by Cassie Miles
“Is there a need,” Quint asked in a low, dangerous tone, “to protect her from you?”
He gasped. Gordon’s mouth opened and closed like a fish under water. “Of course not.”
“Well, that’s real fine,” Quint said. “If I found out you were responsible for causing one minute of trouble for Natalie, I would consider it my personal duty to change you from a stallion to a gelding.”
He released Gordon’s arm with a slight shove, sending him backward a pace. “Find something useful to do,” Quint said.
Retreating, Gordon snapped at Natalie, “Your father isn’t going to like the way you’ve handled things. Did you even bother to talk to him?”
“He would’ve done the same thing,” Natalie responded. “Our first priority is safety.”
Soon, she’d find out if she was correct. Only a moment ago, she’d received word that her father had taken a suite at the hotel, and he wanted to see her.
After leaving Jerome Harris in charge, she exited the banquet room and walked to the elevator with Quint at her side. Quietly, she said, “Thank you.”
“For pushing Gordon around? Hell’s bells, I’ve been itching to do that.”
They boarded the elevator with a group, but they were the only people left as they rode the last few floors to the penthouse level. She smiled up at him and said, “You’ve been incredibly helpful, Quint. I appreciate that you haven’t once challenged my authority.”
“I figure it’s hard enough to make decisions without having a back-seat driver.”
“Very sensitive,” she said.
He visibly winced. “Let’s keep that our little secret.”
“Your sensitivity?” She teased, “Are you scared the other guys will call you a sissy?”
“They better not.” He adjusted his belt buckle and stared up at the ceiling of the elevator.
“Quint, are you blushing?”
“No, ma’am. Men don’t blush.”
On the top floor of the hotel, he held the elevator so the door wouldn’t close. They were the only two people in the hallway, and Natalie took her time, slowly brushing past him. It might be kind of wonderful for the two of them to spend some time alone. She’d enjoy peeling away the layers of Texan to find the real man inside.
Side by side they paced the rose-colored carpet. She was glad for Quint’s company as she went into this meeting. At least there would be one person in the room who was on her side.
When Natalie knocked, the door to her father’s suite was opened by his secretary, who ushered them inside, then retreated to the bedroom where she was, apparently, working. Henry rose from the brocade sofa and rushed toward her. In an uncharacteristic display of emotion, he hugged her. “Thank God, you’re all right.”
“I’m fine.” The tears she’d been holding back moistened her eyelids.
“When I first heard…” His voice caught in his throat. “I’ve never been so damn scared in my life.”
“It’s okay, Henry. I’m fine.”
He held her at arm’s length, staring into her face as if he hadn’t seen her in years. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Positive.” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. Even now, in a moment of intense emotion, she would not indulge in weeping. That wasn’t the way her family worked.
Henry turned on his heel and stalked across the nicely furnished room. Though this wasn’t a five-star hotel, the penthouse suite was ornately decorated with Queen Anne style sofa, chairs and coffee table. There was also a bar, and a dining table scattered with documents and a laptop computer.
Henry did not sit. His back was ramrod straight. “Sit down, Natalie. You too, Quint.”
The atmosphere in the room had changed. In the blink of an eye, Henry had transformed from loving father to high-powered corporate executive, and Natalie knew better than to disobey. She perched on the edge of the sofa, while Quint sat beside her.
“May I explain why I decided to evacuate the building?” she asked.
“Please do.”
“I suspected the fire in my office was caused by a bomb. There might have been other bombs planted. To avoid putting Quantum Building employees in danger, evacuation seemed the only rational course of action.”
“Why the hell didn’t you call me?”
“Everything was happening so fast. I had Maria Luisa keep you informed.”
“Maria Luisa is not my daughter. It was your voice I wanted to hear. Natalie, you should have discussed the evacuation with me. You overstepped your authority.”
The dual nature of their relationship had never been more obvious. Natalie loved her father. Deep in her heart, she yearned to be a child again, to sit on his lap and make up fairy tales about faraway places. At the same time, she desperately wanted his approval as the CEO of Quantum. She needed validation for her career. No one else’s opinion mattered as much.
Lacing her fingers primly on her lap, she realized that she could’ve done better in this situation. She’d messed up. “I should have called you.”
He rocked back and forth on his heels. “There are procedures to be followed in cases of emergency. For example, did it occur to you to close down the Quantum Research Facility?”
“No.”
“The facility where your sister works? Did it occur to you that all of those employees, including Caroline, might be in danger?”
Appalled by her own lack of foresight, Natalie shook her head. Increased security measures for other Quantum facilities had not even crossed her mind. There were offices and installations worldwide. Any of them might have been subject to attack. Grudgingly, she said, “Caroline isn’t at work.”
“So I heard when I contacted the research facility. You don’t happen to know where she went on her vacation, do you?”
Now was probably not the best moment to confide her fears that her sister had taken off to join an eco-cult located somewhere in southern Illinois. What could have possessed Caroline? Natalie couldn’t understand how her brainy scientist sister expected to find any sensible answers inside a cult, especially a cult that condemned Quantum and all other oil-related businesses. The Solar Sons might even be responsible for—
“Natalie,” Henry snapped. “I sincerely hope your sister hasn’t taken off on another one of her environmentalist crusades. Where is she?”
