Lesser evil, p.1
Lesser Evil, page 1
LESSER EVIL
LESSER
BOOK 1
PENELOPE SKY
HARTWICK PUBLISHING
Hartwick Publishing
Lesser Evil
Copyright © 2022 by Penelope Sky
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
CONTENTS
1. Camille
2. Camille
3. Cauldron
4. Camille
5. Camille
6. Cauldron
7. Camille
8. Cauldron
9. Camille
10. Camille
11. Cauldron
12. Camille
13. Cauldron
14. Camille
15. Cauldron
16. Camille
17. Cauldron
18. Camille
19. Camille
20. Cauldron
21. Camille
22. Cauldron
23. Camille
24. Cauldron
25. Camille
26. Cauldron
27. Camille
28. Cauldron
29. Camille
30. Cauldron
31. Camille
32. Cauldron
33. Camille
ONE
CAMILLE
It was the perfect night.
Million-euro Bugattis, bright-yellow Ferraris, and a few Lamborghinis pulled up to the Parisian estate. Rich people in tuxedos and gowns stepped out, and they let the valets take their cars away. The three-story palace was lit with a golden glow, the fountain in the center splashing with a gentle backdrop of water.
When my driver pulled up to the front, I felt my heart tighten like a fist.
Would the black wig disguise me?
The bright-red lipstick?
The green contacts?
Would he see right through the charade?
The door opened, and Raymond helped me out of the car.
I recognized him.
But he didn’t seem to recognize me.
Hidden in the crowd of aristocrats, I emerged into the downstairs parlor, immediately swallowed by waiters with trays of bubbly champagne and triangles of bruschetta. I had business to take care of, but that didn’t stop me from grabbing a flute and a slice of bread. I enjoyed both, my eyes scanning for the man of the hour.
It didn’t take me long to find him.
As if he had the focus of a spotlight, he was surrounded in that golden glow, a shine to his eyes. A woman was at his side, a petite brunette who had her arm tucked in his, looking up at him like every word he said was utterly fascinating.
His dark hair was slicked back, and his dark eyes looked like fresh espresso first thing in the morning. Instead of holding a flute of champagne, he held a glass of scotch. It was a power move—like everything else he did.
Rich. Powerful. Handsome.
Every man wanted to be him. Every woman wanted him to be her husband.
But he wasn’t quite what he seemed.
I knew the mansion like the back of my hand, so I snuck away from the crowd, keeping my eyes on the butlers to make sure they were distracted, and then made my way upstairs. My heels tapped against the hardwood, but the sound of violins seemed to muffle it. The brightness of the chandeliers disappeared as I arrived on the second floor. The music and conversation were lower, like someone turned the dial on a stereo.
The second floor seemed vacant.
I left my empty flute on the nearest surface then continued up to the third floor.
The anxiety worsened, because now that I was so close to my goal, I was more terrified of losing it. I put my life on the line for this, but it was worth it. I crept to the third floor, careful to remain quiet even though no one was around. My breaths grew louder and labored because my lungs weren’t getting the air they needed. I turned down a couple hallways until I found the spot.
I tried the door.
Locked.
I’d anticipated this scenario, so I pulled out the pins hidden in my hair and tried to open the lock. I picked at it exactly as Bones had told me, hitting the mechanism just right to get the lock disabled. I’d practiced on several doors, but in the heat of the moment, it was hard not to tremble and fumble.
Click.
Thank gawd.
I pushed the door open and found his most prized possessions behind glass, as if it was a jewelry store.
There it sat, right in the center, the pearls iridescent and flawless.
I crept forward and tried to find a door to slide open, a lid to lift, but there was nothing. Then I saw the gentle flash of red light, the alarm that protected all the irreplaceable gems inside.
Motherfucker.
I’d have to break the glass with my elbow, grab the necklace, and hightail it out of there as quickly as possible. The servants had an elevator so they could bring their food cart to the different floors and serve His Grace… or whatever the fuck they called him. I would use that to make my escape, take the elevator to the basement. It was the fastest way to get down there, so they wouldn’t be able to follow me immediately.
“Jet-black isn’t your color, darling.” The deep voice was playful on the surface, making the threat underneath indistinguishable. But it was there, masked by his charm, subtle as it left his handsome mouth.
I released the breath I’d just taken.
“But that dress…was made for you.” His eyes drifted down my body as he spoke. It was obvious in his tone that his gaze ravished my body, that his hands would grab my hips once they came near enough.
I’d come all the way here for this necklace—and I wasn’t leaving without it.
I slammed my elbow against the glass. It shattered into pieces, cutting my arm in the process and setting off the alarm.
I snatched the pearl necklace and ran for it.
