Chapter 191: The Bait
LUCIAN
The numbers refused to make sense.
I had been sitting with the ledgers for the better part of an hour, working through the last two quarters of proceeds from the eastern distribution network, and somewhere between the third and fourth columns I had developed the particular suspicion that someone in my supply chain had been skimming. Not generously enough to be obvious, but consistently enough that the cumulative number over six months was irritating rather than catastrophic.
Irritating belonged to a special class of problems. It meant someone had measured my patience, studied my habits, and decided just how much they could steal without waking the wolf.
That unsettled me more than I cared to admit.
My phone rang.
I picked up before the second ring. The call was from the sentinel shadowing Kayden, and I had never been one to let important news linger.
"Any news?" I said.
"Nothing significant yet." His voice carried the careful neutrality of someone reporting an outcome they knew was not what was wanted. "He is finishing up. Looks like he had an excellent time, from what we can tell. He is moving toward the exit now. We will follow him when he leaves, see where he goes and whether anything unusual happens on the route."
"Nothing else? No contact with anyone unexpected? No one watching him?"
"Not that we have identified. We are the only ones on his tail. He came in alone, and it appears he will be leaving the same way."
My fingers tapped a single, sharp beat against the desk.
The hunter had ignored the bait. Or perhaps he was simply biding his time, which mattered. A patient predator never lunged at the first scent. They circled, learned the rhythm, and waited for the perfect opening.
"Watch the bastard carefully," I said. "Every movement. If someone is tracking him, they will be subtle. I want to know about anyone who breathes in his direction."
"Understood."
I hung up and, without hesitation, called the madame.
She answered with a practiced warmth, the kind of voice honed by years of knowing exactly how much comfort or promise a tone could hold.
"I just heard from my friend," I said. "He tells me he had the time of his life this evening."
"We do take pride in our hospitality," she said.
"As well you should." I leaned back, letting my words settle. "He is a close associate. When he is pleased, everything on my side falls into place, which serves us both. Give him a reason to return. An incentive, a special rate, whatever makes a man choose you when he could go elsewhere. If this becomes routine, tonight’s arrangement will be just the beginning."
"Money talks," she said. "You know that better than anyone."
"I do."
A soft laugh drifted through the receiver.
"Then perhaps we understand each other."
"We usually do."
There was a brief pause, just long enough for calculation to settle between them.
"Since we’re discussing favors," she said, "perhaps there is one you could do for me."
I swiveled slowly in my chair, watching the city lights beyond the window. "What do you want?"
"I heard your niece was recently married into the Valcourt pack."
My hand stilled on the armrest.
"You seem to hear everything."
"It is my profession."
I smiled without amusement.
"What of it?"
"I also hear the Valcourts have begun something of a crusade against rogues involved in... certain businesses."
She chose the last words carefully.
"My establishment has always operated quietly. We don’t attract unnecessary attention. Business is growing, but growth attracts curious eyes, and curious eyes bring trouble." Her voice lowered. "If your new relatives happen to be looking in our direction, I’d appreciate it if they looked somewhere else."
"So you want protection?"
"I want to be forgotten."
Silence stretched between us.
"I cannot control what the Valcourts choose to investigate," I said evenly.
"No," she agreed. "But a word from the right person has a way of changing priorities. Delaying inspections. Redirecting attention. Encouraging people to focus on more deserving targets."
She wasn’t asking for immunity.
She was asking for time.
"And?" I asked. "I doubt that’s all."
"It isn’t."
She sighed, sounding almost embarrassed.
"To continue accommodating your Beta friend, I need additional resources. Men with his... preferences expect a certain standard. Acquiring new girls through my usual channels has become expensive."
My expression hardened.
"I’ll need two hundred thousand dollars."
The number rolled off her tongue as though she were asking for flowers.
"An investment," she continued. "You’ll get your money back many times over."
I let several seconds pass before answering.
"Done."
The relief in her voice came instantly.
"I knew you’d understand."
"We both benefit if the arrangement continues."
"Exactly."
"I assume that is all you will need from me."
"Yes. Consider it handled." I heard the particular quality in her voice that meant she had already pivoted from receiving the instruction to executing it. "He is actually just leaving now. I will catch him before he gets to his car and we can have a conversation about what I can offer him going forward."
"Excellent." I allowed a hint of real satisfaction into my voice. The plan was unfolding as intended. "You are reliably resourceful."
She laughed. "And you are consistently generous when it counts. That combination tends to work out well for everyone involved."
"It does," I agreed. "Thank you."
I ended the call and placed the phone, screen down, atop the ledger.
The question that circled back, again and again, was why. Not why Kayden had been overlooked—there were plausible reasons for that—but why a hunter skilled enough to erase twelve names from my list had not already found him. Kayden was reckless, always had been. He followed his hungers, not his head, leaving evidence in his wake. Anyone methodically dismantling my network would have stumbled across him as easily as I had.
Unless the hunter had found him and was simply not ready to move yet.
Or unless the hunter had another priority currently occupying their attention.
I did not like the thought.
My phone lit up.
A text from one of my men stationed at Beaumont, short and factual in the way I had trained my surveillance.
"Beta Chris and Beta Shanelle have returned to Beaumont."
I let that fact settle, weighing its implications.
A short, genuine laugh escaped me, echoing through the study in a way that would have unsettled any witness.
Anthony’s children had gone to Valcourt with that stupid Archambulat file, and I was curious to know why.
Each of the possibilities that crossed my mind intrigued me.
I shut the ledger. The numbers and their secrets could wait. Whoever was skimming had survived six months; they could survive one more day.
I shrugged on my jacket, adjusted my cuffs, and stepped out.