Chapter Eighteen

He should let it go. But where would be the fun in that?

Gary walked into the bar. A high-end cocktail bar in London. By his watch, five minutes after the door swung closed behind Ryan Delaney. In his experience, data on a screen never gave you a true impression of a man’s character. Data could be manipulated. Micro expressions, on the other hand, they never lied.

The sound hit him first. Pulse of live jazz in the floor beneath his feet. Crack of billiards. Gary paused and looked around, loosened his jacket. It was warm inside. Deep armchairs, railway carriage booths, billiard tables in one long, narrow room. Low ceiling. Red lights on the walls, red lipstick on the waitresses. Waiters in vests. Everyone and everything designed to impress.

A tray went past. Four cocktails on it. Liquid glowed beneath the crisscrossing beams of light.

He touched the waitress’s arm. She looked back. Then looked a little longer. “What can I get you?” Husky voice, pitched just right to be heard over the wail of the sax.

“Scotch and soda,” Gary said.

“Of course.” She turned on skinny heels, balancing tray and drinks with ease. A glance back at him, an extra smile.

Down at the end of the room, Delaney was chalking a cue. Shirtsleeves rolled up. Two men at the table with him, carrying on a quick exchange. Gary was too far away to hear what was being said. That would change soon. One of the men was over six feet tall and heavily built. The second one rangy, a light-weight. Wiry arms. Both of them gym-toned, if Gary had to wager a guess. Soft hands, probably. Expensive jeans.

Gary took his drink from the waitress with a clink of ice, hardly noticing the brush of fingers over his, the promise in her eyes.

He watched, one minute longer. The Scotch was good, smooth, and cold. Hint of oak and honey. He’d make it last. He wasn’t there to drink.

Delaney was in charge. That much was obvious. The tall one, he was eager to please, shooting jokes, trying for a laugh. Lounging against the wall, beer in hand, content to watch the others play. Relaxed slouch to the shoulders. Business associates? Mid-forties, maybe late-thirties. Like Delaney.

Hungry glint in the eye of the smaller man. Focus centered on the table, he was lining up for a shot. Called it. Took his time, aiming carefully. Sank the four ball in the corner pocket. He straightened, pleased with himself. Delaney shook his head, said something, arguing. Pointed at the table, marking out the route of the ball. A foul? Gary raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t spotted it. A push shot?

The tall man shrugged, shook his head. Not taking sides then. Wise man. Flash of temper on the little guy’s face, angry twist to the mouth, you could spot a mile away. One hand curling into a fist, white knuckles. Gary rested an elbow on the bar, and waited.

But the guy backed down. Let Delaney take over the play. Delaney cleared the balls in quick succession, no hesitation, and closed the game. Leaving Gary with a sudden urge to wipe the smug smirk off his face.

Gary stood, made his way over to them. Trying to look like someone who spent his Saturday night networking in a high-end bar. Like them. Gary grinned, nice and easy. “Mind if I play?”

The tall man said, “Have at it.” His finger moved against the glass, in time to the swing rhythm of the sax.

The little guy looked at Gary thoughtfully. “Loser picks up the tab.”

“Fine by me.”

Delaney handed Gary a cue. “I’m hard to beat.”

“I noticed. You know who you remind me of? The guy from Wing and a Prayer.”

“Never seen it.”

The little guy scrutinized Delaney. “Dana Andrews?”

“No, William Eythe. It’s the jaw mostly.” Gary set his drink down. “Shall I take the break shot?”

“Go ahead.” Delaney stepped back.

Last time he played, he’d watched Adriana lean over the table, wielding the cue like a pro. Jeans tight enough to distract him when it was his turn to play. Laughing as she made the shot. Gary broke cleanly, sank a ball. The solid colors were his. He circled the table, called the shot. “So what do you gents do?” The cue following the ball like a magnet. Ricochet off the rail and into the corner pocket. Gary straightened. Nice to know he still had it.

Delaney watched the play with narrowed eyes. “Marketing manager. Matt and George are in sales.”

“Sales manager,” the tall man corrected.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” Delaney said.

“First time.” Center spot to side pocket. Easy. “I’ll be coming back though. The waitresses are a sight for sore eyes.”

“Curves in all the right places,” Delaney agreed.

“Look too long though, Ryan,” the smaller man said, “and Holly will have your eyes.”