He blocked my path, a slight smile on his lips, threat in his eyes. “You think I didn’t recognize you? You think an ugly wig and cheap lipstick are enough to hide all the details my hands could recognize in the dark?”
I faked to my right then ran to my left, my heels wobbling around my ankles.
He grabbed me by the elbow, but his hand slipped on the blood.
I tripped and fell to my knees, the necklace still in my hand.
His heavy body dropped on top of mine, forcing me onto my back, his fingers squeezing my throat so tight I could barely breathe. His handsome face hovered over mine, an indulgent sneer spreading over it. “I knew you’d come back.”
I kicked out my knee but missed my target.
He squeezed me harder. “What is it about that stupid necklace?”
The rage burned me alive, gave me a surge of strength I wouldn’t have had otherwise. I jerked my head up and smacked him as hard as I could.
It hurt like hell, but it was enough to give me time to crawl away.
He grabbed me by the ankle and dragged me back.
We locked into a battle, his hands trying to pin mine down, my legs flailing and kicking whatever I could reach. I bit into flesh, scratched his skin, did whatever was necessary to break free. I got a fist to the face for it, a scar to my neck from the tightness of his choke hold. He wouldn’t kill me—but everything else was on the table.
“Darling.” He pinned me hard to the floor.
“Don’t fucking call me that!” I threw both arms down on his head and found my opening.
I ran for it, but then I halted after only making it a few feet.
The necklace. I’d dropped it.
From his knees on the floor, blood smeared across his teeth, he held up the pearl necklace. “You aren’t going anywhere.” He slowly rose to his feet, ready to pursue me once again.
I had to make a choice. Leave it behind—or become a prisoner once again.
I ran for it, his footsteps loud behind me. I knocked down everything in my path to create obstacles, kicking off my heels because they were only slowing me down, and took the stairs instead of the elevator.
I heard a loud thud behind me, as if he’d slipped on one of my heels.
Good. That’d buy me some time.
I made it to the main floor, and everyone turned to see me sprint down the stairs and push through the crowd.
Surely, he wouldn’t let himself be seen chasing me right in the middle of a dinner party, would he?
When I got to the front door, I turned around and realized how wrong I was.
He had just made it to the bottom of the stairs, his maniacal eyes locked on me with blood lust.
Shit, shit, shit.
I bolted outside and saw a Ferrari parked in the roundabout. The owners had just exited the car and tossed the keys to the valet.
I ran like the wind, snatched the keys out of the valet’s hand, and apologized the whole way. “I swear, I’m not stealing your car!” I jumped in the door, slammed it shut, and hit the lock button.
Through the passenger window, I could see him sprinting down the steps, yelling at his men to stop me.
“Bitch, you can’t stop me now!” I slammed my bare foot to the pedal and gave a lurch when it accelerated faster than I’d anticipated. I nearly crashed the car before I regained control. “Damn, this thing is fast.” I turned the wheel and sped down the drive, and once I made it to the open road, I really pushed it.
I looked in the rea rview mirror and didn’t see a line of cars behind me, but I wasn’t foolish. I knew that wasn’t the end. It would never be the end—not until he was dead.
I should be grateful I made it out of there with nothing but a black eye, but it was hard not to be disappointed about leaving empty-handed.
Leaving the necklace behind.
TWO
CAMILLE
I continued to wear my sunglasses inside the café, doing my best to hide the bruise that had only gotten worse with time. Now my eye was so dark it looked like I’d had too much fun with a new shade of eye shadow.
He paid for his coffee and took a seat, elbows on the table, so bored he looked tired, despite the fact that it was the middle of the afternoon. A black wedding ring was tattooed on his left hand, and his muscular arms stretched the sleeves of his t-shirt.
I sat across from him, not bothering with the coffee.
He took a drink, his eyes looking over the rim as he stared at me. “Janice, I’m a busy man—”
“Camille.”
“Whatever,” he snapped. “I told you I’m out of the game.”
“Everyone has a price, right?” I asked hopefully.
He continued to stare at me with that bored look.
“I have a couple million—”
“I told you I’m out of the game. I’ve never made an exception, and I’m not going to start now.”
“Come on. There’s got to be something you want.”
He took another drink before he set down the paper cup. “No. I’ve got a wife who’s a fine piece of ass and two beautiful children. No amount of money would ever tempt me to put them in jeopardy, even if I wanted to kill the person you’re asking me to kill.”
“Fine piece of ass? That’s how you talk about your wife?”
He gave me a cold stare. “Damn right.” For a man who had fallen into a life of retirement, he still had a body primed for battle. No dad bod for this guy. “She likes it. Trust me.”
I was a bit jealous because I would never have a husband at all, let alone one who wore his heart on his sleeve like this guy. “Bones—”
“It’s Griffin now.”
“You’ve got to help me out.”
