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"Shh, keep your voice down. He’s been taking her everywhere lately."
"So what? It’s not like he looks at her like a woman."
We were in Sintra, at a luxury boutique. I pulled back the curtain of the dressing room.
I was used to simple linen clothes; this evening gown felt like a suit of armor. I stood there, awkward and fidgeting.
The man on the leather sofa looked me over with shameless intensity.
"Exquisite," he remarked.
I grabbed his sleeve. "Mr. Thorne, where are we going today?"
He gave me a cryptic smile.
...
I looked up at the gold sign: "The Gilded Heron."
It was a palace of a restaurant, dripping in Old World luxury.
We were led to the most private VIP suite. I let out a "foolish" gasp of wonder.
Then, my eyes landed on the man standing by the window.
"Mr. Beaumont, thank you for coming all this way," Cyrus said, shaking the man’s hand.
I deduced that this "Mr. Beaumont" was a wealthy financier.
Cyrus was likely short on cash after the recent skirmish.
During dinner, Cyrus gave me free rein. He explained to Beaumont that I was "slow."
Beaumont raised an eyebrow, surprised that Cyrus Thorne would keep a fool as a companion.
Halfway through, I complained of being bored and asked to go play.
Cyrus didn't even look up as he adjusted my collar.
"Don't wander off. If you bump into the wrong person, I’ll have to pay with my life to get you back, understand?"
Of course, he was the most dangerous person in the region.
I wandered over to a decorative rock garden near the restrooms. I
t was a blind spot with low foot traffic. He would understand the signal.
Sure enough, a few minutes later, a figure in white leaned against the stone next to me.
"Captain, you look pretty sharp in that tuxedo," I whispered, watching the water feature.
Yes—"Mr. Beaumont" was my Captain. He had been undercover in the region for six months, both to receive my intel and to get close to Cyrus.
"What’s your take on him, seeing him up close?" I asked.
The Captain frowned.
"He’s not what I expected. Too young, too polished. No obvious thuggery. If I didn't know he was a monster, I’d think I was having dinner with a Rhodes Scholar."
Cyrus Thorne was a master of the mask. Gentle, quiet, with eyes that could look at a dog with soulful depth.
That’s why there was a never-ending line of women trying to get into his bed.
I gave the Captain a quick brief on Cyrus’s movements. Suddenly, the Captain gave me a sharp look.
I went silent and turned around.
There, under the stone archway, stood Cyrus Thorne in his black suit, idly turning a silver coin in his hand.
He was watching us.
