by Marton, Dana
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s all I need to know.”
She hesitated.
He cleared his throat. Measured her up. Then he seemed to come to some sort of decision. “Close the door and take a seat.” He waited until she did so. “A decade or so ago, when I was a colonel, I had a young officer under my supervision. Lieutenant Lester.”
She stiffened at the mention of the name.
“I had a complaint from a female soldier about Lieutenant Lester behaving inappropriately. No proof, no witnesses, a her-word-against-his type of thing, and there were rumors that the two had a relationship that ended badly, giving way to hard feelings. The lieutenant had a spotless record up to that point, something I was reluctant to destroy. Instead of charging him officially for conduct unbecoming, I transferred him.”
He paused as her mind reeled. But he went on after a moment. “I made a mistake. The way he ended up is just as much my fault as anybody else’s.”
“You’re not responsible for what he did, sir.”
“Then what happened wasn’t your fault either.” He folded his knobby hands on the desk in front of him. “No explanation of your past conduct is necessary. I’m sorry you were put in a situation where you had to deal with him. As far as I’m concerned, the incident needs no further discussion.”
The unconditional absolution left her stunned. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
She blinked hard as she stood and walked out of the man’s office.
The general’s words were nothing like the army saying, nothing happened because we can’t publicly admit what happened. She couldn’t fully accept this sudden absolution, not yet, but it loosened some of the old tightness inside her. There were people she respected, the general and Glenn, who knew what she’d done and accepted her with that knowledge.
She felt twenty pounds lighter as she walked back to her desk, but before she had a chance to think more about the general’s words, Karin forwarded her a call from another investigator in the field.
Paul Mitchard needed passenger logs for a flight from Moscow to Calcutta. He was trying to track down a human rights activist who’d gone missing a week ago. Miranda tackled the task, working through the maze of bureaucracy to receive the necessary permissions.
By the time she finished, mid-afternoon, a new case came in. The nephew of the state attorney general disappeared in Hong Kong, where he was studying marine biology. Miranda accepted the case, downloaded the files, and asked Elaine to make the travel arrangements.
“There’s a flight tonight. Might as well go home to pack,” Elaine called back from her desk a few minutes later.
Miranda finished up some emails, then headed home. She was packing her suitcase when her phone rang. She glanced at the display and her heart skipped a beat.
“I thought I’d check on you,” Glenn said as she took the call, the sound of his voice sending tingles down her spine. “How have you been?”
Missing you. “Busy with work. How are things on your end?”
She winced as the words left her mouth. Weren’t they polite? She hated that they sounded like distant friends, but nothing else was possible.
“I was thinking about coming down to D.C. tonight. I’m heading over to our R & D lab right now. Then there’s a really late meeting. I was going to skip that, but Cesar just tipped me off that it’s a surprise party, the managers putting something together to commemorate my recent adventures and officially celebrate my return. But after that, I want to drive down and see you. I need to talk to you.”
“I’m leaving for Hong Kong. I’m working a new case.” She wanted to see him, desperately, but what would be the point? To keep meeting with him would be like picking at a wound, never letting it heal. They had no future. She could bring him nothing but trouble.
“Bad timing,” he said after a long pause.
She forced herself to sound steady as she asked, “Any new clues on who set you up?” Being back at work while knowing that someone in his immediate surroundings had betrayed him, wanted him dead, had to be difficult. She’d been thinking about that, about him, a lot this past week.
“The investigators I hired cleared the secretarial staff. And our industry rivals. Right now we’re looking at a vocal environmentalist group that might have hacked our server. They published some confidential memos to throw dirt on us in the media. If they had that, they might have had my travel arrangements and meeting schedule.”
“Sounds like a promising lead.” She wished she could be part of the investigation, but that wasn’t how her job worked. She was strictly retrieval, and that part of the job had been accomplished.
“I want to see you when you come back,” he said.
“My schedule is pretty crazy.”
She couldn’t see him. There could never be anything serious between them. It hurt to stay away from him, but to have him in her life while knowing that there could never be more than the most superficial friendship, would kill her. What was it her mother used to say? A painful end is better than endless pain.
Miranda swallowed hard. Bad enough that she’d stupidly fallen in love with him all over again. The first time around, she’d given him up for her own sake, to make a life of her own without the influence and limitations of his powerful family. Now, the second time around, she was going to give him up for his sake. So her past wouldn’t hold back the success story that he could be.
“I need to focus on my new job right now,” she told him.
The pause on the other end was even longer this time. “I’m coming down,” he said at last, the words coming slowly, carefully. “You can give me half an hour.”
He hung up before she could protest.
She clenched her jaw. She had to make him understand that a relationship between them couldn’t work. She braced herself for the conversation, knowing she’d have to say whatever it took to make him walk away. Even if it’d kill her.
She packed her clothes, shoes in one outer pocket, toiletries in the other, fleeting thoughts nagging in the back of her mind.