“She’s all right. We’ve been corresponding on e-mail. I’ll get word to her about the explosion.”
“I can’t even control my own daughters.” Henry paced across the room to the bar. “How the hell can I deal with a possible bombing!”
Though it was only ten o’clock in the morning, he poured vodka into a shot glass. “Business used to be straightforward,” he muttered. “You’d make the best deal, implement operations, and there you were. Now everything is politics, protests and threats. You let me down, Natalie.”
Miserably, she said, “I’m sorry.”
“Excuse me, sir.” Quint rose from the sofa and stepped out from behind the coffee table with its silk flower display. “You’re not seeing the whole picture.”
Henry turned and faced him. “I’m not?”
“Natalie faced the charred remains of her office. She assessed the situation and took immediate action to protect the safety of your employees.”
Henry sipped his vodka. “That’s not the point. She should have contacted me.”
“Quick action saves lives,” Quint said. “Where I come from, Natalie wouldn’t be called on the carpet. She’d be celebrated as a hero.”
A swell of gratitude spread from her heart and warmed her entire body. It was her turn to blush. She never considered herself to be a hero or, more accurately, a heroine. That lofty assessment applied to people like firemen or soldiers, not to a vice president in charge of public relations.
“I believe,” Quint continued, “that Natalie is one of the bravest women I’ve ever known.”
She watched her father swallow the rest of his drink in a single gulp. His gaze fastened
onto her face, and his lips curved in a rueful smile. “Sometimes it takes a stranger like Quint to point out the obvious. I don’t tell you often, but you’re doing a good job. This morning, you were right to evacuate the building. Better to be safe than otherwise. I’m proud of you, Natalie. Very proud.”
She wouldn’t allow her tears to leak and spoil this moment. Her father believed in her. He had approved of her actions. “Thank you, Henry.”
He set down his glass and rubbed his hands together, anxious to return to the less emotionally-charged arena of business. “Now, we have a lot of work to do.”
She was right with him. “I assume you’ve talked to the security men and Special Agent Yoder about the explosion. Are we looking at a terrorist threat?”
Henry shook his head and frowned. “According to the preliminary investigation, the authorities believe that the fire in your office was caused by faulty electrical wiring.”
“An electrical fire?” Natalie doubted that explanation. The destruction in her office centered on her desk and her chair. An electrical fire didn’t make sense.
“Apparently,” Henry said, “when the man from Apex Electronics came in to install the security camera, he crossed the wires or something.”
She glanced at Quint. “We saw that guy on the street.”
He nodded. “Nick Beaumont from Little Rock. Average height. Brown hair.”
“And a Cubs cap,” she said. “He was wearing a Cubs cap.”
“We’re not sure he’s responsible,” her father said smoothly. “You’ll need to put together the press releases. You should emphasize that this was an accident. Not an attack.”
“Is that the truth?”
“It’s what I’ve been told,” he answered.
A lie! For the past several days, Natalie had the off-kilter sense that someone was lying to her. Something at Quantum wasn’t right.
Anger flared behind her eyes, burning with absolute clarity. She’d informed the press that the explosion in Quantum’s Reykjavik offices was due to a gas leak. Another lie! When she asked her father why he was beefing up security, he claimed it was merely a routine update. Lies, lies, lies! The presence of an FBI agent at her office should have been the final tip-off.
Slowly, she rose to her feet to confront her father. “It’s time for you to tell me the truth, Henry. I’ll be careful about what I tell the press, but I need to know. You have to trust me enough to tell me.”
“I trust you.”
“Then, stop lying to me!”
Her father’s lips drew into a thin, straight line as he stared at her across a chasm of silence. If he wanted to play a waiting game, fine. She’d stand like a statue for hours before she’d allow him to palm off another easy deception.
Her father expelled a deep sigh. Then he looked away from her. “I didn’t want to put you in danger.”
“Too late for that.” She reined her anger. It wouldn’t do any good to snap. “Do we have any idea who’s behind the terrorist bombing in Reykjavik and here? Is it Zahir?”
“We don’t know,” Henry said. “There’s an undercover operation underway, and the FBI wants us to downplay this incident, to call it an electrical fire while they investigate.”
“Fine. I’ll check with you before I issue the press release. Is there anything else I should know?”
Henry walked to the conference table. From the clutter, he withdrew a sheet of paper. “This is a copy of a note found in your office after the explosion.”
She stared down at the familiar stick figure. It seemed to be dancing. The message read, “You can’t stop me.”
Chapter Five
Even now, more than an hour after he’d seen the message, Quint couldn’t forget the taunting image. The stick figure danced in the back of his mind. The crude grin on its face infuriated him. And the message? You can’t stop me.
The hell I can’t. He tensed, ready to attack, to retaliate with all his strength and will. He wanted to track these people down and make them pay. But that wasn’t Quint’s assignment. His undercover bodyguard job meant he must not draw attention to himself. He must appear to be an easygoing, slow-talking, Texan cowboy.
