The Final Secret

by Cassie Miles

  Noah handed her a bottle of water from a mini-fridge beside the desk. “Do you know a former security contractor named Kenneth Warrick?”

  “Yes.” Hoping that he’d drop the subject, she took a long drink from the water bottle.

  But Noah wasn’t the sort of guy who gave up easily. “Tell me about him.”

  “A private contractor and weapons dealer, he was questioned regarding the explosion that killed my team. More than anyone else, he knew our schedule and our plans. I hate to think that he betrayed my crew.”

  “He wasn’t charged.”

  And it wasn’t the first time that Warrick smooth talked his way out of trouble. “The investigation concluded that a local warlord was responsible.”

  “You and Warrick were close.”

  So close that they’d discussed marriage. She would never allow herself to be that vulnerable again. “I was stupid.”

  He lowered himself into the chair beside the sofa. His gaze dropped, and he stared at her feet. Though she tried not to look down, she glanced. Her slacks were hiked up, and she could see her discolored ankle. The swollen flesh bulged over the top strap of her sandal.

  “One of the guys downstairs is a medic,” Noah said. “He could take a look at your injury.”

  “It’s only a sprain.”

  “How do you know?”

  She’d had enough broken bones to know when she had one. “I’ve been putting weight on my leg and it hasn’t buckled. If I get the injury iced and wrapped with a bandage, I’ll be fine.”

  “I have an assignment for you on Saturday,” he said. “If you’re not one hundred percent by then, I need to know.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, I want the rest of your story. Three years ago, you were injured in Afghanistan. According to the medical report, you had several broken bones and a concussion.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “I don’t need to know the medical procedures you’ve undergone, but I want the results. You have a disability.”

  Due to the concussion, damaged bones, a hematoma and extensive nerve damage, her left upper arm and certain muscles in both legs were numb. Ongoing programs of therapy and workouts had improved her condition. She passed her fitness tests with high marks, but there was one problem...not a problem, really, an anomaly.

  She lifted her chin and confronted him directly. “In about thirty percent of my body, I can’t feel pain.”

  Chapter Two

  “Noah, are you sure it isn’t too soon to have Gennie in the field?”

  “I’m positive.” He stared at the face on his cell phone’s screen. Today, Anna Rose Claymore—the founder of ARC Security—wore her blue-streaked hair twisted in a bun atop her head. Her huge glasses had blue-and-pink-polka-dot frames. She looked several years too young to be the grandma of four—a phenomenon she attributed to being a full-fledged, dedicated nerd.

  “Gennie Fox joined us only four days ago.”

  “You don’t usually pay so much attention to field operations,” he said. Anna Rose ran the cyber-crime division and generally stayed at her multiscreen array of computers. “What’s up?”

  “Gennie’s condition fascinates me. She’s like a comic book heroine whose superpower is being invulnerable to pain.”

  “And I’d advise you to never tell her that. She’s not the type of woman who’d be complimented by a starring role in a comic.”

  “Ah, well, I guess that’s my dream,” Anna Rose said. “Is Gennie’s sprain healed?”

  “She’s keeping her ankle wrapped, but our doctor gave her an okay for full activity. Yesterday, I saw her running on the treadmill without a limp. She’s done well at every test we’ve come up with. Her marksmanship ranks at an expert level. She excels in hand-to-hand combat, and she understands our electronic equipment. Her greatest skill—one that can’t be measured—is her ability to work well with the others on the team.”

  “Like I’ve said before, I approve of your decision to hire her. Gennie is remarkable and has contacts with people who might hire us.”

  He heard an unusual sour note in her voice. “What’s troubling you?”

  “It’s not about Gennie.” Above her glasses, her forehead scrunched with worry. “There’s something off about this fund-raising event at General Haymarket’s mansion. Why did he request a sweep of his house and grounds looking for explosives? He wants a metal scanner and ordered extra agents, including a sniper on the roof. Has our favorite general taken a deep dive into the paranoia pond?”

  “I hope he’s not losing it. He sends a lot of business our way.”

  “Send me a revised guest list,” she said. “I’ll check backgrounds and look for clues.”

  “Consider it done.”

  Noah ended the call and stepped back to watch as Gennie and other ARC field agents performed the pre-event security check at this palatial home southwest of Denver. The guest list that Anna Rose wanted would include the names of billionaires, high-ranking military personnel and influential executives. They’d allocated a good chunk of change for the privilege of attending this political event and were scheduled to start arriving in about an hour. During the silent auction, they’d drink artisan beer and whiskey from a local distillery. In keeping with the “Buy Colorado” theme, this elite group would chow down on stuffed mushrooms, venison, rattlesnake canapés and other regionally sourced delicacies arrayed on buffet tables.

  Noah would have preferred a sit-down dinner where his team could easily keep an eye on the two hundred or so attendees. Instead, ARC needed to prepare for a roomful of Type-A personalities, accompanied by their equally aggressive spouses, all of whom would be competing in the auction, stating political views and matching wits. Even if there was no gunplay or exploding bombs, so much could go wrong.

