by Cassie Miles
“I could do without the sarcasm.”
“All these plants are toxic, except for the roses, and black roses symbolize death.”
His gaze darted around the room, noticing the large display at the podium and six smaller versions on surrounding tables. “How dangerous are they?”
“There’s no problem unless the guests start eating the flowers or rubbing them on their bodies. I’m surprised that the florist agreed to handle these plants.”
She crossed the marble floor to one of the tables with a tall spreading display of flowers, and he followed. “They don’t look dangerous.”
“Anyone who knows about plants will recognize the threat. They’re a warning. And that’s why I talked to the florist about why they used these flowers. They said they were fulfilling a request, and here’s where this story gets interesting.”
“How so?”
She plucked one of the dark velvety roses from the display. “Guess who made the request for all these poisonous flowers?”
He didn’t have time to play games. “Tell me.”
“The name the florist gave me was... Kenneth Warrick.”
Chapter Three
Gennie was good at reading people, not that it took any particular sensitivity to deduce that Noah was furious. His brow furrowed like a grumpy—but still handsome—troll, and she could almost see steam shooting out of his ears, which was pretty much the reaction she’d expected. If there was one thing she’d learned about her boss during the past four days, it was that he hated when any situation got out of his control.
Though equally outraged, Gennie tamped down her anger. She twirled the dark rose between her fingers. “Did Warrick send these flowers as a warning? Or as a threat?”
“Hell if I know.”
His dark brown eyes returned her gaze with an intensity that made her feel like he was peering inside her skull. Looking for what? She had no hidden agenda. Her attitude toward Warrick was unambiguous hatred. As far as she was concerned, Noah was the wild card. He had mentioned Warrick at their first meeting, but he didn’t give context. Were they connected? Was Warrick a friend or an enemy? A muscle in Noah’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing. If that was the way he wanted to play it, fine.
She squared off with him and went silent.
They were both stubborn enough to continue this stare down for a very long time. She took the opportunity to study his face, which was definitely masculine in spite of the dimples that tweaked the corners of his mouth when he grinned. He was saved from being too classically handsome by his square jaw, sharp cheekbones and the tension that deepened the wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. She wondered what he’d look like with longer hair and maybe a beard.
Speculation on Noah’s grooming was none of her business. Whether he shaved or not, she didn’t give a hoot. Gennie had never been the type of giggly girl who got all jacked up over a good-looking male. She needed to figure out why Warrick requested those flowers. Warning or threat, which was it?
She cleared her throat. “Is Kenneth Warrick coming to this event?”
“He’s not on the guest list.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I have no reason to expect he’ll be here.”
“In our first interview, you mentioned Warrick. Is he an associate of yours?”
“Hell, no.”
Could she trust Noah? If she was going to work with him, she had to know that he had her back. “How did you meet Warrick?”
“We’ve never come face-to-face.”
She could tell that he was rationing his words but had no idea why. They were on the same team, weren’t they? Motioning for him to walk beside her, she strolled across the marble floor of the ballroom toward the kitchen where the caterers and the waitstaff bustled. Some carried trays of canapés. Others made final preparations by slicing, dicing and arranging. Two hours ago when she’d arrived at this massive three-story red brick Colonial house with six pillars across the front, she’d been excited about her assignment and anxious to do a good job—similar to how she used to feel with her team of army engineers. In Afghanistan, she’d been aware of the ever-present danger, but she hadn’t been fearful. And she wasn’t scared now, just apprehensive. She’d peeked under a stone and uncovered a scorpion.
She stopped a caterer in a chef’s jacket and asked him to clip the stem on her rose. Using his knife, he did so and handed the bloom back to her with a flourish. She rewarded him with a smile, passed on a bit of advice about steering clear of the poisonous flowers in the arrangements and then turned back to Noah. “I know Warrick is acquainted with the general.”
“He’s on a list of people to watch for. That’s why I mentioned him to you. By the way, Slocum hates him.”
She scanned the room until she spotted the overly tidy blond captain with his clipboard. “He hates everybody.”
“You have issues with Slocum?”
“Maybe.” She glimpsed a slight reaction from Noah, a narrowing of his eyes and a twitch of his mouth. “Do you have your own grudge against Slocum?”
“First, you tell me.”
While she’d been recovering from her injuries, Haymarket had offered her a job as his aide, taking over many of Slocum’s duties. Though she’d turned down the position, the captain was her sworn enemy for life. She didn’t really want to talk about it. “Let’s just say that he doesn’t like me.”
“Is there anybody in the military you haven’t pissed off?”
“Maybe not.” Though she remained curious about his beef with Slocum, she let it go. “Will you inform the general about the flowers?”
“Yes, and I’ll also ask about Warrick.” He frowned. “I think Haymarket is expecting trouble. Why else would he ask for a metal scanner and extra security outside the house?”
She’d wondered the same thing. The sniper on the roof seemed way too excessive for a fancy political fund-raiser. “He didn’t explain to you?”
“He did not.”
