Page 74 of The Bronze Garza

Make that two hours.

We’d tried to extricate ourselves around the ninety-minute mark, but as cold and dry as my date is, everyone seems to want a piece of him, like he’s the guest of honor or something.

I’m on my second glass of champagne, have taken at least three bathroom breaks, and my feet are starting to hurt. Torin must feel the restlessness vibrating off me, because he dips his mouth to my ear and whispers, “I’m trying.”

“Try harder,” I whisper back. “By the way, you suck at schmoozing.”

“If I’m so bad at it, then why’s it so hard for me to leave?”

“Because people like mystery, you dumb dumb,” I say, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “They’re intrigued by your zero-fucks-given attitude.”

“I ever tell you you’re sexy when you swear?”

“See, most men would tell menotto swear.”

“I’m not most men.”

“No shit.”

“Yep.Sexy.”

I roll my eyes in an attempt to hide my blush. “Just hurry up and get us out of here.”

It takes another half hour before we’re able to successfully peel away, and only because I started to feign lightheadedness. One man follows us all the way out, and talks incessantly as we wait for the valet, despite Torin’s monosyllabic responses.

“Who are you?” I ask Torin once we’ve finally made it into the jeep and are on the go.

“What?”

“Aren’t you just a commando type P.I.?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t understand. What aboutthatmakes you so revered in the one-percenter crowd?”

His gaze narrows on the road as he navigates the vehicle off the property, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel.He’s thinking.

After several long minutes, he says, “Ray—my step-dad—didn’t die in an accident like I told you. He was murdered.”

“What? Why did you—”

“Just listen, ‘cause I’ve never talked about this and won’t ever again,” he talks over me. “His death was made to look like an accident, but it wasn’t. After giving half his life to serving in the military, he was recruited into working for a secret government organization. He did dangerous work. Handled extremely sensitive information. Using his P.I. business as a front.

“When he was leaving for that last job, he told me, ‘You know everything. I’ve given you everything. They’re watching you. And when you’re ready, they’ll come to you.’ I’d no idea what he meant, but I was used to him speaking in cryptics. It was as if he knew he wouldn’t be coming back. He was killed on that job.

“Fast forward several years later after doing three tours, I’d just bought the building to start up Red Cage…that’s when they came to me. Can’t divulge more, but to answer your question: I do more than ‘commando-type P.I.’ work. In exchange for certain...’services’, I’m able to make things…happen. Within reason.

“The organization I’m with, it’s not a choice for me. They pick you. Inherited in some cases. It’s either be a part of it or cease to exist.” He slides me a side glance. “Don’t tell me you believe any random ‘P.I.’ would be able to set up shop in Russia, of all places, and assume a fake-legit identity for that long.”

“I’ve always wondered…”

“After finding your location, I’d told Henderson I wouldn’t be able to get you out only because I didn’t want to turn to the organization for help. But Henderson was determined. He had no other options. The organization doesn’t just hand over favors. It’s always something for something. I had to do three separate jobs in Russia for them as ‘Marvin Marino’ before they fulfilled their end of the bargain. That’s why it took so long to get you out.”

Wow. I wasnotexpecting any of that. But now that I think about it, it all makes sense, doesn’t it? Why all those powerful rich men would be yipping at his heels. And my rescue in Russia—fake identities, fake deaths, men at his command, a waiting jet... Nope, that’s definitely not the work of any old P.I.

“So, um, these services you exchange are dangerous? Like, what happened with Ray could happen to you?”

“Yes.”