She looked calm, sure of herself, and he wanted to hurt her.
Before his father had died, he’d told Saleem of this thief called the Fox, and there had been admiration in his voice. But his father had never told him the Fox was a woman. Had he known? Of course he’d known. His father had also told him the Fox was Saleem’s age, no older, and when he’d seen her strolling toward him, he’d believed her younger. The Fox is the very best, my son, the very best. I only knew of one failure, and it was an impossible task. But his father wouldn’t tell him about the failure, merely looked through him, beyond him, when he’d asked.
Looking at her now, Saleem wondered if this job was to be her final curtain. Well, why not? With the amount of money he was paying her, she could retire, take no more chances of getting caught and hung. She could disappear permanently, settle down. No more looking over her shoulder. The world would be her oyster and he would give her the pearl.
The waiter arrived with more champagne. When her glass was full, she lifted it, hovering over the midpoint of the table. “Half now. Do we have an agreement?”
Saleem met her eyes and raised his whiskey.
“We do. Yes, I believe we do.”
For the first time, she clinked her glass to his, took a small sip to seal the bargain, and placed the flute on the table. She stood.
So she didn’t want to go upstairs with him. Too bad. The words spilled from his mouth anyway, even though he didn’t mean it, a stupid knee-jerk man’s reaction to a beautiful woman.
“You should stay tonight. With me.”
She didn’t laugh, but he thought she wanted to. She said in a low, smooth voice, a brow arched, “I already know where you sleep, Saleem Singh Lanighan. I don’t believe I care to join you.”
Surprise hit him like a fist. He’d taken all possible measures to be anonymous, to hide himself thoroughly. But she’d found his true identity. But how?
“You know my full name?”
A predator’s contempt flashed in her cool blue eyes. “Of course I know your name. I know everything about you.”
Everything? She knew he was his father’s son?
In his business dealings he’d always held the upper hand, always wielded the final power over his opponents. He knew it was whispered he was the Devil, and he liked that. All recognized he was cunning, confident of his own worth, the one to be placated, the one who was feared. No longer.
He’d met the real Devil tonight, and she drank champagne. Was his father watching him? And laughing?
The Fox said, “I will email the information, then you will close the account. When half the money—a full twenty-five million—is wired to my account, I will begin. Not a moment before. You will not hear from me again. I will come to you when the job is finished. It is a pleasure doing business with you.”
“Wait.” He stood as well. He cleared his throat, spoke quietly because he knew well the effect of his voice, knew the arrogance of his breeding and background came clearly through.
“I know your reputation, so I am not surprised you managed to discover who I am. However, I only know you as the Fox. Give me your real name. For fifty million dollars, I am owed at least that.”
The Devil smiled from the Fox’s beautiful face, and that cold, cold smile froze his blood.
“You are owed nothing but your prize, lion cub. Or should I call you the Lion now? Your father’s untimely death places you in control. Will you be as interesting as your father, lion cub? Will you show yourself cunning and ripe, ready for plunder?”
She fell silent for a moment, assessing him yet again, then dismissed him with a nod, and he knew to his gut she didn’t fear him, not at all. But if she failed in this, she would regret her mistake. He would kill her himself.
His voice rose. “If you’re going to work for me, you’ll do as I say. Now tell me your name.”