“He acts like a lord taking stock of his vassals,” the woman beside me huffed. Flawless makeup hid much, but she’d been used often and badly.
“I think of him more as a shepherd looking over his flock.”
“You mean they’d follow him anywhere?”
“I mean if they scattered, he’d never get them back.”
Not that I blamed Val for having no control over those in attendance. Young, rich, and frequently bored, they waited for someone to break their social code, so they could turn on the heretic.
I sat at the bar, not so out of place as to be obvious, but someone was bound to notice I didn’t belong. Lucky me, that person was Val. He gave me a crooked smile and approached, all perfect lines and animal grace. I’d waited years for this moment, not that he knew it.
“Catalina,” he purred. “Lovely to see you again.”
“Percival Weatherstone.”
“How might I serve you?” He gave a mock bow, complete with flourish.
“I think it’s my turn.” I reached into my purse, pulled out a letter, and slapped it on his chest. “Consider yourself served.”
He tossed it aside. “After all we meant to each other, how could you treat me as a job?”
“It was just sex, Val.” Spectacular sex, actually. “I’m a constable, and tonight you are my job. Good luck.”
I left him, mouth agape, and smiled all the way home. He never could stand his charms being ignored.
The chase was on.
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Written for the Thursday Threads challenge.
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