“Typical,” she said. “He plays his cards close to the vest.”
“Sounds like you know him better than I do.”
Her friendship with General Haymarket developed during her first tour of duty in faraway Afghanistan after he’d discovered that she grew up in his home state of Colorado. They’d known some of the same people, skied at the same resorts and fished in the same creeks. After her injury, he’d been too protective, but she never doubted that he had her best interests at heart. When Noah told her about this assignment, she’d been looking forward to seeing her former commanding officer. Someday, she hoped they could mend fences.
Friendship with the general was a mostly good memory from her military service. Kenneth Warrick was the opposite. The only way she wanted to see him was through the crosshairs of a rifle scope. After she’d been discharged from the hospital—where he never once visited—she’d done her best to erase him from her mind. Through the grapevine, she’d heard that his legitimate business as a private contractor and weapons dealer had taken a nefarious turn, and he’d dropped off the grid.
“Warrick used his real name when he talked to the florist.” She looked up at Noah. “I had the impression that he didn’t want to advertise his whereabouts.”
“Could be trying to tell us something,” Noah said. “Is he aware of your knowledge of plants and flowers?”
“I’m sure he is. One time, he gave me a bouquet of irises as a symbol for intelligence and courage. Quite a compliment.” At that point in their relationship, she would have preferred brilliant red roses meaning passionate love, but there were worse things than being smart and brave. “Why do you ask?”
“The poisonous flowers are a warning that most people wouldn’t understand. But he knew you would. He might have used his name to attract your attention.”
She shuddered at the idea of Warrick sending her a
message. “If he wanted to contact me, I’m not hard to find. He could pick up the phone and call. Or drop by the house.”
“Does he have your address?”
“It’s not hard to figure out.” She lived in her parents’ house in north Denver. They’d made a permanent move to Phoenix and were glad to have her taking care of the place. “We’re getting off track. Our main concern is security for this event.”
Wryly, he said, “I’m the boss. That’s supposed to be my line.”
“It shows we’re on the same page.” And she was proud of herself for not straying off track. When Noah flashed one of his infrequent grins and hiked up his right eyebrow in a question mark, he could be incredibly distracting. She squashed a crazy urge to trace the line of his lips with the nearly black rose. Instead, she tucked the flower behind her ear.
To her surprise, he reached up and brushed his fingers through her hair. “You make me think of Carmen. It’s pretty.”
“But not practical.” She wanted to look like a security guard not an opera singer or tango dancer. She removed the flower and slipped it into the pocket of his gray sports jacket.
“Here’s a thought,” Noah said. “The threat might be aimed at Mitch Murano.”
Apart from a general outline of Murano’s accomplishments, her only information came from one of the other ARC employees. Gennie looked across the dining hall toward the redhead with the great physique. “Zoey Potter took a three-week course with Murano. She said he turned her life around.”
Noah checked his G-SHOCK wristwatch. “The guests will be here soon. In light of Warrick’s involvement, I’d understand if you wanted to take the rest of the day off.”
“Not a chance.”
“Very well,” he said. “Talk to Zoey and see if there’s a link between Murano and Warrick.”
She stifled the instinct to salute. “Thanks for trusting me.”
His grin blossomed again. “Trust goes both ways.”
“Yes, it does.”
She watched him walk away. Though he hadn’t set out to be disarming, he couldn’t help the charm that radiated from him. In a few short minutes, she’d gone from anxious and irritated to nearly trusting the man. She wanted to believe that Noah was one of the good guys. He’d taken a chance by hiring her, and she didn’t intend to let him down no matter what kind of trouble Warrick was brewing.
* * *
NOAH STRODE ACROSS the polished floor in the impressive entryway to General Haymarket’s mansion. A crystal chandelier shimmered overhead, the side tables were polished antiques from an era he couldn’t name, but he knew the sculptures resting upon them were original Remington cowboys. Noah thought of the foyer as an example of the general’s rugged outlook mixed with Ruby’s taste for sparkle. Haymarket was the sort of man who braved the wilderness to pan for gold, and she was the lady who made his nuggets into a necklace. Despite their age difference—he was in his sixties and she in her forties—they seemed happy. In a weird way, they complemented each other.
Noah paused to issue a quick instruction to Tony Vega, telling him to hold off on the metal detector. Then he ascended the curving staircase, taking two steps at a time, hoping that a talk with the general would clear up his questions about Warrick.
Outside the general’s bedroom, he came to a halt with his fist raised to knock. From inside, he heard an argument. General Haymarket’s voice was gruff and monosyllabic. The woman sounded like a soprano singing an aria. It had to be Ruby. She’d already made it clear that she didn’t like this fund-raiser, and now she was telling him that she had no intention of making an appearance.
Noah’s unfortunate marriage had ended in divorce five years ago, and he had plenty of experience with domestic tirades—enough that he knew better than to interrupt. Stepping back, he leaned against the wall in the wide hallway and put through another call to Anna Rose. Her face popped up on the screen of his cell phone.
