only fair,’ Jared murmured. ‘She’s read mine.’
‘Are you still smarting about that idiotic psych report?’ she asked, and Jared grinned outright this time.
Injury and near death hadn’t softened Lena—they’d simply made her blunter … and surprisingly more affectionate, he decided as she engulfed him from his shoulders up in a fierce hug.
‘Where is it?’ she murmured. ‘Hand it over. I’m going to barbecue it. By the way, I stopped by the fishing co-op and bought barramundi and king prawns. And because I love you both I’m going to cook them up for dinner. You two can unpack the car, make the salads, pour me some wine and make encouraging remarks about my cooking.’
It was good to be home, Jared thought.
Maybe it would be enough.
Monday morning couldn’t come around quickly enough for Jared. He’d swum in Damon’s pool and in the surf, and nobly restrained himself from getting the windsurfer out. He’d gone with Lena and Trig to one of their favourite local watering holes on the Saturday night and reacquainted himself with old friends as they’d watched whatever game had been on the big sports screen. Flanked by the two people he trusted most, he’d even managed to relax.
But that had been Saturday. By Sunday afternoon Trig and Lena had retired to their farmhouse, and Jared had been rattling around by himself and trying to stay relaxed. He hadn’t been sleeping well. He missed the rise and fall of the ocean beneath him. Maybe he needed to investigate yacht ownership.
By Monday morning he’d made enquiries on three oceangoing vessels, and the need to do something thrummed through him at a low-level burn.
He hauled himself out of the pool and reached for a towel. His body was still various shades of black and blue, with a few cuts and scrapes besides, but other than that he was in good shape. Antonov had kept his crew fighting fit, and there’d been ocean all around them. Regular diving to examine the hull … Swimming …
Maybe Jared should take up marathon swimming now that he was home.
The doorbell rang and he ditched the towel and headed towards it. He opened it and stepped aside to let Rowan Farringdon in.
‘Pretty shirt,’ he told her, and it was.
The burnt-orange band of colour across the bottom of it suited her. The rest of it was white, and the inch-wide shoulder straps showed off more body tone than he’d expected from someone who sat in a director’s chair. The crisp white trousers she had on rested easy over her rear—not too tight, but not baggy either. Comfortable. He hadn’t expected this woman to look quite so comfortable in casual clothes.
And still maintain her air of authority.
Her gaze swept the open-plan living area and the pool beyond before returning to him.
Jared offered up a lazy grin by way of reward for her attention. ‘Would you like pancakes? I’m having pancakes.’
‘Is this a variation on dinner?’
Her voice came at him dry as dust and laced with amusement.
‘Could be. But it’s also breakfast time, and as a good host I’m offering you some. You’ve come all this way. It’s the least I can do.’
‘I’ve been in Brisbane,’ she said. ‘You’re a detour—not the main destination.’
‘I’m crushed.’ He led her through to the open-plan kitchen that backed on to the living area and the pool. ‘You take your coffee black, right?’
Her coffee at the farmhouse had been black.
She nodded. ‘With one.’
He diligently added sugar to her cup. ‘I hope you like Turkish? Lena found it for me in town on Saturday. It’s good. I had to promise not to mainline it.’
He lit a flame beneath the skillet and waited for it to get hot. He poured her some coffee and set it in front of her. Added butter to the pan and enjoyed the faint sizzle as he pushed it around with a knife. He added the batter next, before turning back to face her.
‘What did you want to see me about?’
‘Do you always do two things at once?’
‘Keeps me from climbing the walls.’
She smiled at that. ‘Say you came across some information that connected a now-deceased illegal arms dealer to a respected worldwide charity organisation …’
‘In what capacity?’
‘They fed Antonov money and within six months he quadrupled it for them.’
‘Did they know who they were dealing with?’
‘Does it matter?’ She eyed him curiously. ‘Do you think it matters?’
‘Yes. Intent matters. Maybe they didn’t know who he was or what he did. Maybe they were naive.’
‘The charity’s intention was to make money. They succeeded well beyond what any regulated money market could ever do for them. Hard to believe that they thought their investment strategy legitimate, but let’s ignore that for a moment. What might Antonov’s intention have been?’
‘What was the charity?’
‘They fund medical research.’
Jared frowned and glanced back to see if the pancake batter in the pan had bubbled up yet. Nope.
‘When it came to arms dealing Antonov was a coldhearted businessman who dealt with the highest bidder and cared nothing for cause,’ he offered. ‘At first glance no one would mistake him for a philanthropist.’
But Rowan Farringdon would already know that from the reports other people had done on the man. She wanted more. She wanted to know if Jared had ever seen into Antonov’s head.
‘He was also father to a very sick son. I could see him helping out some research foundation in the hope that their research might some day benefit his kid.’
‘They say you played chess with the man?’
Jared nodded.
‘Did you win?’
‘I grew up with a brother and sisters with genius IQs. They used to play each other and sometimes I’d play the winner. Occasionally I even managed to hold my own. Antonov was bright, but he wasn’t that bright. His main asset was his ruthlessness. I gave him a good game and I usually made sure he won. Are you going to shut down the charity?’
‘That’s not my call. Did you drink with him too? Play catch with his kid?’
‘Yes,’ Jared muttered roughly. ‘I did.’
‘Yet you still brought him down?’
It was time to turn the pancakes. ‘I let him be brought down by someone else, yes.’
‘And
