Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
SINCE TODAY WOULD be my last day at Little Riverley for a week or two, I made the most of it with an early morning ride on Stan, who was his usual obliging self. First, he went backwards for about fifty yards before accepting the ride was going to happen whether he liked it or not.
“Get on with it, you little git.”
When he hit the wall of the barn with his backside, he leapt forward, deciding he might as well get it over with so he could go back to his snacks. Eventually he settled, and we enjoyed a nice gallop across the pastures followed by a brisk trot through the wooded trails at the back of my property. Lucy bounded along behind us, occasionally disappearing out of sight as she caught the scent of a deer or rabbit.
When we got back, Stan’s weekly fruit basket had just been delivered, courtesy of Bradley of course. I fed my beloved horse two apples and a banana, which he tried to stuff in his mouth at the same time. That earned me a dirty look when he couldn’t chew properly. Honestly, I couldn’t win.
Back at the house, I changed into running tights and a sports bra and headed straight out for a quick run. Quick because my flight for London left at six this evening and I had a ton of paperwork to catch up on beforehand—my least favourite thing in the world—but the report on yesterday’s jaunt to Florida wouldn’t write itself.
Lucy came too, lolloping along beside me with her tongue hanging out of her mouth. Where did she get her energy from? Because I desperately needed some of whatever she was taking. At least Alex had the day off, probably to weightlift with kryptonite or something, so there was a chance I’d still be able to walk this afternoon.
Although I couldn’t complain too much about Alex—I’d only been home a fortnight, and I was already in far better shape than when I stepped off the plane thanks to his torture regime.
How much time did I have? Just enough to fit in a bit of shooting practice, and that was something I enjoyed. Thanks to the irritating British laws on gun ownership, I hadn’t shot properly for months. The government in the UK had banned all the good stuff—only the criminals had access to that now.
I collected a nice selection of firearms from the weapons locker in my basement and headed out back. The grass airstrip behind my house doubled as a shooting range with targets from ten to a thousand yards set up along one side. To be honest, it was more of a shooting range that doubled as an airstrip, because it didn’t get used for planes much. I had a Pitts Special in the hangar for fun and emergencies, but mostly I flew the helicopter or a jet if I needed to go long-distance.
Two hours, five guns, and a thousand rounds of ammunition.
I started with a Smith & Wesson Model 60 snub revolver. It may have been tiny, but it was easy to conceal and handy for close range work. Next came the silenced Ruger Mark II .22—my favourite for jobs that didn’t go through the books. If you weren’t listening for it, the soft pffft as it fired could easily be missed.
Then came the ubiquitous AK-47. Given the choice of machine gun, I’d go for an M5 every time, but I didn’t always have that luxury. If—when—I got stuck in a hostile country and needed something that went bang, chances were I’d be able to get hold of an AK-47 without too much trouble. Owning one was a rite of passage for any aspiring terrorist. I fired singles and three-round bursts out to a hundred and fifty yards until my bullets grouped nicely into the black.
Thankful it wasn’t too chilly, I unfolded a mat and lay down with an Accuracy International sniper rifle, leaning into the bipod as I fired out to a thousand yards. I never used to be a fan of the long-range stuff, but as team sniper, Carmen had spent many hours teaching me the best techniques. I still had a way to go to beat her—she’d hit a dime at that distance every time while my skill level ran more to a watermelon—but you still wouldn’t want to get on the wrong end of my scope.
Last came my favourite. I’d lavished my beloved Walther P88 with care and gun oil until it became an extension of my arm. Left handed, right handed, standing, lying, and sitting, I practised until I hit the centre of the target on instinct every time.
I could have happily stayed out there all day, but my computer was calling. Literally. I’d got fifty-seven emails in the last thirty minutes and Sloane, my office assistant, had taken the morning off to visit her grandma.
Back to the real world.
My black jeans looked fine for work, so I got the keys to my Dodge Viper out of the lock box on the garage wall, and half an hour later, I skidded into my parking spot outside the office. Why did the guard by the doors look so alarmed? I was great at the J-turn manoeuvre. He must have been new.
