Page 105 of Brainwashed

His grin widens. “I hope you’re hungry.”

I simply nod, watching him while he stares at me. He’s dressed impeccably, just like the last time I saw him. I think it’s safe to say he always dresses to the nines. He’s in another three-piece suit tonight, similar to the one he was wearing when I met him. They’re not your regular ensembles, either. The fabric of his black jacket has some shimmer to it, as if it’s made from the finest material. And every detail is intricate, down to his silk purple and gray pocket square, which exactly matches his dress socks that I can see when he crosses his ankle over his knee, making himself comfortable.

I must say, he’s a fascinating man. The bright white hair, which almost makes him look like he should be albino, though his eyes are dark, almost black, and while his complexion is pale, it’s not quite white enough. Still, the hair is interesting, because observing him, there’s no possible way he’s more than fifty years old. And even that’s a stretch.

He’s very tall, and lean, and his angles are sharp. Plainly put, he doesn’t look like he should be operating a run-down prison in the middle of the ocean…

Or maybe that’sexactlyhow he looks.

We ride in silence for about thirty-minutes. I spend the entire trip staring out the window, watching the ocean ripple beneath us while wondering what in the world I’m going to talk about with this man for an entire meal. When the helicopter finally touches down, we’re in Manhattan. A large man in a black suit is waiting to help us down from the aircraft and guide us into a black SUV, the same kind of ones we use on the island.

Settled in the backseat, Manuel Blanco asks, “Was that your first time riding in a helicopter?” I nod and he huffs an entertained chuckle. “Good. I always enjoy being someone’s first.”

Ignoring that comment, I say, “I assumed we would have dinner in the mansion…”

“Oh, no, no.” He shakes his head vehemently. “I come into Manhattan as often as possible. Otherwise, I would go a little cuckoo.”

I peer at him, giving him a surprised look.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love the mansion,” he adds. “Have you enjoyed your stay so far?”

“Yes. It’s a very… extravagant place.”

He chuckles again. “You’re only just getting to know me, Doctor. I’m an extravagant person.” He winks at me.

My head cocks at him. And we ride the rest of the way in more tense silence.

Ten minutes later, the driver parks in front of a restaurant called Casa Mono and lets us out. I follow Manuel Blanco inside, and he seems to know the manager or the owner or someone, because a man comes over gushing, then brings us tothe best mesa en la casa, according to him.

We have a seat, and once we’re settled, Manuel lifts a light eyebrow at me. “Do you prefer wine or something harder?”

My lips part, but it takes me a moment of thought. I rarely drink, so I just mutter, “Whatever you suggest.”

He nods, business-like, and signals our waiter, who seems to be hovering nearby, anxiously awaiting The Ivory’s attention. “We’ll begin with the Tempranillo. The one that I had last weekend. You remember, Javier, yes?”

“Si, si, of course, Señor Blanco.” The waiter nods enthusiastically. “I’ll bring it right away.”

I can’t help but watch all of this in minute fascination. Sure, I have money, and my family grew up pretty well-off. I mean, we’re all doctors. And I’m no stranger to benefits and galas, bougie restaurants and affluence.

But this seems to be a different ballgame. I feel like I’m having dinner with Ray Liotta inGoodfellas.Which would make me Lorraine Bracco, and I’m not sure how I feel about that…

Manuel Blanco lets out a breath. “Well, here we are. I’m glad we’re finally able to do this. I must apologize for my absence since your arrival. I’m sure you can imagine how demanding my position is…”

I nod. “Yes, of course.”

His head tilts. “And also, I don’t like to micromanage, which I feel as though you’ll appreciate. It’s one of the reasons I hired you, after all. You require very little direction. Or supervision.”

His eyes seem to narrow a bit, and I’m instantly on edge.Is he referring to what happened with Felix? Are we just cutting straight to the chase?

“You’re correct, Mr. Blanco,” I tell him, keeping my tone firm and rife with blithe confidence.

His hand flutters. “Please. Call me Manuel.” I nod in agreement. “I must say, I’m quite pleased to have you here, Doctor.”

He stares at me for a moment, and while I’d prefer to be calledDoctor, I assume he’d also rather be calledThe Ivory. So I say, “Call me Lem.”

A smile pulls at his lips. “You see, Lem, I require employees whom I can trust to run the operation for me. I need to know that my staff will act on my behalf.”

“Like Officer Chevelle?” I ask.