Hal strode through the hotel, confident he was about to meet Mint’s mother for a little afternoon delight. I sat at the bar and watched him pass. Over the past few weeks, Camille had spent several minutes—seventeen in fact—of our alone time texting Mint and reassuring him that his home situation would get better and that he wasn’t alone.

My caring, amazing Camille. Of course she would do anything in her power to try and help the kid. But those stolen minutes they spent texting were mine. If I grumbled about it, Camille would just laugh and tell me I was the “cutest possessive psycho” she ever met. But I was much more than a psycho. I was a problem solver.

Timothy leaned against the wall near the elevator, a black messenger bag strapped around him. I gave him a nod, and he followed Hal into the carriage. That was my cue. I paid my tab and rose, smoothing my tie and striding toward the elevator bank. A few minutes later, I entered a cheap room on the second floor.

Hal, a black bag over his head and his hands zip-tied behind his back, sat on the bed. His large stomach pressed against the buttons of his dress shirt and gave him a decidedly Humpty Dumpty appearance.

Timothy dug in his bag and littered the bed with giant dildos, lube, and a delightful selection of anal beads. He pulled out Hal’s wallet and flipped his ID onto the bedspread, then took a few pics.

I checked my watch. An hour left before I had to be in Trenton to surprise Camille for lunch. Plenty of time to get my message across to Hal. I could have just fired him, but that wouldn’t have been a thorough solution to the problem. Hell, unemployment might make him cling even more tightly to Mint’s mother. This was the right plan. No nuance necessary.

Hal huffed, his breath coming out through his nose in rapid bursts. The tape over his mouth seemed to be doing its job. I slapped him in the back of the head and he squealed beneath the tape. This would be easy.

“Hal, I know everything about you—where you live, your net worth, your credit score, your family tree, the combination to the hidden safe in the floor beneath your bed, how many pieces of bread are in the half loaf in your pantry—eleven, by the way.”

He cocked his head, listening intently to every word.

I leaned close. “More importantly, I know you’re screwing your brother’s wife.”

He shook and made “mmf” noises beneath the tape.

“Don’t deny it, Hal.” I slapped him in the back of his head again, eliciting another pathetic squeal. “Nod if you admit you’re fucking your brother’s wife.”

He froze, then slowly nodded.

“That creates a problem in your life, her life, and the lives of people who have any connection to your lives. That includes my life.” I gripped the fabric of the black hood and twisted it in my fist. “I don’t like your mistakes interfering with my life. Not one bit, Hal.”

He groaned and tried to lean away from me.

I yanked him forward. “So we’re going to fix this right now. Sound good?”

He nodded against my grip.

“Good.” I let go and patted him on the head.

“You are going to stay away from your brother’s wife. You will tell her it’s over. And you will make sure it is. If you try to meet her, talk to her, tell you her you miss her, or so much as sneeze in her fucking direction, I’ll drag you right back here to have this conversation all over again.”

Timothy pressed the harmless back of a knife blade to Hal’s throat.

I walked to the door. “But next time, I’ll let the knife do the talking.”

Hal shrieked beneath the tape, and his entire body shook.

“Oh, and if you mention this little interlude to anyone, photos of you will make the rounds amongst all your friends and business associates. Apparently, you’re into some seriously kinky kidnap fantasies, big black dildos, and anal play the likes of which is only to be found in the most adventurous of fetish circles.”

I gave Timothy a nod. He shoved Hal sideways on the bed and followed me to the door.

We returned to the front desk and slid over a wad of bills to the assistant concierge. She’d make sure any video of us on the property was never found, just in case Hal decided to do something stupid.

“What if he recognized your voice?” Timothy slid into the back of the waiting limo with me.

I smiled. “I hope he suspects me. When I see him at Lindstrom, I want him to be jumpy, worried, and—most of all—I want him to walk the straight and narrow. I think the fear of it being me will assist with all those things. He can’t prove it, but some part of him will know, and he’ll be afraid. Perfect.”

Timothy laughed. “Brilliant.”

After a while, he turned to me, a quizzical expression on his face. “But what if it doesn’t work?”

I smirked. “Have I ever told you the story about my neighbor’s pet rooster?”