Cao smiled placidly, but the smug look in his eyes was unmistakable.
“You’re on, Jocko. When and where?”
“Sun River, Oregon.” He held up a finger. “One month.”
“I’ll be there.”
Cao’s smile widened. “I’ll be the one at the finish line.”
“I’ll be the one already there, waving at you.”
Lucy glanced at Betsy and wondered if she knew she’d just been manipulated into spending time with Cao. He was good, but Cupid had his work cut out with these guys. She tried once again to give him a helping hand. “Hey, you two, we never do anything just for fun. Let’s meet in New York in a couple of weeks and do the town. All of us. Sound like fun?”
Tommy spoke up. “Wait a minute, no one asked me what I was doing. Am I invited to this party?”
“Absolutely,” Lucy said, almost forgetting Tommy had been listening to the conversation through the mics.
“I’m in,” Betsy said. She pointed at Cao. “But I doubt Jack LaLanne there can make it. He’s got to train.”
Cao straightened at the challenge, his dark eyes glowing. “All work and no play makes Jack a dullard. I accept.”
The gauntlet had been thrown and picked up. By the toxic gleam in both their eyes, Lucy wondered if she should have suggested a less populated place, like Area 51.
Thoughts of seeing her father again made her wish she were heading to Area 51, the Mojave Desert, New Zealand, even the South Pole. Anywhere in the world but the same room with Roy Karmon. There wasn’t a room, a house, a castle or a country big enough for the both of them. Talk about pyrotechnics. At least her mother would be there to run interference and put out the blaze. Hopefully.
Pincer Industries, Cape Town, South Africa
“I’ve hired someone for the new chief of security position.”
Miranda N’Buta stared at the woman who’d just spoken in a raspy deep voice. The woman’s image passed through a webcam and onto the monitor on Miranda’s desk. Only a portion of the woman’s slender torso showed in the background, the webcam situated so her face and lower limbs were hidden. She always wore black and today was no different. Her breasts barely filled out a black silk shirt, and she sat in a wide modern chair that looked like something from the bridge of the Enterprise. Electronic keys covered both chair arms. Her right hand was close on the Web camera and magnified, filling the foreground. Slender fingers with long black painted nails held a cigarette. Smoke spiraled up past a large spider-shaped ring. Eight gold legs fanned out over three fingers. What looked like a five-carat diamond sat in the middle. Gaudy in the extreme, in Miranda’s opinion. Still, she felt a tinge of jealousy at the size of the diamond.
“You hired someone without consulting me?” Miranda stared blankly into the webcam directly in front of her, seething inside, yet appearing at ease on the outside. She’d spent years hiding her true feelings—animosity and pure loathing—for the woman on the monitor.
“I decided to screen the applicants myself.”
“I don’t know why we need the position at all. I oversaw security here—”
“You need what I say you need,” the image snapped back.
Miranda stiffened. The charms on her bracelet clicked, striking the room’s silence like nails hitting steel. Irritation churned in her stomach, and she had to swallow a scathing reply.
“You have enough to do. Security shouldn’t be your concern,” the witch’s voice mellowed to a patronizing tone. “I created this new position to help you.”
“Giger will be upset that you hired someone other than him. He’s handled security matters for us for years.”
“Don’t tell him right away about the position. Let him learn about it on his own.” The witch took a drag off her cigarette. She blew a cloud of smoke at the webcam. The thick cloud filled the monitor and blurred her black silk blouse to gray. “And have Giger meet our new employee at the airport. He arrives on British Airways, Flight 451, at 10:00 a.m.”
“Who is this man?”
“Nolan Taylor. I’ll send you his résumé. He’s perfect for what I need.”
It was always about what the witch needed. What about what was best for the company? The witch thought the whole world revolved around her. One day, she’d discover it didn’t.
“Why is he perfect?” Miranda asked.
“He’s hungry for money and eager for a quiet position in security where he can avoid certain aspects of his life.” A snide smile slithered through the witch’s tone.
“Is he wanted?” Miranda arched a brow.
“Wanted by the wrong people. At least three contracts are out on his life.”
“What’s he done?”
“Let’s just say he made some enemies in his old line of work.” She paused to take a drag on her cigarette. “No, I’m sure our Mr. Taylor will be eager to please and make a good impression. See that he is made comfortable and kept in the dark until we’re certain we can trust him. Keep me informed of his progress.” The hand reached toward the webcam, the spider’s diamond winking, then the picture went blank.
Miranda made a nasty face at the blank screen, then picked up her phone and dialed Giger’s extension. “I need to see you right away.”
Minutes later, a knock sounded on her door.
“Enter.”
Giger Anfinson walked inside and closed the door. He was a Scandinavian giant, towheaded, blue-eyed. His massive chest and arms could crush a man with little effort. He wore brown pants, white shirt and a tweed sport coat, the left side bulging from a side holster and handgun. Miranda’s office always felt small with Giger in it.
He walked toward her desk and paused, towering over it. “What do you need?” A Norwegian lilt marked his words and they had sounded like, “Vat do you neet?” The words also held an undercurrent of jaded ruthlessness, as if he’d do anything she required of him, however unseemly.
Miranda felt a familiar vibration of nerves around him. Though Giger was as loyal as any hound and had worked for Miranda and the witch for ten years, she had always wondered what he’d do if he were double-crossed. He wouldn’t be too happy when he found out the chief of security position had been created and someone else had been hired for the job. If Giger threatened her, Miranda could blame it on the witch and save her own skin. Giger wouldn’t dare retaliate against the witch. In many ways, they were both the witch’s captives.
She kept the edginess from her voice as she said, “We’re expecting a new employee. You’re to pick him up at the airport.” Miranda told him the flight number and time.
“What position is he filling?” An underpinning of suspicion swam through his words, while he gazed at her in that direct, brutal way of his.
Miranda
