This was a long game, and he was damn good at long games. Patience had gotten him to where he was. Patience and the willingness to destroy anyone who got in his way. Even his own family. Taking care of some tourist would be a breeze.
He’d purposefully squashed her friendships here in London. A word here and a word there and suddenly no one invited her to lunch, and she was perfectly free to spend her afternoons with him. It would be even easier in Dubai. She would feel much more isolated as a woman in a Muslim country. He would make sure the people around her were friendly enough, but they would keep their distance. She would be alone, and she would feel the need to have a man protect her.
But it wouldn’t hurt to figure out who this fucker she was seeing was before he killed him. A man in his position couldn’t be too careful. The last thing he needed was some dumbass intelligence agent bumbling in and fucking everything up.
He pressed a button on his desk, and within seconds his door opened.
“You rang, sir?” Malcolm was dressed impeccably in a three-piece suit. On paper, he was Thomas Molina’s driver. In truth, he was so much more important. Malcolm was his enforcer. Malcolm had been with him since the day of his rebirth. He did have Eli Nelson to thank for that.
“I need you to find Avery and follow her.”
Malcolm’s expression never left the blank, bland facade he wore even when he was slitting a throat. “Should I kill her, sir?”
Again, he was forced to hold his temper. “No. She’s got a boyfriend.”
“Will wonders never cease?”
“I don’t need your sarcasm.” Malcolm had made it clear he didn’t understand his attraction to Avery, but then the man had no use for innocence. As far as Molina knew, Malcolm’s grand love was his SIG Sauer and his bank account. “I need information on the man. I have a trace on her phone. Call her if you need to find her, but as far as I know, she was visiting the Tower of London this morning. I don’t want her to know she’s being watched.”
“And what should I do with this boyfriend of hers?” Malcolm asked, his eyes finally glinting slightly as though he was sure what was coming.
“Get me information and then you can handle things as you see fit, though you will make sure Avery is left out of it.” Yes. He liked this plan. Avery would be more vulnerable, and she would turn to him.
He’d been her boss and her friend for months. This fucker had just shown up. She would turn to him. No doubt.
He nodded toward the door, sending Malcolm out.
This man Avery was meeting had an “end-by” date. He just didn’t know it.
And when he died, Avery would turn to her friend. She would be in his arms in no time.
Calm settled over him. He was getting far too emotional. Malcolm might not understand, but Molina was self-aware enough to know what Avery’s appeal was.
He’d sold his soul long ago, but he was still able to appreciate true innocence and purity.
He just wanted to corrupt it. It was his final frontier.
When he had Avery in his bed, he would twist that pretty soul until hers was just as dark as his own. It would be fun. He would do it with pleasure and a good deal of pain—both emotional and physical. Her tears would feed his soul.
Molina pulled the file on “Lachlan Bates” and got back to work. He whistled a little while he did it. After all, work was fun.
* * * *
Liam was ready to kill Adam. He was the one who had convinced Avery to walk around with her boobs on display. He looked across the table and would swear he could practically see a nipple. He’d followed her up and down medieval prison rooms and past the crown jewels, and all he could think about was the fact that every man walking around the Tower was staring at her breasts.
And her bum. Yesterday she’d worn perfectly respectable jeans that hadn’t hugged her every curve. Those jeans yesterday hadn’t sported little diamonds on her cheeks that just begged a man to find out how much treasure was buried beneath.
“So where did you say you were from, Avery?” Ian asked in an absolutely flawless London accent. There was just the faintest hint of working class in the way he rounded his vowels.
Avery smiled at him, leaning on the table. She’d barely had half a glass of wine, but her face was already flushed and she’d relaxed, her hips brushing his in the booth.
“I’m from New York originally, but now I kind of live out of my suitcase,” she explained. She’d seemed a little wary of Ian at first, but it hadn’t taken her long to warm up. She’d teased both him and Ian about how difficult it had been for them to fit into the Tower’s narrow staircases and small rooms. The Tower hadn’t been built for bulky men.
This was what Ian had been waiting for. There was no question in Liam’s mind. He’d been waiting for a break so he could get her to talk about her job. A knot of guilt twisted in Liam’s gut, and he rather wanted to go back to the hours when they’d just been tourists enjoying their time together. He’d been to London many times, toured the Tower, but seeing it through Avery’s enthusiastic eyes had been a novel experience. She’d wanted to see everything. She’d stood on the yard where Anne Boleyn had walked, and he could see her mind wandering, likely imagining what it had been like to have her hours numbered, trapped inside.
“So what exactly do you do?” Ian asked.
“I’m kind of a Girl Friday. I assist my boss with the running of the charity.”
“United One Fund,” Liam offered. “The way she explained it yesterday, it’s a relief fund.”
“We go into war-torn or disaster hit countries and offer food, water, all the necessities. We also offer microlending. We’ll give out small loans of as little as fifty to a hundred dollars, and it helps women in Third World countries start businesses and begin to support themselves and their children. We work with a couple of medical charities, too.”
She was a believer. It was right there on her face. Avery Charles believed she was saving the world in some small way. Liam had thought that once, back in his SAS days. Back before he’d found himself in a dingy, blood-soaked hellhole.
Avery might believe, but Liam had his doubts. If her boss was so very angelic, what was he doing meeting with Eli Nelson? And what did Nelson want with a humanitarian organization?
“So the organization is based in the States?” Ian asked. To an outsider, it would seem to be a very polite question. Just a friend asking all the trivial things of a new girlfriend. But Ian Taggart already knew the answers to his questions. Most of them, anyway. He wanted to trap Avery in a lie.