  For a moment, the red-and-gold glow of sunset flashed outside the west windows and distracted him. Beautiful and dangerous, the brilliant April skies were an omen that hinted at the onset of fire season. Instead of considering the potential for disaster, he focused on Gennie, noting her confident manner as she glided among the small circular tables in the center of the high-ceilinged, marble-floored ballroom. Her injured ankle didn’t seem to bother her, and he figured she was wearing a compression wrap under her ankle-high boots that were low-heeled but classy. She looked like a million bucks in a form-hugging black jumpsuit and a patterned black-and-beige cashmere vest that was long enough to cover her holstered weapon.

  She paused in her inspection of the tables. With a toss of her head that sent a ripple through her curly blond hair, she glanced over her shoulder and met his gaze. He nodded in her direction and reminded himself to keep a careful distance from this woman who was as beautiful as a Rocky Mountain sunset. Another harbinger of danger! Getting involved with an employee would be a seriously dumb decision, but there was no harm in scrutinizing her every move. That was his job.

  From over his shoulder, he heard a gruff voice. “I never expected to see Captain Genevieve Fox in my home.”

  “General Haymarket.” Noah shook hands with the vigorous older gentleman who was hosting this event. Haymarket was dressed in slacks and a striped golf shirt that stretched tightly across his barrel chest. He looked comfortable. The casual outfit suited him better than the dress uniform he’d be changing into before the event. Whether or not he was paranoid, this four-star general had paid his dues and put in his time. He was due for retirement.

  “Did Gennie use me for a reference?” he asked.

  “No, sir, she didn’t.”

  “Are you aware that I have a history with her?”

  She’d spoken to him about her complicated relationship with her former commanding officer. “I hope that’s not a problem.”

  “Not on my end, but she’s not real fond of me. The last time we spoke, she called me a bald-headed male chauvinist baboon. With all due
respect, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “I hate baboons.” The general scowled. “She was mad because I wouldn’t approve her return to active duty. After the bomb, she looked like hell. I couldn’t allow her to put herself in harm’s way, couldn’t stand to see her hurt again.”

  “She’s made a successful recovery,” Noah said. A remarkable woman.

  “You don’t have a problem with her special condition?”

  He didn’t intend to say too much about Gennie’s insensitivity to pain and her nerve damage. If she wanted to talk about her two years of operations, hard work and physical therapy with the general, that was her business. “The ARC doctor gave her a complete physical and rated her above average.”

  At the opposite end of the room, Gennie was paying particular attention to the floral arrangement beside the podium where the guest of honor, Mitch Murano, would be speaking. She leaned close to the thick green foliage, yellow flowers and dark red roses. Pulling back, she scowled at the posies as though they’d done something wrong. From there, she went to the silent auction tables where a variety of items were lined up side by side. Again, she inspected the flowers. She straightened her shoulders and made a beeline for him and the general.

  The burly general who had commanded thousands of troops in Iraq and Afghanistan gave a shudder. “Do you think she’s still angry?”

  “You’re not scared of her, are you, General?”

  “Don’t let those big blue eyes fool you. Pretty little Gennie is lethal. A few years ago, I saw her take down a trained combatant twice her size using only a broom handle for a weapon.”

  “I’m aware,” Noah said. “Four days ago, she kicked my ass.”

  When she came to a halt in front of them, she raised her right hand so quickly that he thought for a moment that she was going to salute, even though the general wasn’t in uniform and she was no longer a soldier. Or maybe she was going for a karate chop. Instead, she opted for a civilized handshake and a tentative smile.

  “A pleasure to see you, sir.”

  “Likewise,” he said. “Noah tells me that you’re working for him.”

  “I am. And I have a security question about the floral displays. Should I speak to you about my concerns?”

  “Not me. I don’t know a damn thing about the decorations.”

  “Your wife?”

  “Ruby didn’t have anything to do with tonight. She’s not even going to be here.”

  His wife’s absence seemed odd to Noah. The spectacularly beautiful Ruby Haymarket usually grabbed any chance to break out the tiara and be the belle of the ball.

  “I’ll miss her,” Gennie said. “I hope she’s not ill.”

  “Fit as a fiddle and feisty, too. Her problem is that she doesn’t share my political views. I believe Mitch Murano will make a damn fine senator. Ruby thinks he’s a con man.”

  The general’s wife had a point. In Noah’s opinion, Murano had perfected the art of playing both sides against each other. While vigorously supporting gun rights, Murano ran a worldwide institute encouraging peaceful meditation and enlightenment. His detractors referred to his seesaw policies as NRA Namaste.

  The general signaled to a man with a clipboard. “You remember Captain Dean Slocum, don’t you? He handled the food and decorations for this fund-raiser.”

  Slocum strutted toward them. His uniform was crisp. His grooming was perfect with his close-cropped pale blond hair as smooth as a platinum skull cap. He was so white that he was nearly albino. In the midst of bustling caterers and waiters making last minute preparations, Slocum appeared to be in control. He’d been the general’s right-hand man for a long time and had grown smug in his job.

