Her stiff words let me know I’ve hit home. “Where did this algorithm come from if James is a statistician?”
“Myself, of course.”
I shake my head. “No, forgive me, but I’ve looked through your records, researched some of your past work, but this isn’t it. This is far more advanced than a computer scientist, even one as illustrious as you, is capable of.
“After all, since that nifty little invention with computer motherboards, your record is the only illustrious thing about you, isn’t it, Greta?”
“What do you mean?” she bites out, haughty as hell, but her sneer is thankfully gone. “I made the modern USB drive possible.”
“I’m sure you did, but that was a long time ago, and since then, your work has been lackluster, below par ever since that particular invention. Until now, that is. I can’t help but wonder why, and I’m a curious creature, Greta. I do so enjoy research. I looked through the code you wrote and math isn’t my subject, so I drafted someone in who could understand. A friend at MIT. Luckily for me, he’s on vacation, and with just a quick glance at it this morning; he says there’s a remarkable similarity between the code you wrote all those years ago and this algorithm.”
“I don’t understand,” she says, looking genuinely confused. “You just confirmed what I told you. I wrote them both; therefore, they are of course similar.”
“Not when you compare these two pieces to your other uninspiring work. Just like handwriting, I’m assured, math calculations of this variety are unique to each person. We all have our own flair. And this flair is most certainly not yours.”
She studies me for a moment. The sly cat of earlier reappears out of her confusion, and she’s looking for a way to walk out of this situation unharmed. I can’t help but wonder how many of her nine lives she’s used and how many she’ll sacrifice to walk out of this room untouched.
“I’m not entirely sure what you’re suggesting...”
“I think we both know what I’m suggesting, Greta. Neither of us are fools,” I tell her pleasantly, a sickly sweet smile of my own on my lips.
“Who do you believe wrote the code if it wasn’t me?”
“Why, poor John Kelly, of course. I can’t understand why no one else saw it, but then, I know you, Greta. Not very well, of course. I saw you, watched you as a child: you enjoyed creating havoc, destroying relationships. That is the sort of person you are. You haven’t changed. You’re as manipulative as ever, but you’re smart. I can’t deny that. Just not smart enough.” I lean forward and rest my arms on my desk. Every inch of pleasure I feel at evicting the bitch is redolent in my voice. “You have seven days to leave the commune. You shall return to this office on the morning of your departure and sign a waiver for future income earned by any of your work completed here.”
“You can’t do this.”
While her voice is louder than usual, it isn’t a wild outburst. Instead, that slyness has returned. The desire to slap her comes with it.
“I can. I’m the guardian. I can do whatever I want, because the day you registered here, you signed your rights away into the guardian’s keeping.
“In fact, even if I didn’t think you were a lying slut, even if I didn’t think you were as useless as a chocolate teapot, with the only intelligent thing about you being the street smarts that enabled you to hook three gullible men, I could still throw you out. Even without any evidence at all. But you’ve given me plenty.”
“It’s conjecture. Not evidence.”
“Perhaps. I could be making all of this up to get rid of you, because Greta, I don’t like you. Never have, never will. If you spent more time making friends rather than enemies, you might have appealed to the commune at large, and they might have urged me to reconsider. As it is, no one will help you.
“Why should they? You’re a liar. A cheat. Whatever you were doing in my bedroom was not cleaning, and when I figure out what you’re up to, I truly hope it’s something illegal. The police can be my parting gift to you.”
“You can’t do this,” she cries again, this time, she’s no longer cool or collected.
“I think you’ll find I can. Now get out.”
She sits there for a minute, and then rises to her feet. With a hiss, she spits out, “You haven’t heard the last of this. You’ll regret making an enemy out of me, especially, when in a week’s time, I’m still here.”
I say nothing; just watch her move out of my office. The instant she does, I grin. When Nate pops his head out of the bathroom door, which connects to my study and where he’s been listening in, I show him the thumbs up sign.
“Stage one is underway.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Would I say I’m bloodthirsty?
I don’t know.
I guess when one of my own is hurt, then, yes, I can be. Either a desire to protect will overcome me, as was the case with Mona after the arson attack on her building, or the desire for revenge.
The latter happens rarely. Had I not been terrified out of my mind when Nate was shot, had I not been aware that anything untoward would reap more trouble on the people I love, I could have reacted to Nate’s injury in a bloodthirsty way.
Once, two months after I opened Papillon, one of my girls’, Jenna, pimp boyfriend came looking for her again. Unfortunately for both of them, the bastard found her and beat her to a bloody pulp. When she’d been unconscious, he’d taken her back to his apartment in Mona’s block.
At that time, I’d come to know a lot of unsavory people thanks to the girls’ connections. I asked for their help in finding someone who didn’t mind beating someone else for payment. Jenna’s ex still can’t use his right arm thanks to the attack.
I protect my own.
We might live in the twenty-first century, we might believe we live in enlightened times, that an eye for an eye went out with the ark, but when you work as closely to the dark underbelly of society for as long as I have, you realize Darwin was right. The strongest will survive, because they’ll attack the weakest.
I’m not weak.