Upstairs, I couldn’t bring myself to sit in my own office, not without my husband there to share it. Every time I looked at his empty desk, it made me breathless. Instead, I grabbed my laptop and camped out with Nick. He didn’t mind as long as I kept his coffee topped up when I fetched my own.
“How was Florida?” he asked when I walked in and dropped my bag onto the round table he used for meetings.
I squinted at him as the sun burned through his window then walked over to close the blinds. “Fine, yeah, didn’t take long.”
“No?”
“A couple of hours poking around to see what was going on to start with. The guy might have been the leader of a gang, but he still lived with his mom. She went out to a viewing at a funeral home yesterday evening, so I figured it was a good time to talk to him.”
“What happened with the Rottweilers?”
“I drugged them first and stacked them around the back. Chainsaw was so engrossed in pay-per-view porn he didn’t notice they were missing.”
“Often the way, isn’t it?”
“Yep, stupidity always brings them down in the end. When I ambled into his living room, he pulled out the gun hidden under the sofa and took great delight in telling me everything he’d done to the poor girl he killed. Said he’d enjoy putting me out of my misery too, right before he did unmentionable things to my still-warm body.”
“Was he serious?”
“Oh, he pulled the trigger. Trouble was, I’d taken the bullets out half an hour earlier when he visited the john. The look on his face was priceless.”
“Wish I’d seen that.”
“You can watch if you want—it’s all on camera. Once I’d delivered him and his confession to the police station, I caught a late flight and got home by one. It should be an easy conviction. The idiot even told me where he hid the garrotte.”
“Another job off the list, then.”
“Easy money. Are you all set for this evening?”
Nick was flying to the UK with me as part of the police security exercise. Dan too, and I’d handpicked another eight guys from Richmond and New York plus ten from the London office. We had a briefing scheduled for nine the next morning.
“Sure am. I’ve just got a couple of calls to make and one meeting this afternoon. Speaking of which, I need a favour.”
“What kind of favour?” I owed Nick one. He’d done enough for me over the past few weeks.
“The meeting’s with Patrick Johnson at four. He wondered where you were for the last one, and you know how much he loves you to be there. Any chance you could come with me?”
Just what I needed—the delights of Mr. Johnson. We provided office security for his nationwide chain of insurance brokers, and he’d been a client almost since the beginning. Because of the amount of revenue he brought in, and that history, he always had his quarterly updates with one of the directors rather than a lowly account manager. As my husband initially landed the account, he’d usually taken the meetings, but now it seemed Nick had drawn the short straw.
And me. Not because I had particular expertise in the area of building security, or even because I knew anything about his account. No, Mr. Johnson liked me there because he was a pervert. In this age of laptops and light projectors, he still insisted on having a paper report. Then during the meeting, I’d have to sit next to him to turn the pages and point out the right figures.
Sounds straightforward? Not when the meeting overran because the old git kept getting distracted by looking down my top and “accidentally” brushing his hand against my leg. My husband had to repeat everything he said at least twice.
Far from being jealous, my darling husband thought it was hilarious, and we had a standing bet before each meeting over how many times I’d get groped. Each one scored a point. The person with the closest guess won, with the loser having to buy dinner that evening. I generally came out on top because by sitting next to Patrick, I had a bit of control over the situation. As a bonus, we’d charge Mr. Johnson an extra two hundred dollars for each point on his next quarterly bill, which more than paid for three courses. He’d never once questioned what these additional charges were, which was testament to how much attention he paid to figures of the numerical kind.
“Okay, Nicky,” I half grumbled. “You know the drill, right?”
“Yes, your mercenary husband explained it to me over beers once.”
“Good. My guess is thirty-seven points.”
“Sheesh, that’s high. Really? In a half-hour meeting? I’m gonna go with twenty-five. Surely he has to spend some time reading the report?”
I’d been playing this game a lot longer than Nick. “I want my steak rare and my wine expensive.”
While Nick talked on the phone, I deleted half of my emails, forwarded one from Miriam’s lawyer onto mine, and dealt with the rest. Sloane sashayed in with Mr. Johnson’s printed and bound reports at three. And a plate of biscuits. Guess which one I preferred?
