours my father spent devouring anything Irish.
He's so close, Lorcan's hazel eyes are piercing in their intensity. The musky scent of his cologne floods my senses, and I'm glad for my training. Cool. Unaffected. "How do you know I'm talented?"
"Carys isn't one for bigging people up who don't deserve it." He turns away to signal the bartender with a finger. "Two whiskeys."
In this business, men are everywhere. But there's something in the curve of his shoulders, the slant of his jaw under the goatee, which makes him familiar. Part of his appeal has nothing to do with appearance and everything to do with the way he carries himself. Confidence seeps out of him, oozing over everything he touches.
The bartender passes the two glasses to us, and I pick mine up with my fingertips, swishing it around, letting the ice clink against the sides.
His back is against the bar railing, and his elbows are on the wood, so he can stare out across the wide expanse of the room. When he shifts toward me, his gaze connects with mine over the rim of his glass. "When are you heading home?"
"Tomorrow afternoon. Carys offered to show me some sites around Boston."
One side of his mouth twitches as though he's holding in his amusement. "Sounds grand."
"Does it?" I avoid looking at him directly, keeping my back to the room.
"Not quite as grand as coming round to mine for a meeting."
"What would we be meeting about?" I peer into my glass, hope rising in me.
"See if one of us can make the other an offer they can't refuse."
"I get offers all the time. I refuse them all." Our little game of cat and mouse amuses me, but I keep my features smooth.
"You never had one from me."
Somehow, I've managed to finish another drink. "I guess we'll see what you've got then. I'm a tough nut to crack."
He places his finished drink onto the bar. "I'm counting on it. Tell Carys to call me."
When I turn around, he and his men are gone.