Fighting his ever-rising sense of frustration, he tried to fade into the background at the makeshift Quantum headquarters in the hotel banquet room. He waited, minute by minute, ready to protect Natalie if necessary. By damn, it was near impossible to hold himself in check.
Every time he looked at her, he wanted to fling her over his shoulder and carry her to safety, far away from this imminent peril. Her father had strongly suggested the same thing, ordering her to take a few days off and leave town. She’d refused. And that came as no surprise.
Natalie Van Buren was the most mule-headed woman he’d ever met. Her big trip to Washington, D.C. was coming up, and she intended to fulfill all her obligations before she boarded the corporate jet and took on an angry energy consortium.
Likewise, when Henry said he wanted her guarded, Natalie declined. After she’d studied the stick figure drawing, which pretty well confirmed that her office had been targeted, she said that she had a message of her own to send: She wasn’t scared.
On that count, Quint didn’t quite believe her. The way he figured, she didn’t want to be scared. She wanted to face these threats with her head held high. But fear was unavoidable in the face of escalating danger.
Right now, she was working with her public relations staff, preparing a written statement for the press—pretending like nothing unusual had happened. Occasionally, however, she stood up straight as though startled. She tucked her shining brown hair behind her delicate ear and looked directly at him. And he saw the truth, the ragged edge of terror in her eyes, the slight tremor in her fingers.
He offered an easy grin, reached out to her with non-threatening support. Her brave struggle filled him with determination. He’d find the bastards who’d done this to her.
At the moment, the hotel banquet room seemed safe enough. A quick survey assured Quint that Henry Van Buren had made good on one of his suggestions. There were four armed security men posted near the exits. Whether or not Henry’s daughter approved, she was being guarded.
This might be a propitious moment for Quint to slip away. He exited into the hotel lobby, then to the street. Using his secured cell phone, he contacted Chicago Confidential headquarters, where the receptionist, Kathy Renk, put him through to Vincent Romeo.
“Vincent, I need information on the bomb.”
“I don’t have much,” Vincent said. “From fragments, we’re guessing that the incendiary was simple plastique explosive with a wristwatch timer, designed for a small explosion and fire.”
“Similar to the device in Reykjavik?”
“On a much smaller scale, the pattern is there. We can assume the terrorists are here in Chicago. It’s the same guys.”
Quint had suspected as much, but it was good to have confirmation. “Who are they?”
“Andy has discovered several explosions with the same M.O., but there’s no common thread among them. It’s his theory that we’re dealing with a bomb-maker for hire.”
A mercenary. Someone who killed and committed mayhem for cash rewards. In Quint’s mind, a mercenary was the lowest of the low. Even a supposed freedom fighter like Zahir had some kind of ethic. “Have you got a name for this guy?”
“Nothing,” Vincent said. “Our best lead is the guy who posed as an Apex Electronics technician, alias Nick Beaumont. He timed his arrival for the shift change of the security guards and grabbed a couple minutes alone in Natalie’s office, which is when he probably set the bomb.”
“We saw him,” Quint said. “On the street before the explosion, he stopped Natalie from going directly inside to her office.”
“Interesting,” Vincent said. “Nick Beaumont didn’t want her to be there when the bomb went off. Which is also why he set the explosion for an hour when nobody was expected to be in the building. Just like the explosion in Reykjavik, when nobody
was hurt.”
Quint couldn’t believe the bomber’s motivation was altruistic. “Why would he be concerned about casualties?”
“The explosion wasn’t meant to start a battle,” Vincent said. “It was meant as a warning.”
“About what?”
“He’ll let us know.”
Demands were yet to come. The danger was never over in a campaign of fear waged by cowards. First came the anonymous threats. Now, the explosion had escalated to the next level: Destruction of property. What came next?
Quint asked, “Is Zahir involved?”
“I don’t know,” Vincent said. “Prince Zahir is under constant surveillance, and he hasn’t made any suspicious moves. If he’s involved, it’s at a distance.”
“How about Gordon Doeller? Anything on him?”
“We ran computer searches on his finances, and it doesn’t look like he’s received any payoffs. He’s up to his ears in debt. Flat broke.”
Therefore, desperate. Quint had heard the bitterness in Gordon’s voice when he talked about his ex-wife leaving him nothing but the family SUV. “Where might Gordon look for ready cash?”
“Telephone and computer records from his office indicate that he’s in touch with several persons in the Middle East.”
“But that’s his job,” Quint said.
“He’s also had contact with a man named Greely who is affiliated with that eco-cult in southern Illinois,” Vincent said. “I’ve got Law looking into the Solar Sons. And we’re considering the possibility that our bomber might be homegrown.”
“Why?”
“No identification. We had clear pictures of him on security cams at Quantum. When Andy ran the visual profiles, we couldn’t find a record. There was nothing.”
An idea occurred to Quint. “Natalie and I had a close-up conversation with the guy. Maybe we could help in the identification.”
“You can’t blow your cover, Quint.”
“No problem. I’ll bring her over to Solutions to see Whitney. While we’re there, we can try out a computer program.”
