were even allowed to get sick now and then. All of that required money. Lowell did pay his bills, which allowed Aaron to keep paying his. A timely check was just about the only positive aspect of Lowell’s personality Aaron could find.
Not that Lowell was making the current job easy. At the beginning of the assignment, he’d had a habit of disappearing during the middle of the day and then wandering back in with a stupid grin a few hours after lunch. He did that until Aaron started shadowing the older man’s every step.
Slim and tall with brown hair peppered with gray, Lowell had the kind of power and money many women found attractive, though Aaron had no idea why. The guy reeked of the same smarminess usually reserved for career politicians. He possessed all the people skills of a serial killer. He never offered his age, but people who knew him back when pegged it in the mid-fifties. He had a wife and a twenty-three-year-old son, and just like the people who worked for him, neither family member could stand him.
Then there was the other side of Lowell’s life. The man pretended to be a what-you-see-is-what-you-get type, but Aaron knew better. You couldn’t dig into every aspect of a man’s existence without having to brush off some dirt. And this Craft guy slid around in mud every single day.
Aaron glanced over at the thirty-something brunette with the long legs and short attention span sitting at the table all alone, sipping on a glass of something clear. “Rumor is Angie requested the party because morale is so low and even in a rough economy she’s worried about a mass employee exodus.”
“And Lowell sure listens to Angie.” Royal half laughed, half coughed. “Speaking of which, it’s nice of Lowell to invite the wife and the mistress to the same party.”
“Alleged mistress.” Aaron said the words as an afterthought as he scanned the room for Mrs. Craft and came up empty. He was just about to send Royal looking for her when the two men waiting by the elevator grabbed his attention.
They had matching military haircuts and dark suits, and neither spent a second checking out the party. They didn’t work at Craft. Aaron would put money on that. After the second death threat, he’d run a security check on all employees, past and present. He’d checked out the Elan staff, as well. Either these two slipped through the screening without Aaron noticing—and since one of the guys had shoulders wider than the elevator doors, Aaron doubted it—or they were uninvited. Neither option made Aaron happy.
He elbowed Royal. “Who are those two?”
Royal’s gaze followed Aaron’s nod. “Waitstaff?”
“Not anyone I checked in.”
“And not wearing the right uniform.” Royal’s gaze narrowed. “Why are they headed for the elevators when the food is in here?”
Royal’s shifting to attack mode was all the confirmation Aaron needed of impending trouble. The guy had pitch-perfect instincts thanks to years in and around the mountains of Afghanistan’s Kunar Province.
Aaron barked out orders to the rest of the team listening in on the earpieces. “We need help up here. Palmer?”
When Lowell’s head of security, Palmer Trask, didn’t check in, the emergency signal in Aaron’s brain flashed even brighter.
“The lack of a response can’t be good,” Royal said under his breath.
“We also need to find Craft’s wife.”
Royal whipped around, his gaze scanning the room. “She was just here.”
“Not now.” With her model-perfect figure and straight-out-of-a-magazine outfit, the woman stuck out in a crowd even while she hugged the corner of the room. But now Aaron had bigger problems. “I need two people in here. Report to Royal in the dining room. The rest hold the perimeter.”
“Do we need to shut the place down?”
Aaron turned to Royal. “Not yet. You stick to Lowell. He doesn’t breathe without falling over you.”
“Done.”
“I’ll take the stairs. Let me know where the elevator stops.” Aaron did one last visual sweep of the room, looking for other people who failed to trip his memory bank.
“Remember you have two guys to handle when you get up there,” Royal said.
Aaron sure as hell hoped the number was only two. “My worry is they are part of a bigger scheme.”
“If they are?”
Aaron patted his hip in a weapons check. “I’ll handle it.”
“Nothing new there.”
Chapter Two
Risa Peters clutched her portfolio to her chest and leaned back against the elevator wall. This was the first time she’d chosen a holiday party venue based on a throwaway recommendation during a dinner date with the lawyer she’d seen exactly twice. The same dinner date who failed to call after their last meal together. Since it was already Thursday, she figured the man was on the run, which was a shame because the chocolate-brown hair, blue-green eyes, all-American handsome type appealed to her.
So did the Elan Conference Center. She was only able to book it for an afternoon during the busy season because the place wasn’t truly open to the public yet. The center was in the middle of something called a soft opening. The official ribbon cutting would come in mid-January, after the holiday rush subsided. For a discounted fee and an agreement to forgo some party extravagances, Elan agreed to host the party on very little notice.
Risa doubted the office budget at Buchanan Engineering would support the place next year when the amenities hit their stride, but she could enjoy it now. The miles of rolling hills and the long winding drive up to the place sparkled even more in real life than they did on the website. So did the sprawling five-story building with the stone facade and the huge double-door, double-height entry.
It would all work so long as the weather held out. One flake of snow and next week’s party would turn into a driving hazard.
Not that any of this—the late planning, the distance or the weather—qualified as being her fault. Oh, no. She’d been the office manager at the engineering firm all of three weeks when she realized the woman who used to have the job, and now held the title of fired former office manager, failed to reserve a place for the annual holiday get-together. Since the engineers liked to party, the oversight bordered on catastrophic. So Risa was here today to scout the center out, see the party room on the fourth floor, then sign the agreement and hand over a check.
If she survived this mess-up, pulled the party off and got all the engineers home without a drunken episode, she’d still have a job next week. And she sure needed the job. Without it she’d never pull herself out of the economic tailspin Paul had thrown her into.
When the elevator doors opened, she almost stepped out of the car. A quick glance at the glowing green number on the panel told her she’d only made it to the third floor. One more to go.
She stepped back just as a beefy hand reached into the open space and jammed the doors before they could close. Two guys with black jackets and broad shoulders slid inside the car. They hugged the front of the elevator, but the walls still closed in on her.
She