“I don’t have to do anything. You aren’t my problem.”
I grabbed the sunglasses and pulled them off my face, showing my hideous bruise.
Griffin didn’t blink an eye.
“I’m in deep shit and was told you could be helpful.”
All he did was stare.
“I hope to be a man’s fine piece of ass someday, but that’s not going to happen if I’m dead in three weeks.” My arms folded on the table, and the blender at the counter went off as it mixed a drink. “There’s gotta be something you can do.”
The only soft feature he possessed other than his wedding ring was his eyes, startling blue. Far too pretty for a man so rough around the edges. “Who’s the guy?”
“Grave Toussaint. He’s in Paris—”
“I know who he is. Even if I were still in the game and in my prime, that contract would cost a fortune. More money than you’ve ever seen in your life, I assure you.”
I released a sigh, my disappointment heavy. “Then maybe I can get some free advice?”
“Move every year. Start in St. Petersburg. It’ll take him a long time to trace you there. Then a small village in the Hungarian countryside. Marrakech—”
“I’m not doing that.” I shook my head. “I’m not going to spend my life looking over my shoulder every fifteen seconds.”
Griffin grabbed his coffee and took another drink, slouched down in his chair, his expression still a bit bored. “Then his enemies are now your allies. I would start there.”
“And do you know who those people are?”
He considered the question for a long time, his arms folded over his chest, his tattooed wedding ring clearly visible under the fluorescent lights. “Only one name comes to mind. Cauldron Beaufort.”
“So you think he’d help me kill him?”
“I don’t know. Never met the guy. But word on the street is Cauldron is the only man Grave has ever feared.”
I couldn’t picture Grave fearing anyone. “Why?”
Griffin gave a shrug.
“Do you have his number?”
“You think your proposal should happen over the phone?” he asked incredulously. “And I just told you, I’ve never met the guy.”
“Well, I need to find him.”
“He lives in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat. That’s all I know.”
“That’s the French Riviera, right?”
“You must have gotten an A in geography.”
“You talk to your wife this way?” I snapped.
He grinned. “She’d slap me if I did.”
“I have a feeling she and I would get along pretty well. Unless she walked in here right now and saw us together…”
“Why would that matter?”
“Because you’re having coffee with a woman she doesn’t know.”
“My wife knows her ass is the only one I’m interested in.”
THREE
CAULDRON
The girls sunbathed on the loungers toward the front of the yacht as I sat in the shade, a drink in my hand, an untouched charcuterie board on the center table with cured prosciutto, Tuscan olives, chocolate-covered almonds, and fine French cheeses from Beaulieu-sur-Mer. My linen shirt was open down the front, the sea breeze running over my bare chest, licking away the sunscreen I’d applied for the fifth time that day. The ocean was a fair blue, Cap-Ferrat still in sight in the far distance. Other yachts were visible, keeping their distance, their helicopters parked on every top deck for a quick getaway.
One of the staff approached. “Hugo says they’re ready for you, sir.”
I gave a slight nod in acknowledgment and downed the last of my drink. Wiping my mouth with the back of my forearm, I headed inside the parlor then into the private study where I conducted my business.
I sat on a white couch that faced the enormous screen, another charcuterie board waiting for me, this time with smoked salmon and crystallized oranges. My drink was already on a coaster alongside it.
The screen changed, showing my appearance on the couch, my shirt still unbuttoned, my skin kissed by the warmth of the French sun. Then Hugo appeared, in his study at my estate in Cap-Ferrat. “Jeremiah is ready for you. Shall I patch him through?”
“Yes.”
“When the meeting has concluded, there’s something I wish to discuss with you, sir. If that’s alright.”
“Yes.”
Hugo connected the meeting, and that was when I saw Jeremiah, my lead analyst in Botswana. “Mr. Beaufort, how are you?”
I hated small talk, so I didn’t answer. “Give me an update.”
“Of course, sir.” Jeremiah seemed unaffected by my callousness. He was used to it by now. “The new mines have been fruitful, yielding some of the largest stones we’ve secured. Transport will begin soon.”
“Good.”
“But we do have an issue.”
“Always do.” I drank from the glass sitting in front of me.
“The competition has found our location. They’ve begun their dig from the opposite end of the mountain. It is my belief that they’re trying to reach our mine as covertly as possible.”
“Dunglar?”
“Not sure, but most likely.”
“You’d think he’d learned his lesson.”
“In my experience, you cut off the head of the snake, it grows two more.”
I gave a slight smirk. “Well said, Jeremiah.” We finished our meeting, and then I was returned to the screen where Hugo waited for me.
“Hope all is well.”
“It wouldn’t be well if I didn’t have to kill someone.” I took a bite of the smoked salmon with the brie then grabbed a few berries. “What did you want to discuss?”
