Лиза Джонс - Dangerous Secrets

Her eyes went wide but she nodded and he released her.

Judge Moore stared at Julie’s retreating back and laughed in disbelief. “Tell me your secret for making a woman like that submissive.”

Luke focused on the judge with a hard stare. “Start with being me, not you.”

Arel barked out a laugh while the judge looked like he wanted to throttle Luke. There was growing interest in Arel’s attention to Luke. “You have balls, I’ll give you that, but do you have brains and stamina?”

Luke’s lips twitched. “You’ll have to give me trust to find out.”

Arel laughed. “Your brothers, they are, as you Americans say.. Saints? Why should I believe you are not one as well, perhaps in disguise?”

“Because everyone who’s supposed to be a saint is, right?” he asked sarcastically, his gaze settling on the judge, and returning to Arel. “I assume you keep him around because his assumed sainthood has come in quite handy?”

Arel didn’t reply, his gaze penetrating. “You were a SEAL, non?”

“I was.”

“SEALs are–“

“Trained killers,” Luke provided.

Arel considered that during another eternal pause. “What is it you feel you can do for me, Monsieur Walker?”

Luke noted the formality. No first names for him. “I have a knack for procuring, shall we say, difficult to find art work.” Luke’s gaze moved to the piece above the fireplace. “Much like that one.”

Arel let a slow smile slip onto his lips. “You are an interesting man. Still, art is only a sideline interest. I need someone who can be more diverse.”

Luke quirked a brow. “I consider everything.” He paused and then added, “If the price is right.”

Arel’s eyes narrowed. “The woman, she has a powerful list of clients. You control her?”

“Completely.”

“You can get to anyone she can get to?”

“Yes.”

He narrowed his gaze. ”You will be tested, Monsieur Walker, and we will start small. See you don’t fail. Those who fail me, I don’t kill them until they feel great pain.”

“I don’t fail. Ever. So get on with the test.”

“You will be contacted,” Arel said, and then with a small smile, added, “Now go enjoy my hospitality, and please feel free to use the upstairs rooms for...” Arel flicked a glance at Julie as she approached. “Tonight should be about money and pleasure.” He smiled wickedly. “When you wish to leave, simply tell my driver.”

He nodded to Luke, and then waved for the judge to follow him as he stood up started for the door, with the judge on his heels like a whipped pup.

Julie blinked in confusion. “What happened?”

He gave her a tight smile. “It’s moving along fine.”

Lethally fine, that was.

***

Judge Moore followed Arel into his private office, fighting his growing uneasiness. The room was filled with a large, mahogany desk, plush leather furnishings, and decorated with a vast collection of art. As usual the judge’s eyes locked onto the The D’Ambrosi, The Dancer, bronze 15’ statue on a wooden base next to the desk he’d found for Arel. This one was fake, like everything in this place, but Arel had the real work, as he had so many brilliant masterpieces the judge hungered to possess.

Two large brown wing chairs sat in front of a fireplace that sparked red hot. Waving a hand toward the chairs, Arel said, “Let’s sit.” The chairs were angled toward each other, and the judge knew Arel would be watching him the way he always watched everyone. Looking for anything that was off, any reason to consider someone a threat.

Once they were seated, Arel opened a cigar box sitting on the small table between the two chairs. Arel smelled the cigar. “Ah,” he murmured. “So perfect.”

He turned the box toward the Judge and waited expectantly for him to remove one. As Judge Moore sniffed the cigar he was aware of several guards entering the room and coming to stand near their backs. Arel often kept men nearby, but something about their silent entrance was bothersome.

Arel lit both of their cigars. Then, he took several puffs of his cigar, taking his time to enjoy it. With each moment of silence, the judge felt his tension rise, bit by bit, until he was ready to come unglued. Carefully, he kept his expression neutral, but his mind raced with possibilities, none of them good.

“So,” Arel finally said. “When were you going to tell me about the journal?”

His first inclination was to play dumb. The judge started to speak and Arel held up a hand. “Don’t deny what I know already, or you will sadly regret your action, Judge.”

The judge swallowed. Hard. He couldn’t let Arel have that journal. What if it exposed his activity with Dragonfly? “I have it handled. My wife caused more trouble than I had hoped. I didn’t want you to feel I couldn’t take care of things.”

Arel eyes narrowed. “You didn’t take care of things. I did. She might still be a problem had I left you to your own solutions.”

He cleared his throat. “That’s why I didn’t want you to have to deal with this. I knew you would be angry.”

Arel smiled, his lips twisting in an evil grin. “I don’t get angry.”

The judge felt his empty hand tremble and clenched it into a fist. “I have this handled. It’s a small problem.”

“You, Judge, are the problem. Be careful or you may be one I no longer tolerate. Answer me these questions. Why is Ms. Harrison holding the diary? And why is the sister of the dead wife missing? These things happen, yet you bring me Monsieur Walker. He controls her. He has the journal.”

His mind raced and the truth seemed his best defense. “I believe the journal is how he found out about you, yes, and why I thought getting him inside our operation making money would ensure he was loyal. You saw how he controls her. She won’t do anything he doesn’t want her to do.”

“If Monsieur Walker is as good as he seems to be at manipulation, he may want to use it against me at some point.”

Arel leaned forward resting his arms on his knees. “Consider this handled as of now. I will resolve it.”

“But–“

Arel’s hand sliced through the air. “Non! I am done.” Then he spoke over his shoulder in French to one of the guards before speaking to the judge again. “You will go with Fredrick. He will remind you why I don’t like secrets.”

The judge went cold, fear shooting through him at the speed of burning fuel. “Please, no. I won’t ever-“

Arel cut him off. “No, you won’t.” He spoke to the guard in English this time. “Take him.”

Two guards grabbed his arms as he struggled. The soft sound of a gun being cocked made him still. The judge looked up.

Arel pointed a small gun at him. “I suggest you walk calmly from the room, perhaps even smile a bit. It would be a pity to dirty my carpet.”

With more courage than he felt, the judge said, “You’re bluffing. The guests will hear the shot.”

“Ah, but that’s where you are wrong. A silencer makes this gun the perfect choice, non?”

Marco walked from the shadows of the room and stood next to his brother. Arel stayed focused on the judge as he spoke again to the guards. “Take him away. If he makes even one wrong move, kill him.”

One of the guards drove a fist into the judge’s stomach making him bend at the waist and grab his middle. They wouldn’t kill him, he told himself. They needed him. Slowly, he straightened only to find himself spun around toward the exit door.

The guard, who he knew only as Rodriquez bent toward him, forcing a wave of horrid, sour breath against his cheek. “You heard the man. Smile.” He laughed, evil and tauntingly low. “Or else.”

Marco looked at his brother as the door shut, leaving them alone. “He’s trouble.”