Page 61 of Lethal Torture

“That’s where it gets interesting.” I open a bottle of extremely good Burgundy and pour us both a glass. “Lowbridge isn’t posh at all. He’s from a council estate in London’s East End. Single mother, deadbeat father, social security—the full catastrophe.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” he says, shrugging.

“Sure. But Lowbridge didn’t exactly leave the sewer behind.”

Paddy’s eyes narrow. “Go on.”

“He got his start running girls, drugs, and guns. He managed to turn himself legit by the time he was in his early twenties, at least on the surface. Moved into mail-order drop-shipping before it was an internet thing, then cashed in when it went digital. Expanded to a shipping company and hit the Forbes rich list. Then he managed to marry some heiress and scored himself a seat in the House of Lords, not to mention a place in Cabinet.”

“Isn’t that some kind of conflict of interest?”

“You’d think so. But Lowbridge clearly knows what he’s doing. He simply bought anyone who stood in his way.”

“Figures.” Paddy gives a philosophical shrug. “Politicians. They’re all pricks.” He looks at me. “So why do we care about this Lowbridge fucker?”

I fill our glasses up again, then finish the last of an exceptionally good steak. “I think Lowbridge is bribing someone in Zinaida’s organization for information.” I pull out my tablet and show him theDaily Trutharticle.

“There’s stuff in there he shouldn’t have known,” I say as he reads. “Details he could only have gotten from someone close to Zin.”

“So you think it’s this Lowbridge prick who’s been taking potshots at your lady?”

I ignore themy ladycomment.

But you like hearing it, don’t you? A little too much.

I clear my throat. “I don’t know yet. But I don’t like the fact that he’s sniffing around. It might just be business, of course. He’s an ambitious guy. Might be he’s eyeing the Pigalle franchise.”

Paddy grins. “Can’t blame him for that. If I won the lottery, I’d buy the Quartier, or at least all the dancers in it.”

“Ha. But unlike you, Lowbridge can buy as many dancers as he wants, anytime he wants them. It’s the power he’s after. Apparently he’s been trying to get a membership there for years, but Zin has never let him past Pigalle’s gaming rooms.”

“And you think maybe he got tired of waiting.” He nods, handing me back the tablet. “Makes sense. But you still haven’t told me what I get to blow up.”

I grin. “I don’t know yet. But I wanted to give you the heads-up, so you’ve got eyes on him if he turns up at Pigalle. When it comes to pricks like Lowbridge, it’s only a matter of time before the bullets start flying.”

“Ah, you’re such a tease, Macarthur.” Paddy raises his glass to me. “But at least you drink the decent stuff. And I suppose I can always keep myself occupied throwing Charlie down on a daily basis.” He raises his hands in mock surrender at my frown. “On the mat, cock, I was talking about throwing her down on the mat.”

“Yeah, well. Keep it that way. I don’t need the headache.”

“Is that right, now?” He gives me a knowing look. “I wouldn’t have thought it was that end of your body that was suffering, so close to the lovely Miss Melikov. And what’s with you taking personal protection jobs? You never take the private clients.Especially one so”—seeing my warning expression, he quickly moderates whatever he was going to say—“unique.”

Unique.That’s a word.

Smokeshow.That’s another.

Fucking torture, that would be a third. Or is that a fourth?

“Well, so.” Sitting back in his chair, Paddy stares at me with a distinct gleam in his eye. “Notyour lady, is it?” He nods sardonically. “Sure, Macarthur. If you say so.”

I fix him with as steely a gaze as I can manage. “Zinaida’s a client, Paddy.”

“Aye. Grand. Sure she is.” He signals the waitress, still grinning. “Two cognacs, darling,” he says, flashing her the smile that for some reason I will never fathom seems to melt the hardest of women.

The waitress delivers our drinks. She bends down to whisper something in Paddy’s ear that makes his smile even wider.

“Am I going to get enough time to actually drink my cognac before you disappear to shag that poor girl in the cellar?” I say resignedly as she walks away.

“Drink fast, lad.” Paddy raises his glass to me with a shit-eating grin. “That waitress isn’t going to take herself home, and unlike you, blue balls really aren’t my thing.”