“Shh, don’t tell Toby. You’re going to the Johnson meeting, I take it?” she said.
“Wish me luck.”
“You never need that. You’ll knock him dead.”
“I live in hope. He’s on medication for a heart condition, so you never know.” I made it my business to keep up to date on everything concerning my clients.
“Yeuuuch. You might have to give him mouth-to-mouth.”
“Good point. I’d rather lose the account than do that.”
“I’m finalising your schedule for the UK. I’ve tried to keep commitments to a minimum, but there’s a fundraising dinner for your foundation on the evening after the security exercise. The organisers want to know if you’ll be there?”
A fancy dinner? Showing my face in public was the last thing I felt like doing at the moment, but the charity was important to me and I’d spent years building it up. We always got more out of the donors if I spent some time schmoozing with them at these events, so I figured I’d better put my own feelings aside and make an appearance.
“Nicky, will you be my date? Pretty please?” I wasn’t going alone. Recently widowed or not, attending on my own would be an invitation for a whole host of insensitive idiots to hit on me.
“Sure, baby.”
I nabbed a chocolate digestive and turned back to Sloane. “Put me down as a yes. Can you make sure we’ve got two tables? I’ll take some of the other guys too.”
“Sure thing. The committee members will be super pleased.”
With those arrangements in hand, I changed for Mr. Johnson then met Nick in the lobby. A car was waiting outside to take us to the meeting.
He looked me up and down. “I hate you.”
I smiled sweetly. Didn’t he realise I always played to win? I’d dressed appropriately for the occasion in a push-up bra and left the top couple of buttons on my blouse undone. Yes, I’d worn a suit, but it was tailored to be tight, and the skirt was barely within shouting distance of my knees. A pair of four-inch spike heels completed the outfit. Perfect.
“I’m thinking somewhere with a couple of Michelin stars for dinner.”
“That’s the last bet I’m ever making with you. You’d think I’d have learned over the years.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t learn with the first one.”
Ah, our first bet. We’d made it over a decade ago when I’d been learning to climb, and Nick had tagged along as my husband and I ventured out to Seneca Rocks on a beautiful spring day. Only three months had passed since Nick left the Navy SEALs, he was twenty-four to my nineteen, and he considered himself to be an excellent climber. To be fair, he was pretty good.
As I fastened my safety harness, he’d laid down a challenge—a race up The Bell, one of the hardest climbs in the area. You have to consider we were both even crazier in our younger days, so we ended up making a silly bet. Last to the top had to get a piercing.
I won, of course. Mainly because Nick didn’t know that my husband had been drilling me up and down that cliff every day for the past week. Even though the hole in Nick’s ear had healed up now, the fact he’d had to get it in the first place was still a sore point for him, and he’d never let me forget it.
I straightened up, showing off my assets to their full effect. “You don’t fancy wearing that nice diamond stud again?”
“Get lost.”
The meeting went well. Forty-three points, my second highest score ever. Boom. Hey, I might as well use my genes to my advantage.
Once we got back in the car, I kicked off my heels, which I now knew were designed by a sadist, and stripped out of my suit. I’d stashed jeans, an old T-shirt, and a pair of Converse in the boot of the car to change into for the flight, so we drove straight to the airport. Neither of us needed luggage because we both kept everything we could possibly need in my London home, Albany House. After Virginia, it was where I spent the most time, and Bradley made sure my wardrobe stayed well stocked.
The rest of the team was already on the plane, our Global 8000 this time, and from the smiles and laughter, they reckoned they were going on vacation. Probably not far wrong. We’d all be staying at Albany House—work together, play together was my ethos—and this job promised to be a fun one.
“Drink, boss?” one of the guys asked.
“Just coffee.”
I took the pilot’s seat with Nick beside me. I never slept on planes, anyway. In such a small space, I could do too much damage if I had an episode, so I might as well knock back the caffeine and drive.
Soon we were at forty-thousand feet over the Atlantic.
“Nice takeoff,” Nick said.
“Thanks. Look out, London. Here we come.”