Never have been, never will be. I might surrender to Nate, but I’m not faint at heart.
I might not have the physical strength to go to a pimp’s house and beat him bloody, to disable him permanently...but I have the wherewithal and the strength to admit to what needs to be done.
It might not be a popular trait. I won’t make friends for being this way. Sometimes, someone has to be pragmatic, even if it’s a catch-22 situation.
By helping Nate reveal John Kelly’s murderer, I could lose him.
The plan that’s underway is mine. All mine. He didn’t come up with it, I did. I don’t know if he knows the consequences, and I don’t dare tell him in case he finds me disgusting. In case his morals get in the way of discovering the truth.
I’m guardian of Blue Ridge. My father and grandfather before me. When John Kelly was murdered and his killer walked free, we did a great man a great injustice, and I intend to rectify that.
Greta is evil. She isn’t mad or crazy. She’s very intelligent, but she’s rotten to the core. Chess has never been my game, because I find it too easy. At nine, I beat one of the Grandmasters on the commune. After that, there was no fun to the game anymore. My ease with strategy means I can plan ahead. And if Greta thinks she’s smarter than I, then she’s an idiot.
I know exactly what she’s going to do. She’s going to pick the weaker of her two dummies and decide which one is going to sacrifice himself for her. She’ll then kill him and plant a suicide note on him, one that will reveal the whole truth about all of the accusations I rammed down her throat.
She doesn’t want to leave the commune. Not yet. There’s too much money at stake here. There’s too much at risk.
The bionic industry is currently worth billions. With the advancements of the arm Greta’s team have been working on, billions will probably treble considering the versatility of John’s algorithm—a calculation that is still way ahead of its time.
Back in the early nineties, it must have been like looking at something from a hundred years in the future.
As is Blue Ridge’s way, Greta will receive her percentage of the profits if she stays on at the ranch. On the other hand, if I kick her off, she’ll earn nothing.
Am I heartless? Maybe. Within the next week, a member of my commune is going to die, and I will have played an integral role in that death.
But he’s an accomplice in the murder of a man who was light-years ahead of his generation. By snuffing out that life, only God knows what we’ve lost. I, for one, demand justice be done, and this is the only way to do it.
We’ve no proof. No evidence. Everyone believed in John’s suicide. The coroner that handled John’s case died five years ago, so we can’t ask him for any input. And even though Nate is John’s next of kin and requested a copy of the coroner’s report years ago, it has never come through. We’re working blind here and two decades later, there’s no way we can change people’s minds now.
This, my plan, is the only route open to us, especially if we want justice for John. I want to catch Greta in the act of murdering Alexei or James. I want to pin her down on that, have her sent to prison so she can rot there. She might never be convicted for being a part of John’s death, but she’ll suffer anyway. If it means taking part in something of this nature, something immoral, then I’m strong enough to take it. The end justifies the means.
When shit goes to shit, someone has to take the helm. Someone has to take control and steer through the storm. Five, ten years ago, I wouldn’t have been strong enough. But Papillon formed me. Created strength out of weakness. I’m ready to be the guardian of Blue Ridge. Whatever that entails.
While I love Nate, if I lose him because of this, if he can’t handle what I’m capable of, then I’ll just have to live without him.
It won’t be the first time I’ve lost someone I’ve loved.
And it probably won’t be the last.
* * *
Kicking up my heels on to the edge of my desk, I cross my ankles and sink back into my desk chair as I stare up at the screen perched on a filing cabinet. For most of the morning, it’s been on silent. But it’s noon and I want to watch the news.
Two days after Erick’s arrival, the mass governmental exodus has begun. Today, six men and women have resigned and I have to commend Erick’s ingenuity. He’s been cooking up some scandals.
An asbestos cover-up in a government-owned warehouse that apparently gave the entire staff lung cancer. Two cases with abuse of power and another one that involved some overdue parking tickets of all things, and fraudulent use of expenses.
Erick’s imagination is certainly broad. He should be a writer. I’d like to read whatever stories he managed to write.
“...I’d like to apologize to the American people, the people who voted me into this position and to whom I’ve let down. An apology is inadequate, but...”
“...it is the first of many steps I intend to take to rectify this situation, to correct my abuse of power.” Erick’s voice pops out from the doorway and verbatim, his words and the Congressman’s are the same.
“You wrote his speech too? Hell, have you slept at all since you got here?” I ask, incredulous, sitting up and staring at him, mouth agape.
He stretches and yawns as he wriggles his muscles in front of me. I can’t deny he’s a gorgeous specimen of manhood. In a running T-shirt and shorts, I can see everything. All his muscles, his package...everything. Natalia is a lucky, if thoroughly undeserving, bitch to have him as her lover.
Not that I’m jealous. Because I’m not. But hell, I’ve got eyes. And a pulse. Not that I’d admit any tiny worm of attraction to myself, because even thinking Erick’s hot feels like a terrible betrayal to Nate. With Erick on site, as well as what’s happening with Greta, Nate is on edge. It’s understandable, I guess. Still, I’ll be glad when the man before me returns to wherever the hell he lives. Just like his bitch secretary has.