With her index finger, she pushed her polka-dot glasses up on her nose and said, “There’s a suspicious person working as a security agent for Mitch Murano.”
“Why suspicious?”
“A series of cyber indicators lead me to believe that he’s using a fake identity.”
As she rattled off an impressive number of clues that led to her conclusion, he tried not to eavesdrop on the general and Ruby. The word liar was being bandied about, also cheating, scum-sucking creep. On both sides, it was harsh.
He stepped away from the door. “Anna Rose, I think you’re onto something.”
“Thank you, dear. There are times when this old computer broad hits the mark. Call me Super Cyber Anna Banana.”
“Another comic book character?”
“Actually, it’s what my grandson Flip calls me. Anna Banana is sparkly and does shape-shifting, usually turning into fruit.”
“In the meantime...”
“I ran facial recognition on this guy and came up with a match.”
“Kenneth Warrick?”
“Bingo!”
Gennie’s former boyfriend was becoming a problem. “Send me his most recent photo and I’ll alert everybody to be on the lookout.”
“I’ll dig into links between Warrick and Murano and the general,” she said.
“Add Ruby Haymarket into that mix. She took a class with Murano.”
As if responding to a cue, Ruby charged into the hallway, leaving the bedroom door open behind her. Over her shoulder, she shouted at the general, “Don’t try to stop me. I can’t stand Mitch Murano, and I refuse to pretend that I like the man.”
The half-dressed general followed her through the door. “You won’t be missed. I’ll be too busy chatting up Lydia Green and Crystal.”
“Seriously, Roger? Are you trying to make me jealous?” Her honey-blond hair was caught up in a high ponytail that fell past the collar of her shirt. Her sculpted eyebrows arched in disdain. “You can talk to those piglets all you want. I’m going for a ride.”
Noah stood directly in her path. Stepping out of the way wasn’t in his nature, and so he squared his shoulders and stood his ground. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”
“I’m not old enough to be a ma’am. We’re probably the same age.”
Give or take a decade. “Did I hear you say that you were going for a ride?”
“That’s right.” She braced her fists on the hips of her skinny jeans and glared at him. “Have you got a problem with that?”
“It’s none of my business unless your ride puts you in harm’s way. I want to be certain that you’re safe. Allow me to escort you.”
He cocked his arm, and she latched on. “If you want to ride with me, I have a stallion you might be able to handle.”
“I’m needed here, but I’ll instruct one of my men to take you to the stables.”
She tossed a glance over her shoulder at her husband. “Don’t wait up for me.”
“I won’t.” The general’s face was blistering red. “I don’t give a hot damn if you settle your cute little behind into the saddle and ride across the mountains to California. It might jostle some sense into that pea brain of yours.”
“He doesn’t get me,” she whispered to Noah, “and he never will. Not until the day he dies.”
He sincerely hoped that day didn’t come on his watch.
Chapter Four
The small circular tables scattered in the center of the ballroom were meant for standing and chatting while sampling from the buffet. Before the guests arrived, they were vacant. Gennie wended her way through the tables and across the dance floor to approach Zoey. Though the redhead wore a modest pantsuit with sleeves that covered her ripped biceps, she still looked buff. Not an ounce of flab on that tanned well-toned body.
She greeted Gennie. “So, G-Fox, are you ready for this party to get started?”
“I’ve got one question. How much do you
know about flowers?”
Zoey smiled and shrugged. “They smell good?”
After a quick lecture on the toxic posies in the floral displays, Gennie mentioned Kenneth Warrick. “Have you heard of him? He used to be a private contractor in Afghanistan.”
“I was in the navy, never stationed in the Middle East.”
“He placed the order with the florist requesting those particular flowers, maybe as a threat to the guest of honor. What can you tell me about Murano?”
Zoey kept her eyes straight ahead and spoke out of the corner of her mouth as if dribbling out a secret. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this Warrick character wanted to poison Murano. Lots of people have a beef with him...including me.”
“Wait a minute!” Gennie was unsure she’d heard correctly. “You said Murano changed your life.”
“That doesn’t mean I like the guy. He claims to be spiritual and says his method is tough love, but there was nothing lovely about the way he treated me. After I left the navy, I was in a real bad place. My weight dropped to ninety-eight pounds. I dosed my morning orange juice with vodka, and that was when I bothered to get up. Mostly I stayed in bed and stayed stoned.”
“Weed?”
“And worse. I can’t believe I abused my body like that.” Her side-talking lips pinched together. “I hit rock bottom. That’s where smarmy Mitch Murano and his promise of meditation and healing came into play. I dropped four grand on a course with him. His idea of treatment was to tell me in no uncertain terms that I was hopeless and would never amount to anything. After a few weeks with him, I wanted to die.”
Gennie listened without comment. She empathized and identified with the emotional struggle that often came when leaving the service. Her injuries and the deaths of her team fed her PTSD. There had been days when she’d stared into the abyss and longed for death.
“Then I got angry,” Zoey said.
“I understand.”
