Hidden Away - Maya Banks

Maya Banks - KGI #3 - Hidden Away

Hidden Away (KGI #3)
Maya Banks

CHAPTER 1

THERE were any number of men who would do any job Marcus Lattimer wanted done. He’d amassed a fortune and countless connections during his lifetime, most of which were steeped in murky shades of gray. The men directly employed by Lattimer were absolute in their loyalty—he would tolerate no less—but he never allowed himself to fully trust anyone.

Some jobs ... Some jobs demanded personal satisfaction. This one was a matter of honor. Others might argue that Marcus had none. By their definition, they’d be right. But he was bound by a fierce loyal code. His honor was what mattered.

Allen Cross was an arrogant, coattail-riding asshole. The world would be a better place without his kind of filth, and Marcus was determined that the task would be completed this day.

Marcus attached the silencer and tucked the gun into the waist of his slacks. Drawing the Armani suit coat closed, he left the confines of his car and instructed his driver to wait. He walked at an unhurried pace toward the entrance of the high-rise that housed Cross Enterprises. Around him the city lights twinkled in the darkening of dusk, and headlights from passing cars bounced along the alleyways.

The streets were mostly empty and the building barren of the weekday horde of employees who scurried in and out with regularity. He paused a short distance from the entrance and checked his watch. The security guard that manned the front entrance on the weekends was a family guy and, like most family guys, had a moderate amount of debt and stretched his budget from payday to payday.

After tonight, the guard wouldn’t have the financial worries of others in his class. Marcus had seen to that. Right now, the guard would take a strategic break from his post, and at the same moment, the surveillance cameras would go down.

Money bought many things. Loyalty. Disloyalty. A blind eye. A moment’s distraction. Fifteen minutes was all Marcus needed to rid the world of Allen Cross.

Cross was a creature of habit. He came into his offices every Saturday after seven and remained until nine P.M., when his car service collected him and drove him to the same restaurant ten blocks away. He liked the few hours of solitude to go over paperwork—but what he perhaps liked the most was the freedom to victimize a helpless woman with impunity.

Marcus’s jaw tightened in fury. Predictability killed a man. As Cross was about to find out.

Marcus rode the elevator to the twenty-first floor and stepped onto the cheap, fake Italian marble flooring, his shoes issuing a faint echo as he walked through the empty reception area.

The door to Cross’s office was ajar, and a faint light shone through the crack. Marcus pushed at the door and let it slide soundlessly open. Cross was behind his desk, kicked back in his chair, a glass of wine in one hand as he read a sheaf of papers with the other.

Marcus watched, content to wait for his prey to become aware he was hunted.

After a moment, Cross set his glass down and leaned forward. He halted in mid-motion, and his head snapped up, his gaze locked on Marcus. Cross’s eyes widened in alarm and then he recovered, a sneer rolling over his lips.

“Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my office?”

Marcus strolled forward, his expression purposely bland as he loosened his coat. Cross rose, his hand inching toward the intercom on his desk.

“Get out or I’ll summon security.”

Marcus smiled. “I think you’ll find him unavailable.”

A flicker of unease