A chill crawled up my spine.
I was distracted by the soft murmur of voices filtering through the door, and I frowned, not liking the idea of him having company, until I realized they were coming from a television.
Mark Vincent, watching the idiot box? Who would have thought?
After a few seconds, I put my finger back on the bell and left it there.
Abruptly the hairs on the nape of my neck stiffened. I was being observed. “Don’t keep me waiting out in the hall, Vincent.” I smiled as the distorted eye watched me through the peephole and raised my hands to show that all I carried was the bottle of Pol Roger. “I’m sure you can see I’m unarmed.”
I could hear him turning the deadbolts to unlock it, and when the door swung open, I sauntered past him, handing him the champagne and ignoring the Glock he held.
“All right, I’ve let you in. Mind telling me to what I owe the honor?”