“How so?”
She plucked one of the dark velvety roses from the display. “Guess who made the request for all these poisonous flowers?”
He didn’t have time to play games. “Tell me.”
“The name the florist gave me was... Kenneth Warrick.”
Gennie was good at reading people, not that it took any particular sensitivity to deduce that Noah was furious. His brow furrowed like a grumpy—but still handsome—troll, and she could almost see steam shooting out of his ears, which was pretty much the reaction she’d expected. If there was one thing she’d learned about her boss during the past four days, it was that he hated when any situation got out of his control.
Though equally outraged, Gennie tamped down her anger. She twirled the dark rose between her fingers. “Did Warrick send these flowers as a warning? Or as a threat?”
“Hell if I know.”
His dark brown eyes returned her gaze with an intensity that made her feel like he was peering inside her skull. Looking for what? She had no hidden agenda. Her attitude toward Warrick was unambiguous hatred. As far as she was concerned, Noah was the wild card. He had mentioned Warrick at their first meeting, but he didn’t give context. Were they connected? Was Warrick a friend or an enemy? A muscle in Noah’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing. If that was the way he wanted to play it, fine.
She squared off with him and went silent.
They were both stubborn enough to continue this stare down for a very long time. She took the opportunity to study his face, which was definitely masculine in spite of the dimples that tweaked the corners of his mouth when he grinned. He was saved from being too classically handsome by his square jaw, sharp cheekbones and the tension that deepened the wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. She wondered what he’d look like with longer hair and maybe a beard.
Speculation on Noah’s grooming was none of her business. Whether he shaved or not, she didn’t give a hoot. Gennie had never been the type of giggly girl who got all jacked up over a good-looking male. She needed to figure out why Warrick requested those flowers. Warning or threat, which was it?
She cleared her throat. “Is Kenneth Warrick coming to this event?”
“He’s not on the guest list.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I have no reason to expect he’ll be here.”
“In our first interview, you mentioned Warrick. Is he an associate of yours?”
“Hell, no.”
Could she trust Noah? If she was going to work with him, she had to know that he had her back. “How did you meet Warrick?”
“We’ve never come face-to-face.”
She could tell that he was rationing his words but had no idea why. They were on the same team, weren’t they? Motioning for him to walk beside her, she strolled across the marble floor of the ballroom toward the kitchen where the caterers and the waitstaff bustled. Some carried trays of canapés. Others made final preparations by slicing, dicing and arranging. Two hours ago when she’d arrived at this massive three-story red brick Colonial house with six pillars across the front, she’d been excited about her assignment and anxious to do a good job—similar to how she used to feel with her team of army engineers. In Afghanistan, she’d been aware of the ever-present danger, but she hadn’t been fearful. And she wasn’t scared now, just apprehensive. She’d peeked under a stone and uncovered a scorpion.
She stopped a caterer in a chef’s jacket and asked him to clip the stem on her rose. Using his knife, he did so and handed the bloom back to her with a flourish. She rewarded him with a smile, passed on a bit of advice about steering clear of the poisonous flowers in the arrangements and then turned back to Noah. “I know Warrick is acquainted with the general.”
“He’s on a list of people to watch for. That’s why I mentioned him to you. By the way, Slocum hates him.”
She scanned the room until she spotted the overly tidy blond captain with his clipboard. “He hates everybody.”
“You have issues with Slocum?”
“Maybe.” She glimpsed a slight reaction from Noah, a narrowing of his eyes and a twitch of his mouth. “Do you have your own grudge against Slocum?”
“First, you tell me.”
While she’d been recovering from her injuries, Haymarket had offered her a job as his aide, taking over many of Slocum’s duties. Though she’d turned down the position, the captain was her sworn enemy for life. She didn’t really want to talk about it. “Let’s just say that he doesn’t like me.”
“Is there anybody in the military you haven’t pissed off?”
“Maybe not.” Though she remained curious about his beef with Slocum, she let it go. “Will you inform the general about the flowers?”
“Yes, and I’ll also ask about Warrick.” He frowned. “I think Haymarket is expecting trouble. Why else would he ask for a metal scanner and extra security outside the house?”
She’d wondered the same thing. The sniper on the roof seemed way too excessive for a fancy political fund-raiser. “He didn’t explain to you?”
“He did not.”
“Typical,” she said. “He plays his cards close to the vest.”
“Sounds like you know him better than I do.”
Her friendship with General Haymarket developed during her first tour of duty in faraway Afghanistan after he’d discovered that she grew up in his home state of Colorado. They’d known some of the same people, skied at the same resorts and fished in the same creeks. After her injury, he’d been too protective, but she never doubted that he had her best interests at heart. When Noah told her about this assignment, she’d been looking forward to seeing her former commanding officer. Someday, she hoped they could mend fences.
Friendship with the general was a mostly good memory from her military service. Kenneth Warrick was the opposite. The only way she wanted to see him was through the crosshairs of a rifle scope. After she’d been discharged from the hospital—where he never once visited—she’d done her best to erase him from her mind. Through the grapevine, she’d heard that his legitimate business as a private contractor and weapons dealer had taken a nefarious turn, and he’d dropped off the grid.
“Warrick used his real name when he talked to the florist.” She looked up at Noah. “I had the impression that he didn’t want to advertise his whereabouts.”
“Could be trying to tell us something,” Noah said. “Is he aware of your knowledge of plants and flowers?”
“I’m sure he is. One time, he gave me a bouquet of irises as a symbol for intelligence and courage. Quite a compliment.”
