Page 11 of The Last Kingdom

Christophe lunged forward. But Luke was ready, sidestepping the advance and jamming his knee into the other man’s gut, doubling him over.

“We can keep this up all night,” he said. “Your choice.”

He knew only he and Christophe carried guns. So he’d kept one eye on Lexi to make sure she didn’t make a beeline toward the weapon lying a few feet away.

Smartly, she’d not moved.

“Look,” Luke said. “What happened back there was a tough one. We had to make some quick calls. You decided to smash that desk open. I decided to scare the guy with the camera. We got the book and the camera. So let’s call it a win.”

He hoped that letting them know they were all on the same team would give them pause.

Christophe slowly stood, struggling for breath. “All…right. Even.”

Luke decided to hedge his bets and found the gun on the ground. Which he’d keep. For now. No sense being foolish. Bad enough that the operation had gone haywire, he could not afford to totally alienate the people he needed to be friends with. But he also wasn’t going to be pegged a weakling either.

They headed for the car.

He glanced back out across the lake. No sign of any activity. No cops. No more boats. Just the ferry’s lights bobbing in the darkness. Pappy was out there, on the lake. Doing something. What? He had no idea. But he appreciated it nonetheless.

They all climbed into the car.

He knew where they were headed.

Munich.

The prince awaited.

Chapter 6

Munich, Germany

6:20P.M.

STEFAN VON BAYERN LOVED HOOKERS. WHAT HE HATED WAS FINDINGthem. Prostitution had been legal in Germany for over a hundred years. But that didn’t make the task any easier.

Especially for a man in his position.

Women for sale could be found in apartments all over town, even in areas where brothels were expressly prohibited. But there were also porn theaters, tea clubs, escort services, and, of course, the ever-popular online connection. He particularly avoided anylaufhaus, where you walked the halls to see who was available, then headed for a room.

Way too much exposure.

The open clubs were not much better. Guests and girls mingled around the bar or the pool or in a sauna, then headed for the private rooms. Street walkers were the riskiest, standing on the sidewalk or displayed in windows for all to see. Most were also unwilling participants, working out of some personal necessity. He had a rule. Never force himself onto anyone, whether directly or indirectly.

The private clubs offered a clear measure of discretion where a madam rode herd, the main advantage being those women were definitely there by choice, professionals, eager to please, appreciative of the money.

Willing participants.

And he’d frequented more than one club across Munich.

But the independent contractors were the best. All professionals too. Women who advertised for customers on their own. Strictly a one-on-one arrangement that offered a huge measure of privacy. No other people to be seen or be seen by. It was even better when they came to you.

Like now.

This evening’s choice had been particularly skilled. A lean, thin blonde from Avignon, now living in Germany. He’d told her what he wanted and she’d delivered. And the best thing was that it all came with no attachments. Pay and play. No questions. No issues. A simple oral contract.

In more ways than one.

“Your money is there, on the dresser,” he said, pointing.

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