Chapter 1

1

It was snowing in New Amsterdam. Big, fat, flakes fell from a low ceiling of black clouds and covered the empty patios behind The Magnolia Hotel. In more seasonable weather, the patios were open to guests at Leaf, the hotel’s five-star restaurant, but for now, a mere two weeks before Christmas, the outdoor dining area was a graveyard, the tables and chairs tombstones of good meals past.

“More wine, sir?”

Without taking his eyes off the bank of windows that made up Leaf’s rear wall, Lucian Edward Gray waved a hand at John, one of the attentive waiters who usually served him when he conducted business here. Lucian’s glass was still half-full of the driest red wine Leaf’s winery had to offer, and he had no intention of drowning his anxiety in alcohol to the point that it dulled his wits. He would need every single scrap of the considerable intelligence he possessed for this evening’s meeting and possibly more than the reserve could spare.

“Very good. Will we have the pleasure of serving your guest soon?”

“Soon enough,” Lucian answered in the slow, modulated tone he used to ensure the lisp that had haunted him in childhood didn’t betray him in adulthood. It was easy enough to manage now, and he’d stopped hating the idea that his ornate, sometimes magniloquent way of speaking was his father’s doing. The man had once said Lucian’s tongue would be cheap pine and never stately silver. Such a pity his foresight was poorer than a simpleton’s use of metaphor.

“We agreed to six-thirty, but he’ll be late.” Lucian lovingly watched winter craft icicles, their points stabbing toward the slate lining the courtyard.

“Very well,” said John.

“Is it?” Lucian asked, absently inquisitive.

“I’m sure I don’t know for certain, sir,” John recovered smoothly, and Lucian gave him points for grace. “Shall I have anything prepared for his arrival?”

Lucian slowly spun his wine glass on the linen tablecloth. He knew what his guest drank for all meals of the day. He knew what his guest sipped for comfort in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep, and so of course he knew what his oldest friend would want when forced to dine at Leaf among the high-class humanity he usually avoided like the plague.

“Jack Daniels, gold label, on ice with a glass of water, bottled.” Lucian paused, an image of a skinny kid wearing a rumpled Academy uniform, tie undone and shirt tail mostly untucked, floating through Lucian’s mind like a ghost. “And he’ll likely need a suit jacket. Never was much on social conformity.”

“Of course, sir. Would you know the size, perchance?”

“Thirty-eight long,” Lucian replied, thinking of lean lines and tan skin.

“I’ll see that it’s done, sir,” John said with a nod.

John vanished, and Lucian sipped his wine, hardly tasting it. He smoothed fingertips over the shining flatware and finally glanced at the small box sitting on the bench next to him. It was professionally wrapped, the midnight blue paper thick enough to need special tape to hold its shape. The bow was silver and constructed from ribbon in complicated loops and twirls. Lucian traced an edge, and barely stopped himself from running for the exit and backing out of the entire evening. The excuses would be unpleasant business, however, and might suggest Lucian had made an error by setting up the date in the first place. Obviously, that couldn’t happen.

Lucian sighed. He checked the time on his cell phone and slid out of the booth. He buttoned his dark gray suit jacket while he walked toward the men’s room, and he acknowledged a handful of the appreciative stares or bids for his attention from men and women alike. None of them were high enough on the city’s food chain to deserve a nod from Lucian, son of the infamous corrupt Mayor Hendrick Gray, and none of them were involved in any of Lucian’s side affairs. Not the clubs, not the charity work, and certainly not the night job. That was one of the many nice things about Leaf—legitimacy lingered in the air.

In this town and in this life, however, everybody wanted something: information, connection, money, power. Lucian only rarely had incentive to provide such favors for free, and only a flaming idiot would try to take something from Lucian he did not wish to give. He reached the men’s room without incident and reminded himself not to let paranoia trump good sense as he shoved open the door.

“Good evening,” said the restroom attendant, and Lucian tipped his chin in greeting. He walked to the farthest sink, let the automatic tap run, and stared into the mirror. Wide-set, nearly colorless eyes in an expressionless face regarded him. Sometimes blue, sometimes steel, they reflected what Lucian wore, and tonight they shone darker above the deep gray jacket, black shirt, and pale lavender tie. Lucian’s eyebrows were waxed to a hair’s perfection, his cheekbones prominent, and jawline inherited from his father’s side of the family. His waist-length dark brown hair was without split end, the shortest layer falling just beneath his chin. He examined every pore of clean-shaven pale skin for a flaw that didn’t exist thanks to continuous upkeep, and finally satisfied, he accepted hand soap from the attendant.