he should be able to control something of what he was taking in.
He didn’t want a damned window into this man’s soul.
Crossing the floor, he opened the door, ready to face the devil.
* * *
THE towering, broad man was a little rougher than Patrick would have thought. He’d been told the man was big. And he was. Possibly six and half feet. Dark hair and dark eyes, very intense eyes, Patrick thought. He’d catch attention . . . catch notice. With those dark eyes set under the thick slashes of his eyebrows, a hard, unsmiling face. Yes, if Patrick saw him on the street, he’d remember him. Remember him and go the other way.
He’d gotten where he was by avoiding trouble.
This man . . . he looked like trouble.
But still, he’d come highly recommended. Patrick couldn’t say he trusted the men who’d offered the recommendations, but he could say he knew those men wouldn’t willingly fuck him over. Not because they feared Patrick . . . they moved in the same waters and it was just bad form.
So he’d withhold judgment for now.
For the past twenty seconds, they’d just stood there, assessing one another, and it was past time to be done with that. Patrick lifted a brow and cocked his head, waiting for the man he knew only as Mike to invite him in.
“Hey.”
That was it. The man continued to stand there, arms crossed over that brawny chest so that the muscles of his biceps bulged out. Those piercing eyes studied Patrick’s face as though he was copying it to memory. I don’t think this is what I’m in the market for, Patrick thought.
Still, his deadline was looming close, and he wasn’t going to be able to get the goods he needed on his own, not with everything else he had on his plate. He had a few others who managed to snag a choice piece every now and then, but he didn’t want to rely on luck. Not now. He needed skill.
“Interested in a job?” he said mildly, putting the first part of the pass code out there.
The man’s mouth tugged up a bit at the corner, just the faintest bit of a smile. “Jobs are always nice. Especially in the current economy.”
“Having the right kind of work is nice, too. It doesn’t matter what the economy is—if you’re not the right man for the work, it just leads to trouble.”
“Trouble is never good.” He moved off to the side, the invitation to enter clear. Dark eyes glinted in challenge as he said the required response.
Well, that was all said and done.
“I assume you can meet my fee?”
Patrick inclined his head. “Of course.” He really hated it when people put money out there so openly. “Shall we discuss this inside?”
* * *
THREE women.
All taken within the next two weeks.
One white, one mixed, one Hispanic. Very exacting details. Joss kept his hands linked together loosely between his knees as he sat on the couch, studying the neat little note cards in front of him. The blond fuck had laid them out in a nice, straight row as he explained the merchandise he needed to procure in a timely fashion.
Merchandise.
Like he was shopping for a new set of dishes.
Pretty women. Unharmed. Delivered in time to be prepared for their . . . big event.
“This is your only chance to get this job right, and your only chance to get in on a very lucrative project,” the man said as Joss lifted one card and studied all the notes made. “Get it right, and I’ll make you a rich man. Get it wrong . . .” He let the words trail off, smiling a little.
Joss figured he was supposed to be suitably threatened there. He grunted and read the final few details on the card. Blond. Slender. Elegant. Porcelain complexion—no tanning bed beauties, please. “‘Tanning bed beauties’?”
“My client has specific requests.”
“I see that.” He eyed the next card. Light-skinned biracial woman. Light-skinned. Sons of bitches. The third was to be a Latina, slightly plump with long black hair.
Tossing the cards down on the table, Joss said, “Three weeks is a very short amount of time for such a big job.”
The answers were there . . . right there, on the surface of the man’s brain, but even that light touch flooded Joss with thoughts and memories he just couldn’t stand. He made himself do it anyway, keeping his face expressionless as he grabbed the information he needed. He was too rough—watched