way up there,” he murmured. “I won’t think twice about putting a bullet in you if you get between me and Baldwin.”
August resolved to be as “in the way” as possible. “Watch out for the security. I’d hate for them to get a tip that the exterminator is more than he seems.”
Promises made and personal threats exchanged, they let go of each other. August smiled. “Have fun taking out those rats!” he said cheerfully. “I’m going to see if there’s something down here to open this bottle.” Then he strolled off to the back of the wine cellar with the Saint-Emilion tucked beneath his arm.
Chapter 3
“What do you mean you can’t get rid of the rats in time for the party?” Kyle’s voice was shrill, his eyes wide and his face red. Then he set his jaw and glared into Ricardo’s eyes. “I am not telling Mr. Baldwin that there will be rats in his house when he’s hosting the mayor and the goddamned governor.” He jabbed Ricardo’s chest hard enough to send him back a step. “You’re telling him.”
Surprise kept Ricardo mute for a couple of seconds. Oh, he wasn’t startled that this arrogant cockweasel didn’t know he was treading in dangerous waters. That happened a lot. What shocked him was that Kyle the Butler-or-Whatever had just given him his opportunity to get into the same room as Lance Baldwin.
It couldn’t be that easy, could it?
“Uh… I…” Ricardo stammered in his American accent and with exaggerated nervousness. “Okay. Okay. I’m happy to tell him.” He showed his palms. “I’m sorry—it’s just a bigger infestation than I anticipated, and—”
“A bigger infestation?” Kyle’s voice turned some heads of other staff members walking down an adjacent hallway, but he didn’t seem to notice. “How can it be bigger? How?”
“Rats procreate quickly,” Ricardo explained with more nerves in his voice than he actually felt. “There’s no telling how long they’ve been here, so there’s—”
Kyle made a noise of both exasperation and panic. Then he gestured sharply and dismissively. “You know what? You can explain it to Mr. Baldwin.” He started down the hall, walking fast and motioning for Ricardo to come with him.
Ricardo glanced back at the kitchen and the closed door to the wine cellar where his most irritating competitor—well, second to Victor, anyway—was probably doing something that would get himself caught. As he turned to follow the frazzled Kyle, Ricardo shook his head. August was much more concerned with his appearance and being a smarmy fucker than he was with getting the job done.
August could deal with Lance Baldwin’s security, guests, and guests’ security.
Meanwhile, Ricardo would take care of Baldwin himself.
Kyle led Ricardo across the vast ballroom that was being set up for tonight’s event. Rows of chafing dishes stood on white linen tablecloths, and four bartenders were busily prepping their stations. From the number of tables and bottles, Baldwin was expecting a lot of guests tonight. A lot.
Which meant that getting Baldwin alone later was going to be impossible.
If the mark were any other arrogant fuckwit with too much money, Ricardo’s play would be to wait until he slipped out with a woman for what would probably be the first of several adulterous quickies. Not Baldwin, though—to the great frustration of paparazzi, tabloid reporters, and gold diggers, Lance Baldwin was faithful to his wife. Or, well, if he wasn’t, he went to such lengths to be discreet that even the most efficient and thorough gossip chain on the planet—the hired gun community—hadn’t caught on.
And whether he had a wandering dick or not, he loved the spotlight at his grand parties. He would be rubbing elbows with anyone who was anyone tonight, and it was just Ricardo’s luck that everyone here would either be heavily armed or protected by someone who was heavily armed.
Kyle and Ricardo left the ballroom, and a short hallway led them into a massive foyer. Here, they started up a set of winding stairs to the fourth floor. There was an elevator—that much Ricardo had gleaned from public records about the structure and a corresponding invoice from the company that had installed it—but Kyle and Ricardo took the stairs. The elevator may have been a service elevator. Or, more likely given the fucker’s conviction that he was God’s gift to the universe, any lesser mortals who came up to his office had to take the stairs so they knew their place in the world.
Fine by Ricardo. It gave him that much more opportunity to scope out escape