Page 73 of Love Spell

“Then why didn’t they do a better job?”

“Eh?”

“That bike ride on Saturday was the first time I’ve even seen Red act as if he likes Timmy’s company.Usually looks scared — hey.”

“Morning,” Chandler answered, his voice also drifting closer.“I suppose you’ve seen the news?”He, too, spoke in an undertone.

“Seen it, don’t believe it,” Arthur said.

“Why not?Marriages of convenience go back millennia.”

“So you think the whole thing was rigged?”Dave asked.“That’s all this is about?”

“All?”Chandler drawled.“I don’t see how it could be.Why would Timo humour some American toddler?It can’t have started that way.That just explains the rush.”

“But why did Timo give him the time of day in the first place?”Arthur asked.

Dave gasped dramatically.“What if Red’s got something on Timmy?”

“Huh?”

“Well, Timmy just got his own citizenship, didn’t he?Worked like a bloody ant for it.And we know he’s got black marks in his past that could have jeopardised that.The drugs and shit?What if it’s blackmail?”

Chandler snorted a laugh.“You think Timo’s that easy a mark?Give him some credit.”

“Alright, alright.You know him so well?What do you think’s going on?”

“I think the wolf really did fall for Red,” Chandler said and Noah understood in a fresh flash of rage: Volkov equalled Wolf; Cerveny equalled Little Red.“No accounting for taste, right?You think you’re a cat person and next thing you know you’ve gone for the Bambi eyes of some mud-smart spaniel puppy.It happens.”

“Bloody hell …”

“Noah’s figured out how to play the game.That’s all.”

“The pup grows up and starts climbing on the furniture,” Arthur said.

“You think he’s twisted Timmy’s arm?”Dave asked.

“Not that he had to very much.‘If you want a piece of this, you get it by room, board, and a free pass into the country.’What could be simpler?It’s work for hire.”

“I once paid a whore two hundred pounds and thoughtthatwas highway robbery,” Dave scoffed.

“It is since you’re going by the minute.”Chandler’s voice was silky.

“Shut up.”

“And it’s sex worker, Dave,” Arthur said.

“Eh?”

“Sex worker,” Arthur repeated.“Not whore.”

“What’s the difference?”

“One is a job title.One is offensive slang.”

“And a job title.”

Chandler chipped in, “What he’s trying to say is the difference between calling me a gay man and calling me a twinkle-toed poofter.”