Page 36 of Villainous Mind

“She stole the story from me,” he said nervously.

I laughed. “She’s bright. She just outsmarted you. You were wrong to put your name on her work.”

“I didn’t do it. My editor insisted,” he said.

“And you didn’t have the backbone to say no. That it was wrong.” I pushed the sleeves up on the old Henley I wore. “So here you are, having taken credit for a story you didn’t write and getting a second chance. Navy told me you are still going to pursue the secret society angle.”

“I-I-I’m looking at all possibilities,” he said.

“Well, let’s put that one to rest. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, starting with your Uncle Leonard being in a secret society.”

He pulled his field notebook out to take notes. “What’s the name?”

“No name, and what I tell you is off the record. I don’t want to see it in tomorrow’s paper. My explanation is actually quite dull,” I said. “But first, I’ll get us a drink.” I motioned to Owen behind the bar. “Two whiskies.”

He nodded.

“Navy, she’s not as innocent as she makes out,” Sam said, putting his notebook away.

“Oh, I don’t think she’s innocent. On the contrary, I think she’s had to do what she had to do to get by in life.”

Owen brought our whiskies over, setting them down on the table. “The Macallan Twenty-Five.”

“Thanks, Owen.” He carried it in the pub for me, locking the bottle in his safe at night in his office. It was the Rolls-Royce of single malts. I took a sip, savoring the smoky chocolate orange hints. It would be a waste on the fool before me. “Cheers,” I said. “Here’s to Sir Leonard.”

“Cheers,” he repeated.

“Your uncle and I belonged to a group. Have you heard of the annual Bilderberg meeting?”

“Of course I have,” he quipped as if I had insulted him. “The press is banned from attending.”

“Well, think of that but on a smaller scale, with only the UK. Each country is represented. It’s rich boys exaggerating their power and boosting up their egos. Rather underwhelming. No human sacrifice. No kidnapping young girls.”

I raised my brow at him, motioning for him to drink. He picked up his glass and downed the contents. Challenge accepted. I looked at Owen, ordering two more.

“How often do you meet?” he asked.

“Once a year in an undisclosed location,” I said.

“And what do you discuss?”

Owen set our glasses down. I picked mine up, finishing it in one gulp, and motioned for him to do the same. He acquiesced. His head would be spinning soon. It was eighty-six proof. Vortigern’s dragon blood wasn’t affected by alcohol. What I wouldn’t do to feel pissed at times, but no matter how much I drank, I never got inebriated. I held my thumb and pointer finger up, ordering two more.

“I’m good,” Sam said.

“One more, mate.”

“What do you discuss?” he asked again.

“Current events, the economy, politics.”

“Hmm, why is it so secret?” he asked.

Our drinks came. “Bottom’s up,” I said before we drank them. “It’s secret because it makes it more interesting. Anything else?”

“No,” he said, deflated.

“Good. Then you can go back to London.”