Page 48 of High-Priority Asset

The bartender threw him a disgruntled look. The crappy tip was less than 10 percent.

“All you did was pour,” he said.

She cocked a brow. “Without spitting in the glass first. I’ll be sure to remember you next time.”

Dutch picked up the rock glasses and walked back to the seating area, strategizing, his wits reined in tight.

Vargas shooed away a brunette who was in his lap and waved for Dutch to sit beside him.

Dutch handed him the drink as he lowered into the seat. They clinked glasses, and he took a sip. The smooth, silky heat slid down his throat.

That was what old and expensive tasted like.

“May I be frank with you?” Vargas asked.

“By all means. Cutting the crap will save us both time and energy. I’m nothing if not efficient.”

Vargas chuckled. “I appreciate your directness. My niece warned me that you’d speak freely, and I see that she was right. What do you know of the Vargas name in this area?”

Dutch shrugged. “Your niece owns an art gallery and you’re a big venture capitalist.”

“Where are you from? I can’t pinpoint your accent over the music.”

“I was born in New York City. Spent some time out in Chicago—”

“I’m going to cut to the chase... Dutch. To put it simply, we are royalty. My niece is a princess. Whereas you are a peasant. You aren’t good enough for her and have nothing of consequence to offer.”

Dutch sat up, setting his drink down. “What about companionship?”

“Isabel has a full life. She’s active in the community and has plenty of friends.”

“Not male friends who she feels safe around,” Dutch said, and Vargas straightened, his brows drawing together. “She’s leery of men.”

“As well she should. Guys tend to think with the little head between their legs, only interested in what they can get from a beautiful woman like Isabel. A night or two of pleasure. A bit of fun.”

Swallowing a groan, Dutch couldn’t believe how arrogant the man was, making such premature judgments based on nothing but his appearance. Vargas was the worst kind, valuing money and influence over kindness and decency.

“If all I wanted from your niece was a night of pleasure, I could’ve had that and moved on. Instead, I’ve shown her the utmost respect, which is what she deserves,” Dutch said, staying focused on Vargas as well as his surroundings. “I’m here tonight not because you wanted to meet me, but because I insisted on meeting you. Isabel is leery in the way a woman is when she’s been hurt by a man. Physically.”

Vargas uncrossed his legs and slammed his drink down on the table, spilling two-hundred-dollar scotch like it was well liquor. “What are you saying?”

From the corner of his eye, Dutch noticed the stocky guard distracted by a voluptuous woman in a glittering gold dress dancing beside him, flaunting her curves.

Then Dutch saw it. Someone trotting up the steps, hurried—cloaked in darkness. The person wore a funnel-neck hoodie. The thin material would appear stylish when pulled down, but raised, it’d obscure someone’s profile.

Too late, the guard turned and drew his gun.

The person threw something—overhand for added power and velocity. The blade struck perfectly, lodged in the bodyguard’s right eye. Staggering back, the guard dropped his gun to bring his hands to the knife and fell to his knees.

Fast, so fast, the killer reached the top of the landing and raced toward the seating area while digging into a pocket. Drawing another knife, he held it by the blade. White. Synthetic. Maybe plastic or some polymer that a metal detector would miss.

The hit man threw the knife at Vargas.

Chapter Fourteen

On pure instinct, Dutch grabbed Vargas and hauled him to the floor.

The sharp knife sliced into the back of the sofa where Vargas had been sitting, spraying feathers in the air.