him of major ethics charges. Now he was the head of a major R & D group, thanks to the power of The Nine.
Berryville frowned, the expression stretching his face-lift-tight skin. “You’re late.”
“Sorry,” William said. “Traffic was a bitch.”
“They’re waiting for us.” Berryville hurried ahead, nerves evident in his quick strides and his silence as he led William through the front rooms of the wood-paneled Coach House, where tables and cocktail rounds sat empty.
“Did you guys buy out the whole restaurant just for this meeting?” William asked, pausing at the base of a flight of carpeted stairs and peering up at the equally deserted-feeling second floor.
“We value our privacy,” Berryville replied. Then he stopped and turned to look down at William from six steps up. “When we get in there, don’t say anything. Speak when spoken to and think before you answer a question. You’ll only get one chance to make a good impression.”
William’s scalp tingled with sudden foreboding as he realized he’d miscalculated. Berryville had hinted that he carried weight within the group, and William had taken that information at face value. But a powerful man wouldn’t have a faint sheen of sweat on his brow or a nervous tremor in his hands right now, would he?
Berryville was terrified, which could only mean that he was one of the smaller cogs in the organization, bringing the big boys a present and hoping they’d like it.
Hell, William thought as he followed Berryville up the stairs to the second floor, wishing he’d let Max in on the meeting. He could be in some serious trouble here, without a stitch of backup.
IKE PRESSED HER CHEEK against mist-slicked bricks and lifted the mirror higher, trying to figure out who was speaking as words carried to her.
“What do you know about this guy?”
“Not much,” a second voice answered, deeper than the first. “Berryville’s bringing him in. Says he’s a perfect fit.”
It took a moment for the words to connect. Then excitement zinged through her when she realized they must be interviewing Forsythe’s replacement. More importantly, there were nine chairs, which meant the whole group was going to be there, including their leader, who was called Odin after the ruler of the nine worlds in Norse mythology.
Fingers shaking slightly, she fumbled in the fanny pack for her camera.
If she could get some faces, her computers should be able to match names. Maybe that’d be enough to pull the data threads together, enough to convince the feds that Zed’s death hadn’t been random, that The Nine were more than just an urban legend in the scientific community.
She eased the digital camera up and over the edge, zoomed in on the men and clicked off half a dozen shots. Then she lowered the camera and used the miniscule toggle buttons to flip through the images on-screen, cursing inwardly when she saw that the tiny, blurred photos weren’t going to do her any good. Not even her sophisticated cleanup programs could help these shots, and too much digital enhancement would skew the results so they’d never stand up to FBI-level scrutiny.
She needed to get closer.
Bad idea, her inner voice hissed, but she silenced it with three whispered words. “I owe Zed.”
He’d still be alive if she’d been more careful. Instead he’d been buried while his parents and sisters had wept. She couldn’t bring him back. But moments before they’d closed his casket for the last time, as she’d pulled the black diamond stud from her ear and placed it in his cool palm, she’d vowed to make sure his killers didn’t get away with their crime.
Now, thinking fast, she withdrew a small hand-held computer from her pack and pulled up the Coach House blueprints on the tiny screen. She could swear she’d seen—ah, there it was, a small alcove near the meeting room. If she could get into the sheltered nook safely, she should have a better angle for photos. If being the operative word.
Breathing lightly through her mouth, she looked down to make sure the coast was clear. Nerves hummed beneath her skin, reminding her that although some of her freelancing had skirted over the edge of legal, most of her work was done via the keyboards and high-speed connections of her three trusty computers, Tom, Dick and Harry.
Until now, that is. But there was a first time for everything, and Ike was all about trying new things.
Seeing nothing below but Dumpster shadows and wet pavement, she worked her way over to where a ladder of sorts was formed by the regularly spaced braces that attached a wide gutter pipe to the building.
She was halfway down the pipe when something metal snagged her fanny pack, then pulled free, snapping back against the pipe with a loud clang.
Damn! If anyone were keeping an eye on things from the outside, they were guaranteed to have heard the noise. Heart drumming in her ears, she scrambled down the makeshift ladder and dropped to the cracked tarmac. Then she froze and listened for the sounds of an alarm.
Nothing.
Relaxing slightly, she shifted her fanny pack, more for reassurance than anything, and headed toward the nearer corner of the building, hoping there was a ground-level door she could slip through. She was halfway there when a heavy blow hit her from behind, driving her forward.
Ike bit off a scream as her attacker slammed her face-first into the building.
“What have we got here?” His voice was rough and a little mocking. “Looks like a spy. Kind of cute, too.”
She fought the instinctive fear, telling herself she could handle this, she could. But panic spiked when he pressed closer, his body crowding her, trapping her so she couldn’t move, couldn’t escape. Fear exploded, making her whimper a protest.
Her captor chuckled and swiped his tongue along her ear, getting off on her terror. He shifted again, pressing into her.
“Knock it off,” a second man’s voice ordered, sounding older, more cultured, and annoyed. Ike turned her head and saw a trim gray-haired man wearing a dark charcoal suit. He gestured to the building and said, “Bring her along. She may prove useful.”
Chapter Three
From the hallway William heard a man’s voice say, “Odin is planning to take care of Lukas Kupfer personally before the press conference.” Then he and Berryville entered the room and all conversation ceased.
Feigning nonchalance, William glanced around, seeing a wood-paneled room decorated with leather-upholstered furniture and heavy rugs, with an ornate dining table at one end. Dark wooden book shelves lined the walls, giving the place an oppressive air. Or maybe that came from the three similar-looking men seated at the table, which was set for nine.
William nodded. “Gentlemen.” Then he turned to Berryville and raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to introduce us or should I do it myself?”
Berryville shot him a dark look before turning to the others and saying, “This is the one I told you about. Emmett Grant.” He didn’t introduce the seated men.
“Has Paul described the proceedings to you?” the guy in the middle asked.
“Not