  His sneering attitude wasn’t the only reason Noah disliked the captain. After he shook Slocum’s hand, he started to introduce Gennie.

  “We’re acquainted,” she said coldly.

  “I’ve known her for years.” Slocum matched her coolness with an ice storm of his own. “Gennie’s a hero and has the Purple Heart to prove it.”

  She flinched. Though she didn’t feel pain in a third of her body, Noah could see that her memories of combat and working in a war zone still hurt. The nightmares and the guilt were harder to cure than physical impairments.

  The general spoke to the captain. “Gennie has questions about the flowers, and I told her to ask you about them.”

  “No problem.”

  “I’ll leave you to it. Gennie, I hope we can talk later.” He backed out of the conversation. “Right now, I’d better run upstairs and get changed.”

  “Give Ruby my regards,” she said with a smile that faded as she turned back to Slocum. “When you ordered the arrangements, did you specify colors or types of flowers?”

  “No.” With the general gone, Slocum didn’t bother to hide his hostility. His blue eyes narrowed to slits in his colorless face. “I told them that the flowers were for a fund-raiser and gave them the size and number of the arrangements. When I mentioned Mitch Murano, the flower people were thrilled. He’s a celebrity. I hope he brings his supermodel girlfriend. Have you ever seen her?”

  “I don’t know who she is or what she looks like,” Gennie said.

  “Of course not. It’s obvious that you aren’t interested in fashion. My question is, why the hell are you making trouble?”

  “About the flowers,” she said, “you didn’t request yellow oleander, pink rhododendron and hemlock branches. Is that correct?”

  “I already said I didn’t.” He flipped through his clipboard, made a note and tore off a scrap of paper, which he tossed to her. “This is the florist. If you need more details, call them.”

  “I will.” She pulled out her cell phone and stepped aside.

  Slocum pivoted on his heel so he was facing toward Noah again. “You need to keep your people in line, and I’m not just talking about Gennie. I have a problem with your man at the front entrance.”

  Shrugging off his irritation with Slocum’s tone, Noah remained professional. “Which man at the entrance?”

  “The pretty boy, he said his name was Tony Vega and claimed that his orders were to set up a metal detector. That’s a waste of time. Some of the people coming to this event are military and could be in full dress uniform, possibly including sabers. Others are ranchers who routinely carry guns. These are rich men, powerful men, and they won’t give a damn if they set off a beeper. No way will they surrender their weapons.”

  Providing security for people who refused to disarm made Noah’s job more difficult, but he wasn’t responsible for this particular scan. “Talk to the general about disarming his guests. He specifically asked for the metal detector.”

  “And I’m telling you to take it down.”

  Seriously? This pencil-neck geek thought he could overrule the general? “I won’t do it without written authorization to change the terms of our contract.”

  “Fine.” He flipped to a blank page on his clipboard and started writing.

  “What’s the deal with this event?” In normal circumstances, Noah would have covered this fund-raiser with five or six operatives, but the general requested twelve, including outdoor surveillance. “Is there something we need to be aware of? Have you received threats?”

  “Not your problem, Noah.”

  The hell it wasn’t. Managing the danger level was the very definition of protective security. “I’ll take this up with the general.”

  “Wait!” Slocum caught his arm before he could leave. “Several people—including a blond anchor on TV—are mad at Murano. He’s had a dozen or so threats from people who are unhappy with those screwball meditation classes he teaches.”

  “And?”

  “The threats were neutralized.”

  Noah didn’t like the sound of that. Slocum was talking like an evil James Bond villain. “Neutralized how?”
/>
  “His people took care of it. Talk to them.”

  The entourage for Mitch Murano included bodyguards and advisors. “How many of them are there?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t care.” Slocum tore the sheet of paper off his clipboard. “This note instructs you to take down the metal detectors. I signed it, dated it and will take responsibility.”

  “I intend to inform the general of the change in contract.”

  “You do that.” He pivoted and made a quick exit.

  Gladly, Noah returned to Gennie. He didn’t understand her problem with the flowers, but when she had mentioned hemlock, it caught his attention.

  She ended her phone call and frowned at him. “You didn’t tell me everything about this assignment.”

  His patience was running thin after the snippy conversation with Slocum, and he didn’t like her insinuation that he was somehow trying to trick her. “You know everything you need to know.”

  “I wasn’t aware that information was on a need-to-know basis.”

  He was not going to get into an argument. The guests would be arriving soon. “Tell me what you learned from the florist.”

  “The flowers used in these arrangements include yellow oleander, pink rhododendron, white azaleas, sprigs of hemlock and roses that are such a dark red that they appear to be black. Does that suggest anything to you?”

  Though he could see that she was fighting to keep her anger under control, her flushed cheeks and clenched jaw betrayed the hostility raging just below the surface. And he was feeling much the same. “I don’t get it.”

  “Even if you don’t know anything about the language of flowers—which clearly you do not—I’d expect you to recognize common poisons. If you had to survive in nature, what would you eat?”