Part 8 (2/2)
Ross knew he wouldn't be able to stand it if her next move was to lick the remaining ice cream from the plate. It would bring to mind too many other uses for that tongue.
”Would you like another dessert?” He asked, arching his eyebrows at her.
Mo dropped the fork and it clinked noisily as it landed on the plate. ”No, I would not.” Her tone was indignant. ”But thanks a lot for implying that I'm fat.”
”I did not imply any such thing. To the contrary. You have no need to diet...and I already told you that you're quite beautiful.” Ross immediately regretted revealing so much.
”Thank you.” Mo smiled. ”But for the final time, I am not going to take you with me to talk to Clarence. Plying me with fattening deserts is not going to get me to agree to compromise my ethics. Flattery will not work either.”
Her words catapulted his mind into thoughts of the compromising positions Ross would like to contort Mo into. The urge to strangle Mo was quickly slipping away to be replaced by a craving to spank the brat. Hmmmm. The right type of spanking could be ideal.
”What do your ethics have to do with it?” he asked.
”I don't know what explanation Clarence is going to give for the car break-in thing. What if he reveals confidential client information? It would be unethical for you to hear that kind of information.”
”I could go with you and wait outside. You talk to Clarence first. You can sort out the confidential information and let me in on the rest.”
Mo tilted her head. ”That might work.”
Ross pressed his advantage. ”We don't know for certain that thug isn't connected to the a.s.signment. Things could get dodgy. What if Gigantor comes back and you're alone?”
”I guess you have a point,” she admitted with a frown. ”In that case, it might be wise to have more backup available.”
Ross felt a jab right in his ego. Mo evidently thought he wouldn't be able to protect her. Her hand slid on his as it rested atop the restaurant table. The contact sent waves of tingling sensation up his arm.
”I just meant that I don't want you to get beat-up again,” she added.
With that uppercut to the chin his ego crashed down and he jerked his hand away. ”Brilliant. Just brilliant.”
A couple of elderly women at the next table seemed to be taking particular interest in their conversation. One pointed at him surrept.i.tiously while whispering to the other. Ross thought he heard the word ”Dagger”.
”I didn't mean anything insulting. That guy was so big anybody would...” Mo tried to explain.
The second elderly woman started scrounging around in her purse and finally came out with a pen and paper. She looked at Ross and then whispered behind her hand to her friend.
”b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l.” Ross stood. He reached in his pocket before coming out with a money-clipped wad of cash. He drew out several bills and then threw them down on the table. ”I'm coming with you to meet with Clarence.” He pulled Mo out of her chair. ”Let's go. I'll drive. We can come back for your Mini later.”
For once the minx didn't argue with him as she followed him to the car.
Chapter Six.
”Life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness,” Kubikov said, addressing the five men opposite him in his deep, heavily accented voice. A sun's ray glistened on the s.h.i.+mmering surface of the Koi pond. He reclined back into the patio chair and pushed dark sungla.s.ses into place on the bridge of his nose. ”They are the rights from the const.i.tution of this country, yes?”
”Da,” said one man.
Kubikov grimaced and looked at the sky. ”That is rhetorical question, Ivan.”
Ivan's unibrow crinkled in confusion.
”Bruno.” Kubikov spoke to the smallest of the five. ”Explain to Ivan what rhetorical means.”
Bruno s.h.i.+fted from his right foot to his left and looked to the man at his side-a blond farm boy type-who shrugged. Bruno turned back to Kubikov. ”I'm not sure, boss,” he said with a squeaky southern drawl.
”Geerya.” Kubikov pressed an index finger to the bridge of his nose. The dumbos in his employ were giving him an aneurism. ”A rhetorical question is one that doesn't need an answer.”
”Da.” Ivan nodded.
But from the blank expression on his face, Kubikov could tell that Ivan didn't understand.
Kubikov shook his head. ”Why do I have to work with morons?”
Bruno hurried to answer, ”Maybe 'cause-”
”That is also rhetorical, Geerya.”
Bruno pursed his lips shut and nodded. The other four copied the motion.
”Now. Where was I?” Kubikov asked. ”Ah yes. My happiness. I am in the pursuit of my happiness.”
”Yes, sir.” The five men spoke in unison.
Kubikov jumped up and stretched to his full Napoleonically short height. ”That wasn't even a question. Shut up and listen to what I say.”
”Yes, sir.”
A tirade of obscenities erupted from Kubikov and he stamped a tiny-for a man-foot. ”I say shut up,” he shouted, pulling a Glock from a holster he wore as a belt above the waistband of his shorts. ”I'm going to shoot the first one who says one more word. So don't say anything, Khaarasha? Okay?”
”Okay,” said Bruno, twitching nervously.
”What did I just say?” Kubikov demanded.
Kubikov fired the Glock into the ground near the man's feet. A fragment of cement splintered, flew up and struck Bruno's bare forearm, drawing blood. The thug pressed a hand over his mouth to suppress a cry of pain.
”Now, shut up,” Kubikov shouted again.
”Yuri,” a high-pitched voice called from the interior of the house through the open sliding gla.s.s door. ”Don't you shoot near that pond. It cost a fortune to replace the filter pump the last time.”
Kubikov ignored his wife's shriek and sat down again. ”I have the right to preserve my life and my liberty. Praveelnee?” He stared at the men expectantly. ”Correct?”
There was absolute silence for long seconds.
”Right?” He waved the gun at them.
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