Ice Storm - Anne Stuart [41]
“You put out a termination order on him. If that had been fulfilled he wouldn’t have been around, anyway.”
“I was precipitous. Operatives like Bastien Toussaint don’t show up that often.” Thomason glanced down at Peter’s bad leg. “He never made mistakes.”
Peter had wanted to kill Sir Harry for a long time, and the reasons just kept multiplying. But Isobel wouldn’t like him bloodying her office, and he counted it a good test of his sangfroid to see how far Thomason could push him.
Besides, the old man was out of shape, smoked and drank—a walking heart attack. “I’ll get Reno down here,” Peter said in a dulcet tone.
“Reno? I thought he had a Japanese name…which we ought to change. Maybe some plastic surgery to fix his eyes.”
Peter’s mood had lightened considerably. At least this was something he was going to enjoy. He strolled back into his office, picked up the encoded cell phone and punched in a few letters. Reno was slavishly devoted to text messaging, and able to type faster than most court stenographers, even in a foreign language. He’d appear in a moment, and Thomason could enjoy him in all his glory.
In the meantime, Sir Harry could either sit alone in Isobel’s office or come out here to badger him. Either way, Peter would win.
Thomason emerged just as Peter heard the clatter of Reno’s high-heeled, pointy-toed boots on the staircase outside. His old boss looked distressed.
“Is that our new operative? Because he needs to learn to be a little quieter. You can’t just announce your presence—you need to blend in, become a ghost, as you did, Peter.”
“Not everyone needs to work that way. Bastien was never invisible.”
“No, but he knew how to immerse himself in his character. Damned pretty boy should have been an actor,” Harry grumbled. “He didn’t have the stones for the job.”
Peter just looked at Thomason. They both knew perfectly well just how efficiently cold-blooded Bastien Toussaint could be when called upon.
Reno punched in the security number in the keypad outside, pushing open the door without hesitating, and Peter leaned back in his chair, prepared to enjoy himself.
For once in his life Harry Thomason was struck dumb, and if for nothing else, Peter felt suddenly in charity with his new recruit. Reno was dressed in black leather, a lime-green T-shirt the only color besides his flame-red hair. He was wearing his omnipresent sunglasses, but when he saw Thomason he pushed them up, exposing his aquamarine-tinted eyes and the tattooed drops of blood on his high cheekbones.
“Who’s the old dude?” he asked in a bored tone.
There was a reason Thomason had never been an operative. He had a singular inability to hide his reactions, and the sight of Reno was almost enough to send him into shock. As it was, he simply sank into a chair, staring at him in horror.
“Harry Thomason, this is our new recruit, known to all and sundry as Reno. And this is a member of the overseer board of the Committee, the man who used to be in charge of all this.”
Reno looked him up and down with withering contempt. “I know who he is. Taka told me.” He dismissed him, turning back to Peter. “What do you want?”
“How’s the English coming? Better, I see.”
“Fuck that,” Reno said. “Where’s Isobel?”
“Madame Lambert,” Peter corrected.
“Fuck that,” Reno said again. “This old fart know where she is?”
Thomason was looking apoplectic. “I haven’t the faintest idea where she is, young man, and I’ll have you know—”
“Later,” Reno said. And he was gone, his boots clattering up the iron stairs once more.
Thomason had turned a satisfying red color, but it was already fading. No heart attack today, unfortunately, Peter thought. “That’s Hiromasa Shinoda, Taka’s cousin. He’s quite smart, once you get past his appearance.”
“Get rid of him,” Sir Harry gasped. “Send him back to Japan or wherever the hell he came from. We can’t use a freak like that.”
“Oh, I think he might be very useful indeed, sir,” Peter said, enjoying himself. “And that decision will be up