The tall man grinned. “Only if she finds out, Matt.”

Delaney shrugged. “A quick roll through the sheets isn’t worth the risk.”

“That depends on the woman, doesn’t it?” Gary said casually. Stoking the fire.

“Are you a cheating man?” Delaney leaned on his cue. Anger? No, just curiosity.

“I think”—Gary lined up the next shot—“promises are meant to be kept.”

“Wears his heart on his sleeve, he does,” Matt said. Sarcasm there.

Gary glanced up, caught Delaney watching him. And drove the ball to the pocket.

Delaney stepped forward, fast. Hand on Gary’s shoulder, a hard grip. “That was a double hit.” The bulb above the table swung, throwing shadows.

The hell it was. “I don’t think so.” Gary rested a hip against the table, folded his arms over his chest. Smiled.

“That shot’s a foul. Right, lads?” Delaney turned to the others.

“Sure.” Disinterested.

Matt shrugged, drained his glass.

Gary smiled. “Easier to call a foul than it is to play, isn’t it, Delaney?”

“Watch it.” Delaney flushed. Tightened his hold on the cue. A perfect weapon. One more step forward and Gary was hemmed in between the wall and the table. Delaney shifted, adjusted his balance, but his feet were flat on the floor. Torso angled wrong. “What was your name again?”

“Gary.”

Lower, “What are you trying to say, Gary?” Sneer on the name.

The other two were watching the scene unfold with interest.

Gary put his cue down. In the close quarters, there was no point using it. He’d rather have his hands free. The bartender looked their way. Gary would let Delaney get in a swing first. There were plenty of witnesses to confirm self-defense when he fought back. If it came to that. Gary moved forward. They were standing toe to toe now. He had an inch on Delaney. On the small stage at the other end of the bar, the drummer changed the rhythm, speeding up the pace. “Seems to me you like to pick the easy way out. Matt” —eyes on Delaney—“did you shoot a foul last game?”

A muscle twitched in Delaney’s jaw. “Are you calling me a liar?” Breathing slow. Trying to keep his cool. But he was on the brink.

“‘Course not, mate.” Gary grinned. “But I think Matt is.”

Matt spread his hands, eyes wide. “I didn’t say anything.”

That glance over his shoulder was a mistake. Delaney turned his head to look at Matt and Gary had the cue out of his hand before he knew what happened. Gary returned it to the holder on the wall. “We’ll call it a foul. The game is yours. But let’s end it here, shall we? Before things escalate.”

“Afraid to finish the round, are you?”

“Let’s just say, you are hard to beat.”

“I don’t like to leave things unfinished.”

“I prefer a fair game.” It made winning that much more satisfying.

Delaney started to reply, but saw something in Gary’s eyes. Something that stopped him from taking that next step. “Have it your way.” Delaney moved aside.

Gary took his jacket from the chair, shrugged it on. Finished the last of his drink, taking his time about it. “Since I forfeit”—he set the glass down—“I’ll cover the tab.”

“Cheers,” George murmured, avoiding Delaney’s eyes.

Gary got the waitress’s attention and settled the bill. Not as bad as it might have been. Only a drink or two each. “Thanks for the game.” It was an education.

“Maybe next time, you’ll have the guts to play it through to the end.”

George spoke up then. “Let it go, Ryan.” Quiet voice.

Gary nodded at them, brushed past. Walked down that long, narrow room and out the door.

He stepped onto the street, into the quiet. The air cool now. Beat of the jazz still throbbing in his ears.

That went well. No broken nose, for one thing. And he had gotten an impression of Delaney’s character. Delaney was a ruthless opponent. Intent on establishing rank. Ready to gain the upper hand through lies. Through violence. In love with his wife. Or, more likely, afraid of facing the wrath of a woman scorned. There was history there. That comment about fidelity, that had set Delaney off. Changed the tone of things.

Gary tossed his keys in the air as he strolled to his car. Chink of metal when they landed in his palm.

That short fuse, the simmer of violence, was worrying. Delaney had followed Kate. Kate lived in the same house as Wendell, had found his body. Delaney and Wendell worked in the same company, in the same building. There was a connection. He just didn’t know what it was yet.

Gary started the engine. Adjusted the temperature, turned on the heat.

He’d keep an eye on Ryan Delaney. For Kate’s sake.