Chapter 8 #2
He had to wonder if the man had ever second-guessed his willingness to meet unscreened strangers for sexual exploits. Surely he knew there were a million ways that could go wrong even for someone who wasn’t adjacent to the world of art theft.
Then again, another member of their little underworld had speculated that Campeau was a psychopath.
The literal, textbook kind. While most people thought of psychopaths as the type to commit harm without remorse, and some of them were, there were other facets of psychopathy that weren’t as commonly known.
“I dated one once,” Vanessa Irwin had told Cole once back before she’d started hating him.
“He wasn’t mean or cruel, but he was an insatiable adrenaline junkie with zero fear.
I mean zero.” She’d taken a gulp of wine and shaken her head before adding, “He literally got banned from his skydiving club because on one jump, he waited until long after he should’ve opened his chute.
Freaked everyone out, and he just shrugged and told them he wanted to know what it felt like to wait until the last second.
” She’d paused, then added, “Sex with him was out of this world, though…”
Cole hadn’t needed to know that last part, but he’d never forgotten the part about the guy being a fearless thrill junkie.
In more recent years, he’d crossed paths with a few other suspected psychopaths (criminals who were possibly psychopaths?
who would’ve thought?), and they nearly all matched that description.
Ian Collins, a thief Cole had worked with very briefly, had literally bragged about being a psychopath, and no one had doubted him.
On top of his charisma, his manipulativeness, and his complete lack of remorse for anything, he’d taken action movie-level risks to obtain several pieces that didn’t even seem worth that kind of effort.
Three such outings had almost gotten him killed, and his arm had ended up in a cast from the third attempt when he’d gone snowboarding and become one with a tree.
And then there was Marcus—ever the charmer, ever the narcissist, and with zero empathy, zero fucks to give for anyone else, and a constant need to take risks just to feel alive.
He’d never been diagnosed with anything, but Cole would’ve bet Mother’s entire contemporary cubism collection that the fucker was a psychopath.
Ian and Marcus had also banged their way through life with little regard for safety—theirs or their partners’.
Which made Cole wonder about Jacques-Louis Campeau. Not because of his kinks, but because reckless hypersexuality was apparently another hallmark of psychopathy.
He gnawed his lip. He didn’t think Campeau was dangerous in the sense that he was a serial killer or something.
The man probably wouldn’t feel bad about killing someone any more than he felt bad about ruining people’s lives through his various capitalist endeavors, but he’d never struck Cole as wanting to commit direct violence.
Pollute the environment, bribe scientists and government officials to look the other way, and profit while people died—sure.
Actually kill someone with his bare hands? Unlikely.
Still, he rubbed elbows with criminals and happily took possession of high-value items regardless of how they’d been acquired. He eagerly jumped at the chance to have kinky sex with a random stranger even after that had—on more than one occasion—turned out to be a trap.
So was he just stupid? Or was there something pathological about his recklessness that Cole and Will should consider?
Particularly now that they were here to corner him and pit him against another possible psychopath?
One who Cole had long suspected would love the opportunity to kill someone with his bare hands?
In the next room, the shower shut off.
Minutes later, Will emerged, and Cole’s thoughts derailed at the sight of his dipshit temporary partner in crime. Couldn’t he put on a damn shirt? Or do something about that wet bedhead? Did he not understand how hard—how difficult it was for Cole to think right now?
Cole shook himself and cleared his throat as he tore his gaze away from Will. “Campeau will be here at seven.”
“Yeah? You confirmed it?”
“Mmhmm. So now, we wait.”
Will was quiet for a blessedly long moment. Then, “You’re nervous.”
Cole met his gaze, pretending not to notice his flat abs or damp, disheveled hair. “Aren’t you nervous before going into an op?”
“Of course. But you weren’t this nervous at Alders’ place.” Will smirked. “Or was it just hidden behind how much your mom was driving you nuts?”
“Shut up.” Cole rose because he couldn’t sit still with all this nervous energy. “I think we need to be careful with Campeau.”
Will cocked his head. “I mean, yeah? Duh? Or do you mean careful like condoms and safe words?”
Cole glared at him, which the fucker seemed to enjoy. “I mean I think we need to be careful because I don’t know what kind of person we’re dealing with.”
