The Prof Croft Series: Books 0-4 (Prof Croft Box Sets Book 1) by Brad Magnarella (best business books of all time txt) 📕

a slender shadow separated from the side of a building and began strolling toward us. The figure was dressed in a long black coat, formal shoes glinting beneath the streetlights. Vega and I turned our bodies to face him. When he had come to within a few feet of us, I recognized the monk’s bangs.

“Well,” Zarko said, “things have taken an interesting turn tonight, hmm?”

Vega drew her pistol and aimed it at his forehead—just what I was afraid she’d do. “Where’s my son?”

“Hey, c’mon,” I whispered. “We’re not going to get anywhere that way.”

“Your magic-wielding consultant is correct,” Zarko said, his lips forking into a grin. “Especially when I presently hold the cards.”

“Keep smiling, you piece of shit,” Vega said. “This thing’s packed with silver; not something your kind handles very well. Your buddies made a real mess of themselves in that tunnel under Madison Street.”

“Oh yes, a pity.” Zarko’s hand gestures and turns of phrase suggested Arnaud was present in every way but form. “I will miss them. Fortunately, there is no shortage of ambitious young men in this city.”

“Is he safe?” I asked.

“The detective’s son?” Zarko smiled. “For now.”

“Okay, you hold the cards,” I said with a hard breath. “Just tell us what we need to do to get him back.”

“My, that is a tricky one.” Zarko clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace, unconcerned by Vega’s pointed pistol. “I don’t take broken promises lightly, Mr. Croft. And can I assume you have disclosed our little agreement to the detective? So there they are: two broken promises.” He made a tsking sound. “And with a beautiful little boy at stake.”

“You lay a finger on him…” Vega warned, eyes narrowed.

Zarko stopped pacing and spun toward her. “Though I have every reason, Detective, I am going to show some humanity, as your kind calls it. I am going to exercise restraint.”

“What do we need to do?” I repeated.

“Well, it seems the first order of business is setting things to rights.”

I didn’t care for his chipper tone. “And how would we do that?”

“First, you’re going to drop this business with Ferguson Towers.” He showed a palm as I opened my mouth. “No more questions on the matter, Mr. Croft. I have told you all you need to know. Second, I have given you another lead, the name of a headmistress. I suggest you pick up there.”

“Now?” I said.

“The sooner the better.” His eyes cut to Vega. “For all concerned.”

“I need proof that he’s all right,” she said.

“Very well.” Zarko reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a smartphone. He spoke as he tapped. “This is a live feed, though the location will have to remain undisclosed, I’m afraid.”

Not wanting to interfere with the technology, I stood back as Zarko held the phone out for Vega. The screen showed Tony curled on a couch in an affluent-looking room, sound asleep. A colorful blanket over him rose and fell with his breaths, his lips sputtering slightly. The boy seemed safe—were it not for the shadows of blood slaves drifting shark-like around him.

Vega nodded once, and Zarko returned the phone to his pocket.

“So, I stay away from Ferguson Towers,” she said, still training the gun on him, “and I go interview this person, and you’ll return my son unharmed?”

“It will certainly go a long way toward straightening the mess your consultant here made of things,” Zarko replied. “After that, we’ll see where the situation stands, how adept you’ve proven yourselves.”

“Selves?” Vega said. “Unh-uh, he’s not coming with me.”

“I’m sorry,” Zarko said, “but you and the professor complement each other far too well. I insist you work together. Consider it another condition for your son’s release.”

“I need a guarantee you’ll keep your word,” Vega said.

“Oh, Detective. You of all people should know there are no such things as guarantees. Odds. Chances. Those are life’s precious currencies. You will improve both considerably if you get started now.”

I nodded, knowing it was the best deal we were going to get out of him. Vega sighed as though arriving at the same conclusion and lowered her pistol from the blood slave. But Zarko was no longer there.

22

“Look, I’m really sorry,” I said.

Vega’s gaze didn’t shift from I-495 East, down which we were barreling at over ninety miles an hour, lights flashing.

“You’re absolutely right,” I went on. “I should have told you about my deal with Arnaud.”

“Stop talking,” she said coldly.

“Like I said, I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“Did I stutter?”

“I just don’t want you to think—”

“I don’t give a shit about your feelings,” Vega cut in. “My only goal right now is getting my son back. Whether or not you meant to put him in jeopardy, you did. That’s the bottom line.”

I tapped my cane slowly between my shoes, eyes fixed on the dull opal.

“And when I do get him back,” she continued after several beats of awful silence, “you and I are done. No more consulting, no more calls. I don’t even want you stopping in to wish me a Merry Christmas.”

I struggled with something to say, but she was right about me, about everything.

“Are we clear?” she asked, glaring over at me for the first time.

A painful knot filled my throat. “Yeah.”

Twenty minutes later, we pulled into a semi-circular drive that delivered us to the front of the mansion-like school. Small floodlights illuminated white columns, dark-red brick, and sheets of English ivy.

As Vega and I stepped from the car, the paunchy security guard who had let us onto the grounds arrived in a golf cart. He hustled up the steps, a ring of keys jangling in his right hand. “Her room is going to be at the end of the main hall,” he said, opening the front door for us. “Last door on the left. Just be careful not to wake the students.”

Vega charged ahead without thanking him. I caught up to her at a door with a brass plate that read: Mrs. Poole, Headmistress.

Ignoring the security guard’s directive, Vega knocked