attacks had not been fatal.
Victor watched Leeson. Because now he had an achievable plan.
‘Put your tongue back in your mouth,’ Francesca said to Dietrich, who hadn’t yet pulled his gaze from her.
He rested his elbows on the edge of the countertop and said, ‘Dress like that and men are going to look. Don’t want to be looked at, then don’t dress like that. It’s pretty simple.’
‘There’s a difference between looking and being a pig.’
Dietrich smirked and snorted.
‘How did you find your room last night, Mr Kooi?’ Leeson asked. ‘I appreciate it’s not exactly five stars here, but I do hope you slept okay on the bed.’
‘The room and the bed did their job.’
‘Excellent. Might I have a word in private, Mr Coughlin?’ Leeson asked.
‘Sure.’
Coughlin pushed back his chair and stood. Any chance of Victor killing him quickly vanished, but Leeson hadn’t yet shown any reason to make Victor think his ruse had been discovered. Unless Leeson was going to tell Coughlin when they were out of earshot. The two men stepped from the kitchen and into the lounge. Victor heard the wooden staircase creak as they ascended.
Francesca poured herself a coffee, sipped it, and raised her eyebrows in disapproval. She said to Dietrich, ‘Something else you’re not good at, I see.’
‘Nice try, sweetheart, but his majesty over there made it.’
She wrinkled her nose at Victor. ‘I’d have expected much better from a man of taste like you.’
She smiled, a thought amusing her, and a mischievous edge changed that smile. Victor knew things were about to get more complicated. She turned the smile towards Dietrich as she stalked over to Victor.
Her hand found his shoulder. ‘That said,’ she said to Dietrich as her slim fingers slid down to Victor’s chest, then his stomach, ‘he can get away with it when he has so much more to offer.’
Victor couldn’t see her face because his gaze was locked on Dietrich, but he knew she winked because Dietrich’s perpetual scowling expression deepened.
‘Word of advice,’ Dietrich said. ‘You’re too old to still be playing the whore.’
Victor straightened.
‘What?’ Dietrich spat and edged away from the countertop. ‘Did I offend your delicate sensibilities?’
Francesca said, ‘Not as much as you offend your reflection every time you look in the mirror,’ and laughed.
‘You’re too old to still be such a whore,’ Dietrich said again, stepping forward, ‘but I’ll still slap you like one if you’re not careful.’
Victor stepped forward too.
Dietrich eyeballed him. ‘You really think you could stop me?’
‘Not think,’ Victor said back.
‘I’m not sure why you have such an attitude, but I’m getting a little tired of it.’
‘I’m surprised it’s taken this long.’
‘You know what, your majesty, I’m thinking this bravado is nothing more than a smokescreen.’ He was close enough for Victor to smell the body odour. Not quite attacking range, but close to it. ‘All this tough guy talk is just that: talk. It’s all bullshit. Nothing but a bluff, and I’m calling you on it. You’re trying to hide it, but inside you’re terrified.’
Victor slowly raised and held out his left arm, palm facing up. ‘Would you like to check my pulse?’
Dietrich glanced at the wrist, then back up, and stared into Victor’s eyes.
‘Da dum,’ Victor said, low and slow, then paused for a couple of seconds. ‘Da dum.’
Dietrich smiled, as if he was about to laugh, as though it was all a joke.
But Victor said to Francesca, ‘Leave the room,’ because Dietrich’s right hand moved towards his waist.
She was out of Victor’s line of sight because she was behind him, but he knew she didn’t move because there were no footsteps and he could still hear her breathing.
‘Let her stay and watch the performance,’ Dietrich said as his fingers touched the grip of the knife sheathed to his belt. ‘I’ll show her what a real man can do.’
He withdrew his knife from its sheath.
‘Okay,’ Francesca said from behind Victor. ‘This has gone too far. You’re both real men. Each as much as the other. Put the knife away. Remember what Robert said.’
Dietrich shrugged. ‘I think I’m about to take some time off, so at this moment he isn’t my boss.’
‘Leave the room,’ Victor said again to Francesca, risking a glance over his shoulder for emphasis. ‘Now.’
He didn’t have to take his gaze off Dietrich to slide the butter knife from the table where he knew it sat. He held it so the blade protruded from the bottom of his fist. Fewer options for attack that way, only downward stabs – but the knife was