“I thought you knew this guy.”
“I’ve dealt with him before. And I’ve met with him like this before.” Cole folded and refolded his arms as he shifted his weight. “But like, what kind of person lets himself be lured in like this repeatedly?”
“A complete dumbass with no survival instincts?”
“Or a complete psychopath.”
Will’s eyebrow shot up. “Go on.”
Cole filled him in on what he’d been thinking.
When he’d finished, Will said, “Huh. I mean, the guy’s a CEO of an environmentally destructive company that’s put numerous communities into horrific poverty around the world. If that’s not a psychopath…” He shrugged. “And aren’t CEOs more likely to be psychopaths than people in other jobs?”
“I’ve heard something like that, yeah.”
“So he’s a CEO, and he’s a CEO of a company like that. Plus all the reckless shit with his adulterous sex life—I mean, yeah, I’d be surprised if he wasn’t a psychopath.”
“Right. So now we’ve lured him in and we’re going to back him into a corner and—”
“Try to get him to turn on another obvious psychopath.”
Cole blinked.
“What?” Will asked. “You don’t think Marcus is one?”
“No, no, I do. I just hadn’t realized you’d done that math.”
“Bitch, please. The guy was using me as his sidepiece and gaslighting me into thinking it was my fault you were hurt.” He waved a hand. “That’s narcissistic at best, and definitely in the ballpark of a psychopath even before you factor in, like, literally everything Marcus ever says or does.”
Cole stared at him for a second. He’d also spent a lot of time blaming Will for destroying his relationship with Marcus.
“Cole.” Will’s tone was suddenly very serious. “Whatever you’re thinking, it can wait. Right now, we need to make a plan for Campeau. Focus.”
The words were like a slap to the face. Not a brutal one—the kind that snapped him out of his thoughts and brought him back into the moment.
“Yeah. Yeah. Good idea.” He rolled his tense shoulders. “We need to make sure this doesn’t blow up in our faces. In particular, that Campeau doesn’t decide to cover his own ass by running to Marcus and telling him we’re on to him.”
Will’s eyes lost focus. After a moment, he grinned, and for once, that didn’t set Cole’s teeth on edge. “I think I have an idea.”
Campeau
On my way up.
Cole exhaled and put his phone face-down on the coffee table. “Campeau’s in the hotel.”
Will nodded. He was lounging in one of the armchairs, turning his own phone between his hands.
A gold chain dipped tantalizingly beneath his half-buttoned white dress shirt, and his jeans fit a little too perfectly for Cole’s liking.
The fucker was annoyingly attractive right now, and he’d spent most of the afternoon being too focused, too serious, and too smart for Cole to hate him as much as he wanted to.
Well, except for when he’d flirted with the man who’d brought their room service dinners.
Cole had gritted his teeth through the entire exchange, wondering if it was too much to ask for the chandelier to come crashing down on Will’s head.
He’d nearly thrown his steak knife into the back of Will’s skull when the two men had exchanged numbers, and he’d fumed while they’d shared flirty little smiles before the man finally fucking left.
And then the fish Will had ordered had had the audacity to not choke the son of a bitch with a bone or at least give him a newsworthy case of food poisoning.
Life really wasn’t fair sometimes.
At least someone else had come to retrieve their dinner dishes, and now he and Will were just waiting for the man they’d come to see.
A knock at the door had them both on their feet. Cole hung back, staying well clear of anyone’s line of sight from the hallway, and Will answered the door.
When the door opened, that familiar French Canadian voice asked, “Brian Tate?”
“That would be me,” Will cheerfully confirmed. “Ooh, that’s exactly the licorice I had in mind. Did you have any trouble finding hockey gloves?”
“Trouble finding hockey gloves?” Campeau asked incredulously. “In Montreal?”
“Ooh, fair point. Come on in.” The door clicked shut. “Would you like a drink first? I usually like to have one or two before the clothes come off.” There was some quiet movement. “Ooh, you brought wine? Perfect. Let me get the glasses and a corkscrew.”
They came into the suite’s sitting room. Campeau trailed behind Will, not even noticing Cole standing off to the side. Unnoticed and without making a sound, Cole stepped in front of the doorway, blocking the exit just in case the man got cute.