“Well, maybe I can help.”
“Nope.”
“Oh, come on, Max.”
“I said no.”
He poked me with his cane. “That’s going in your groin if you don’t start talking.”
I grinned. “Cute.”
He poised the cane between my legs. “Bad move, coming out here without jeans on.”
My face fell. “Fine. Whatever. We have a new contract, yeah. Dad’s expressed a need to keep it on the down low as well as use my finest guys. As in, no prospects.”
“Oh, boy.”
“Yep. Got a client coming into town tomorrow. Name’s Mr. Dean.”
“Which is probably fake.”
“Damn right it is. We’re supposed to meet him at the ‘La Rogue-a-Grand’ or some shit like that in the afternoon after lunch.”
He paused. “La Grenvan Rouge?”
I pointed at him. “That place.”
“That’s a hell of a hotel. Even their dinky rooms cost upwards of a thousand bucks a night to stay.”
“Apparently, it pays a pretty penny.”
“How long are you guys guarding him?”
“Dad said a week. Ten days, tops.”
He paused. “So at least two weeks.”
I sipped my coffee. “Yep. At least that.”
“Jesus.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Did he give you anything other than that? At all?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“I don’t like the sound of this one, Max. I’ve heard Dad talk about a ‘Dean’ before.”
“You think it’s the same one?”
He nodded. “Absolutely. You know Dad. He doesn’t keep company much. So you know he’s gotten in with them somehow. And if they work for or with Dad…?”
“They’re shit news.”
“Yeah.”
I growled. “Fuck.”