Peyton Riley Read Online Free Page A

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    " We believe ?" said Peyton. "You're not sure?"
    "Well, you don't exactly go out and post an ad on Craigslist when you're selling art, Peyton. But Gustave believes—and so do I—that she has it."
    "What do we know about Anja?"
    "Not much," said Carson, licking his lips. "She just came out of nowhere with the O'Keefe sale. There are rumors—daughter of a Russian oligarch and a Jewish heiress, or maybe it was the other way around? Anyway. All we know is that she's here, now, and that she's near to closing a deal for the Magraith."
    "Do we know who's buying?"
    He fished out a slip of paper from the folder. It was a clipping from a Dutch newspaper, surmounted with a photo of a man with a high forehead and wide, clear eyes. "That's Anders Van Der Luyden. Mechanical engineer, branched out into robotics and precision electronics. He has a science start-up."
    "Agile Tech," said Peyton, the name clicking in her memory. "Yeah, I've heard of that—something in the news about floating cars?"
    "Yeah, the personal hovercraft," said Carson. "Nice stunt to get capital. They've got a lot of tech in development, but what's been getting investors excited is a military-grade pinpoint tracking system. Talk is that it'll make GPS look like child's play." He spread the clipping along with the photos on the table. "It uses completely different tech than satellites, so, in theory, it is virtually un-traceable and impossible to hack.
    "Anyway. All that's beside the point. What's relevant to us is that Anders has a well-publicized taste for rare art, and the Magraith is right up his alley."
    She spread the photos toward her, running the details in her mind. Something niggled, like a sore that she could not stop poking at with her tongue. "And that's all that Gustave wants?" she asked. "Stop the sale of this painting?"
    "That's all."
    "And I'm free to go after?"
    "Well, assuming you don't want to stay back for a bit, hang out with me, catch the sights—" He broke off at her basilisk glare. "Yes, you're free to go after."
    She continued ruminating on the details, frowning and chewing on her lip, not noticing the effect she had on Carson, who was watching the movement of her mouth with a rapidly heating expression.
    "Why does he want to stop the sale so badly?"
    "Did you need to know that with your other projects?"
    She looked up and met his stare. "No. But I don't trust you."
    "And you trust your boss."
    She rubbed her shoulder. "I've been doing this for six years, Carson. Roi's never gotten me in trouble yet."
    He raised an incredulous eyebrow, and she sighed. "This situation is entirely my fault. If I hadn't fa–" she coughed to cover her words, but she was sure Carson had heard, because he now looked at her with molten eyes. "If you hadn't tricked me," she corrected, her voice sharp, "I wouldn't be in this mess."
    "You were going to say, 'if you hadn't fallen for me,'" he smirked.
    "Don't push your luck," she clenched her fists on the table.
    "Oh I won't." He raised his own hands. "I remember what you did to Leon."
    The memory of flipping the pervert over and the shock on the faces of their Cosa Imbah'i companions brought a slight smile on her face. "Good. You remember that."
    She lapsed into silence again, muttering every now and then as Carson watched. Finally, she stopped and walked to the window.
    "What we need," she said, "is leverage."
    He followed her. "And how do we do that?"
    She turned to him. "Surveillance."

Chapter 5
     
    They sat in the Glass Owl café, a newspaper spread between them, the gray spring light spilling in from the window beside them. Across the street the door to the apartment building opened and closed, letting the stream of its occupants in and out.
    Peyton took a bite of her roll. "She's late."
    "She had a late night," said Carson, trying to suppress a smile.
    "You're such a dirty old man," said Peyton.
    "Well, you said we needed leverage." He hid a big smile behind the newspaper.
    Carson had bribed the café