Cherish Me (Stark Ever After #6.5) - J. Kenner Page 0,23
but this information is worth something, so I’m giving you a pass. For now. But I expect you to do it right. You find him, you kill him. That’s how to handle a problem.”
“You got it,” Barclay says. He whispers something to Chuck, then strides out, leaving me with a sick burning sensation in my gut.
For a moment, everyone in the room is silent. The couple on the bad date are sitting closer together, their hands held tight. The anniversary couple are slunk low in their seats, the woman tight in her husband’s embrace. Aubert has an arm around the one woman still at his table, his face pale.
Malone ignores all of them. Instead, he walks toward me. “Tell me who he is, you fucking bitch.”
“Who?” My mouth is dry, my voice barely audible.
“The fly in the ointment. The pain in my ass. The motherfucker who is messing with my plans.”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Because you’re just hanging out in the bar with your husband?”
I nod, and his attention turns to Red. “You two got a good marriage?”
“The best.”
“The little woman buy your clothes?”
Red frowns. “My clothes?”
Malone picks up Damien’s jacket, still on the bench seat of the booth. “Not very good a shopper, is she? Can’t imagine this cut fitting your broad shoulders.”
“It was here when we sat down,” he says.
Malone’s attention is on me. “What’s your name, blondie?”
“Nina.”
“It’s a bar. I need to see some ID.”
I nod, grateful I have an actual document to back it up. “You have my purse.” Malone and the other one had made another pass after gathering phones, taking purses and patting us all down for anything that could be a weapon.
“Chuck,” he shouts to the thug who’d emptied the gunfire into the restroom, and who, thank God, hadn’t killed Damien.
“It says Nina Stanfield,” Chuck says, striding over, my ID in his hand. “But I think Barclay’s right. That’s not who she really is.”
“I agree. But who is she? We need to figure it out, because the little bitch won’t tell us, will you, Nina?”
I sit, frozen, and he scoffs.
“In the meantime,” Malone continues, “Mr. Aubert. Could I speak to you, please.” Malone’s voice drips syrup. “Unless you want today to be the last day of your life, that is.”
Trembling, Reginald Aubert walks slowly toward us.
“Now, my dear sir. You have something in your vault that I want. Something a buyer I know is prepared to pay a great deal of money for. Enough that I can retire. And I do so very much want to retire. You wouldn’t want to interfere with my retirement plans, would you?”
“N-n-n-o.”
“Good. Now, we’d intended to blow your vault open, but that’s such a messy proposition. Much easier for you to just give me the combination.”
“And then you’ll let us go?”
“Of course.” Malone smiles, thin and terrifying. “I don’t want murder on my conscience. Tell me the combination, and we’ll all go home.”
Auber looks around the room, but it’s obvious he has no choice. “I—”
“The combination, Mr. Aubert.”
The jeweler nods, then rattles off six digits.
“There. That wasn’t so bad, was it? Chuck, be a good boy and go get our stone. Tell Barclay to join you, just in case, after he takes care of our other little problem. I’ll watch our guests.”
“Yes, sir. But sir?”
Malone glances over his shoulder at Chuck. “Yes?”
“The girl. I sent you a text.” He looks right at me and grins, as malicious as I’ve ever seen. “You’re gonna want to read it soon.”
“Will I? Thank you, Chuck. Go on now.”
Chuck salutes and scurries off, leaving us hostages with Malone. We could take him, I’m certain of it.
But I’m equally certain that there would be casualties. I meet Red’s eyes and see that he’s thinking the same thing. His eyes dip to the fork still on the table, and I shake my head. Try it, and we might all die. Damien is still out there. The police are outside. If we can just hold out a little longer…
“Nina Stanfield,” Malone says, peering at his phone. “Funny. I’d say you look more like a Nichole. Or a Nikki. For that matter, you look remarkably like Nikki Stark. Honestly, I’m embarrassed I didn’t recognize you myself. Out of context, I suppose.”
“How—”
“Google reverse image, apparently. Chuck took a picture of you and put it out on to the wonderful world of the web. And back came the truth. Poetic, don’t you think?”
I don’t, but I keep my opinion to myself.
“Your husband stole our guns and explosives, and snatched