And I can't let this woman get involved.
"Come on." I let my gloved hand fall on the crevice between her shoulders, and Ana glances up at me, blinking in the harsh flare of the light. She lets me steer her up the steps of the bar and through the front doors. She's trusted me from the beginning, I realize, even if neither of us noticed it at the time. Another hitch in my plan, but I'm confident it's nothing I can't surmount. If everything goes according to the new plan, she'll want nothing to do with me by the end of the night.
"This meeting you're about to have…did you set it up in advance?" she asks uncertainly as we wind between the tables in the darkened bar. I pull a stool out for her to indicate that she should post herself up. My eyes hunt the room in the meantime, glancing over shadowed faces, looking for an indication of my mark. I have it on good authority that he will be here. In fact, the authority is all but certain.
"Not exactly."
I spot a man over by one of the long green tables shooting pool by himself. He's the only patron in the establishment wearing a ball cap, and the bill casts a deep black veil across his eyes. I think I recognize the jaw, though, and the build. Matt Keating has put on a few pounds since the last time I saw him.
Unlike me, Keating was never an upper-level employee in the company. Also unlike me, he still works for Green Star. He benefited from a promotion and accompanying salary raise around the time that I mysteriously vanished.
"Here." I toss a wad of bills down on the counter. "Buy us drinks. I'll be right back."
"Aye aye, Captain Carter," Ana responds. I pretend not to hear her as I move off into the depths of the bar; and I pretend not to like the nickname she's come up with for me.
Keating is just shy of six feet, which already puts me at a physical advantage as I approach him. I'm not expecting a fight, or even to be met with much surprise; he was always unflappable, and I'm certain the contact I was in touch with has already relayed a hint that I'm coming.
He's currently bent at eye-level, assessing his next shot. I slant my body against the pool table and cross my arms. He notices me almost immediately, but he doesn't straighten until after another moment's quiet, careful consideration of the table's spread.
"Well, well. Look who's back from the dead." Keating raises himself up to look at me, and his wormy lips form the words around a soggy unlit cigarette.
"I can see you aren't alarmed by my resurrection," I return.
"Don't act like you expected to get a big rise out of me, boss." He emphasizes the title, but not in a way that implies he is using it ironically. It's possible that Keating still considers me the true face of Green Star, but I think it more likely he's being sentimental.
"I'm guessing you didn't leave the grave to chat with me," he continues as he bends forward and lines up his shot. I don't move, even though I'm certain I'm casting a distracting shadow across the chosen field of play.
"Richards," I say finally. Once again, I note that surprise doesn't register on Keating's face. "A little birdy told me he's in town."
"The same little birdy that told you where to find me?" He knocks the cue ball; he's a fast, steady shot. It rolls across the table and scatters the other balls into various, seemingly random positions. I narrow my eyes, trying to scrutinize whether or not the move was intentional. He has the bearing of a decent pool player, but is he really?
I continue my own line of questioning. "I want to know where he's staying. Even my little birdy wouldn't chirp that much."
"Neither would I, after looking at you. You look mean as hell, Carter." Keating withdrew, plucked the cigarette from between his lips, and took a long pull from a brown bottle. I was of the impression that he was only really looking at me for the first time, but he didn't withdraw his statement. "Not a good look on someone who was formerly the world's youngest leading humanitarian."
"I'll pay you," I interrupt him. "You know I'm good for it."
Keating raises his eyebrow in mild disbelief, but makes no response. He likely knows that my vast fortune mysteriously vanished alongside me…and while much of it was funneled into the pockets of my would-be murderers, he can rest assured that I had means of my own to secure the rest. He has never been a man who cared much for money, outside of what he was able to live off of comfortably. His flippant attitude toward financials was something I looked for when hiring Green Star employees to populate his department. I wanted to build my company on the shoulders of men and women who weren't driven solely by greed—intelligent, displaced souls who wanted to make a difference. I was so ambitious to the cause that I was completely blinded to the cancer spreading throughout the upper offices.
But that was a long time ago.
"Play me," he says finally. It was exactly the sort of deal I had intended to broker all along, should the promise of money fail. But I hadn't planned this far ahead. If money isn't something Keating is interested in, then I have nothing to offer him as payment for his winnings. Time to improvise.
"Here you go, Captain Carter."
Ana waltzes up beside me and plunks a drink down indelicately on the side of the pool table. Her timing couldn't have been more perfect. Keating's eyes fix on her at once, and I see a spark of interest behind his dull gaze as he assesses her. The final stages of tonight's plan to gather information click into place.
"Ana, meet Keating." I raise my drink, never breaking eye contact with my new opponent. "We're about to play a round of pool. If I win, I get what I want."
Keating inclines his head, very slowly, his chin sinking as he studies the beauty at my side.
"And if you win?" I nod my head to the side, indicating the appearance of my unwitting arm candy. "You can have her."
CHAPTER 7
ANA
My jaw nearly unhinges at Flint's words.
And if you win? You can have her.
"Excuse me, but may I fucking speak to you for a minute?" I inquire, straining myself to sound polite. Obviously I have not altogether succeeded.
Flint's lips tug upward in amusement as I grab his arm without waiting for his consent and drag him toward one of the long, high tables, out of the pool-shooting stranger's earshot.
"Just what the hell deal are you trying to make?" I demand, as soon as I'm satisfied that we're relatively alone. His smile only continues to grow by degrees, and I realize he is actually enjoying himself at my expense.
Is this payback for blackmailing him this morning? Disgust rises in my throat, and it chokes me more bitterly than the lingering aftertaste of beer I ordered with his money.
"What you are suggesting is human trafficking, in case you weren't aware," I continue. I fist my hands on my hips and stand my ground. "If you lose, there's no way I'm going home with him."
"I'm not going to lose," Flint replies confidently. "And if I do, mark my words it will be on purpose to get rid of you. So if you want to continue this dance, you better check the attitude, sweetheart."
"So that's what this is all about," I mutter as he raises his drink and looks at it for the first time. I brought him a Shirley Temple, but I was compassionate enough to ask the bartender for a double to go with it. "I seriously can't believe the man who saved me from being roofied is about to bet me in a game of pool. Like I'm some sort of commodity, and not a person."