did. “Shouldn’t you be concentrating on finding the guy trying his damnedest to kill you?”
“Failing to kill me. The verb is rather important.” His shrug was negligent. The navy pin-striped suit would have made another man look like a banker. It merely gilded that faintly lethal air that surrounded the man, like a wolf disguising itself in sheep’s clothing. “He’s imaginative. I’ll give him that.”
She blew out a breath. “You mean tenacious. Blowing up your penthouse was what? The fourth attempt on your life in the last few months?”
His grin faded as quickly as it had appeared. And the look in his eye reminded her that this was a very dangerous man in his own right. “He miscalculated again. I’m still alive. But he’s got my attention.”
And that alone should have the would-be assassin quaking. If it was only one. “Did you ever consider this might not be the work of a single man? Tampa, LA, Chicago, DC . . . How is he, or they, discovering your itinerary anyway?”
“Risa.” The gentleness of his tone didn’t hide its finality. “Paulie and I are on it.”
She folded her arms over her chest and met his stony stare. Intellectually she knew he was right. Not only would his own formidable talents be turned toward finding the assassin, a number of police departments would be involved as well. But emotionally . . . that was another issue. “Do I have to call Paulie for the details?” Her bluff was empty and they both knew it. Paulie Samuels was Adam’s right arm at headquarters, and despite his breezy, friendly demeanor to all, he was fiercely devoted to Raiker. If they were playing this one close to the vest, she’d get no more out of Samuels than from Adam.
Shifting tactics, she said simply, “We’re worried. All of us.” Enough so that she checked in with one of Raiker’s other operatives weekly, just to compare notes on their boss’s well-being. Because Kellan Burke had a history with the man longer than anyone else’s—with the exception of Samuels—he was invariably the one they all turned to for information.
He was as out of the loop as the rest of them. Whatever Raiker had uncovered about these attempts on his life hadn’t been shared with Burke.
“Don’t be. It’s been tried before.” He fingered the scar that bisected his throat. “We’ll track him down, and when we do, we’ll get some answers. Until then you have enough on your plate.” With the help of his cane, he got to his feet. Even with the prop, few would make the mistake of considering the man disabled. Not with the edge that showed beneath the polish, the shrewdness apparent in his eye.
“You’ve got plenty to keep you occupied. Three torched cops, remember?” He surprised her by heading to the kitchen. In the next moment she realized he was planning to leave by the back door. Which meant he’d be cutting across two yards to meet his car on the other side of the block.
He was varying his routines. The realization had her breathing a bit more easily. So despite his nonchalant words, he was taking the threats seriously. She supposed having an incendiary device shot through the window of his home to blow it up—fortunately without him in residence—had made a believer out of him.
He paused in the doorway, looked back at her. “You’re wasting your time worrying. I look forward to facing whomever, whatever is intent on destroying me. You concern yourself with facing your own demons.”
The door closed behind him, and she was left to stare at it, his words ringing in her ears. Raiker’s penchant for having the last word wasn’t his most infuriating trait.
Being right was.
“Jonas. Over here.” Johnny waved the last of their group to arrive over to the corner booth where the rest of them waited. Casting a suspicious eye around the gloomy interior of the bar, he was satisfied there was no one within earshot. The spot had changed ownership several times in the nearly twenty years they’d been using it, but efforts at updating had been halfhearted. The clientele was sparse and desperate, usually satisfied to huddle over their beers on cracked stools at the bar. Since the place didn’t run to waitstaff, they didn’t have to worry about anyone showing up to take or deliver orders.
Not that he’d turn down a drink right about now. But he’d wait until he was home. From the looks of his companions, it wasn’t liquor they needed,