Spending less than twenty-four hours here, to take part in the most critical aspects of the work, Natalia flew off into the sunset a while back.
Good. After what I’ve learned about her treatment of Nate, she’ll never be welcome here again.
As it is, she’s lucky I decided to stay out of her way. I’ve enough shit on my shoulders without raking up that mess. If she’d dared to approach me, I’d have raised hell. I can only assume Erick, in his infinite wisdom, decided to keep her out of the way and get her off the ranch as soon as possible.
Who’s a clever boy?
Said smarty-pants slumps down on the chair in front of my desk and nods. “Yeah, all of the speeches, the stories, the scandals have all been planned to the nth degree. So far, so good. The media just believes what we feed them. Morons. It’s better they believe politicians are backstabbing bastards than have the real truth coming out. No one trusts them anyway.”
“If you say so.”
He snorts. “I do. I’m just glad we’ve managed to stage manage everything. That list you gave us was very helpful in convincing some of the faithless that we meant business and that with the same information, the Russians would mean it even more.” He shakes his head. “Christ, some of them were working on legislation that affected national security. They thought they could just ride out the backlash. Dicks. Hell, I dread to think what would have happened if we hadn’t caught wind of Nate’s shooting.”
Biting my lip, I duck my head. “I should have called you.”
“You should have.”
My head rears back at the lack of ire in his voice. As our eyes connect, I scowl at him. “If you were in my position, what would you have done? I had no choice but to lie low. And you know I’m no coward. There was too much at stake. My friends, my family. The commune. My girls. There were too many people who could be hurt if I’d directly involved myself by seeking you out.”
“Do you hear me chastising you?”
“No. That’s what’s making me nervous.”
He grins. “You always were difficult.”
“I know,” I admit, blowing out a breath. He’s right. Always was and always will be.
“I heard you’re evicting Greta Abelmann.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
He shrugs. “Partly.”
“Couldn’t it have waited until you’d had a shower?” I ask, crinkling my nose at his less than pristine, if gorgeous appearance.
“I wanted you to see what you’re missing out on.”
The deadpan tone has me barking with laughter. My grin nearly cracks my jaw in two, before I ask, smile still in place, “What does any of this have to do with you?”
“I’m curious.”
“Always dangerous.”
“Yeah, you’re not wrong.” He settles back in his seat and studies me. “Do you know my predecessor warned your father about accepting her into the ranch?”
“No. I didn’t know that. And I love how you say predecessor.” I shake my head at him. “Like it isn’t your Aunty Marie.”
Marie retired about nine years ago. She works over in the library now. She’s obsessed with post-revolution Russian literature.
“I have to glamorize it; otherwise, people might think I was given this role on the family platter.”
“You weren’t?”
His eyes flash at my tongue-in-cheek comment, but I can tell he’s amused at my sarcasm. “Maybe. Only because she trained me herself for the job. Marie doesn’t really give a damn about nepotism. She’s too anal for that.”
I wave a dismissive hand, effectively changing the subject. “Why did she warn my father against her?”
“Greta had roots with the Stasi.”
My eyebrows shoot up. European history has never been my bag, so I ask, “The German secret police before the Berlin Wall came down?” At his nod, I scowl. “How the hell did she get a visa over here?”
“She sold some state secrets in return for permanent residence in the US.”
> “Wasn’t that thoughtful of her?” I mock. “And my father ignored Marie’s advice? I don’t understand why. If he’d been a normal man, I’d say it was because he wanted to fuck Greta. But hell, I think if he could have fucked his books, he would have done.”
Erick grimaces. “That’s an image I’ll never get out of my mind.”
“Grow up. Why did he accept Greta?”
“Alexei Sergov vouched for her.”
“How did he know her?”
“From the old country, I’d imagine.”
“That would only wash if Greta was Russian, not German.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know how he knew her or why he vouched for her. He might have met her in some bar, she might have given him the ride of his life and once she grabbed a hold of his cock, he didn’t want her to let go.”
It’s my turn to grimace. “Now I’ll never get that image out of my head.”
“Grow up,” he mocks, throwing my words back at me. “All I’m saying is, be careful. She might seem like your average witch, but she has a background.”
I settle back into my seat with a smile. “I know. Well, I didn’t realize she had connections, but I know she’s an opportunistic bitch.”
He frowns at me. “What are you planning?”
“Who am I talking to? Erick van der Viel or Erick?”
“If you mean am I talking to you in an official capacity...? Then, no. Just one concerned friend to another.”
Pursing my lips at him, I lean forward and say, “She’s in the middle of a rather large cobweb I’ve just spun.”
“Who’s the Black Widow? You or her?”
“Me. Of course,” I snap, offended.
Amused, he shakes his head. “And what do you intend this cobweb to do?”
“To catch her.”
“Do I need to know more?”
“Probably, but it’s best if you don’t.”
“That doesn’t bode well.” He frowns at me. “Nobody’s in danger, are they? Christ, I need a break before you concoct any more mischief.”
“It wasn’t me who did the concocting before. How was I to know the Russian mafia was going to get involved in my business?”
Sinfully Mastered: Naughty Nookie Page 34
