First You Run
“Amused and curious, Lucy Sharpe obliged.
“The client on the diamond drop sent me an e-mail last night,” she told him, clicking through her BlackBerry for the message from the Dutch jewel trader. “He said you performed the job flawlessly and has requested you as his Bullet Catcher escort next month, when he plans to deliver another forty million dollars’ worth of…” She smiled as she read the rest. “Useless overpriced carbon to the jewelers of the world.”
Fletch chuckled, deepening a set of heartbreak dimples. “He’s a good bloke, that Maurice Keizer.”
“He’s also one of our very best clients. I’ve already e-mailed him back that you will be assigned to him next month.” She set the device on the desk. “I’m delighted with your work for him, and for the company, Fletch.”
He tested the fortitude of Lucy’s Louis XVI salon chair with a backward tilt of six-foot-one, two hundred pounds of sinew and muscle.
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