She was done with packing and in the shower when the disjointed thoughts that barely floated on the surface of her consciousness suddenly snapped into place as she looked at the clothespins that held her shower curtain. The glass door had no glass, and the super was slow having it installed. She used what she had on hand to make the shower functional in the meanwhile.
We use the tools we have.
One of the cardinal rules of engineering and innovation. Take something that you have and make it work.
How many times had she done that in her life? How many times had they done that while trying to escape?
So someone wanted Glenn out of the way. And that someone had Venezuela in his tool box. He used what he had. He knew the system enough to know who to call. He knew what would happen to Glenn.
She could think of only one person in Glenn’s immediate circle who had a working knowledge of Venezuela, who was from Venezuela in fact. Cesar Montilla.
She’d discounted him for two reasons: the Venezuelan government was his enemy, and she couldn’t think of anything he’d gain by Glenn’s death. And yet . . . If he did want Glenn out of the way for some reason . . . We use the tools we have.
Her heart raced suddenly. Glenn was on his way to meet the man, at the company, after hours. Did anyone else know about that welcome back party?
She jumped from the shower and, dripping on the carpet, tried to call Glenn. He didn’t pick up. He was probably in his car, driving to the meeting.
She rubbed a towel over her body and hair in a rush, jumped into her clothes, then ran like hell for her car. She could be in Maryland in under an hour.
But would that be fast enough?
Cesar was making his move to remedy the fact that Glenn had returned from Venezuela in one piece. If she was right, Glenn was on his way to be murdered.
Glenn’s first clue that something was off was that the roof was empty of people. No roof party. Instead of tables, the helicopter stood on the helipad, the rotors in motion.
He glanced at his cell phone as he let the elevator door close behind him. He had a couple of missed calls from Miranda. Probably calling to tell him not to come to D.C.
He dropped the phone back into his pocket. He was driving down and they were going to talk. She was going to hear him out. He didn’t care about her past, and he wasn’t leaving her tonight until he found a way to make her understand that.
Plus, he had news for her. News she would want to hear. He’d been working on a little surprise for her.
Cesar walked from behind the chopper, keeping his head down. “You’re here.”
“Are we going somewhere?” Glenn asked. Both of them had their pilot licenses. Maybe the party was on a boat, part of the surprise. Cesar was a boat guy. He owned a hundred-footer, albeit without a helipad.
But instead of responding to his question, once Cesar was far enough away from the helicopter to straighten, he reached into his suit and pulled out a handgun. He pointed it at Glenn without hesitation.
“Toss the phone. Walk toward the chopper.” Cesar moved to the side.
Glenn threw his cell phone a couple of feet and took a few steps forward. The rotors weren’t going at full speed, but spun fast enough to produce a wind that flapped his suit jacket and blew his hair back from his face. He kept his eyes on his old friend, feeling confused and betrayed. “Why?”
The man scowled. “You left Victoria.”
“She asked for the divorce.” Glenn tried to inject some reason into the conversation that had his mind reeling.
“Because you couldn’t love her. My daughter wasn’t good enough for you.” Cesar’s expression darkened.
“She wasn’t in love with me either.”
“She would have done as I told her,” Cesar snapped. “But you couldn’t be a decent husband.”
“And what does killing me solve?”
“I’m marrying Gloria.”
The news knocked Glenn back. But in an instant, he could see the whole plot. The way Cesar had always been there for Gloria. Gloria coming to depend on him more and more over the years, increasingly leaning on his advice.
At company functions where she was the hostess, Cesar had been the host since Oscar Danning’s death. He’d been the other founding member, Oscar Danning’s best friend and business partner, the vice president of Danning Enterprises.
But he wanted more.
Understanding dawned on Glenn at last. He’d been too focused on growing the business, taking the core team for granted. If he’d paid more attention back at home instead of looking outside the borders . . . He should have seen this coming.
His hands fisted at his side. “You want the whole company.”
Cesar’s eyes glinted with a cold gleam. “It should be mine. The idea was mine.”
“Yours and my father’s.”
“Mine first.” The man shrugged. “But he did expand on it.”
“And provided financing.”
“He had family money. I was just starting out. We should have had equal ownership, but your grandfather wouldn’t commit the money unless I agreed to a twenty-five, seventy-five percent split. I was a minority stockholder from the beginning. All the power, all the big decisions were his.”
“Not anymore.” Oscar Danning’s seventy-five percent controlling interest had been equally divided between his two sons and his widow after his death, each receiving twenty-five percent. Cesar’s own twenty-five percent was now equal to all the others. “You’re an equal partner.”
“In a company that should be mine.” His jaw tightened. “Don’t do me any favors.” He practically spit the words.
Glenn stared. If he died, his shares would be split between his mother and brother. When Cesar married Gloria, he would assume control of her and her vote handily. She’d follow his advice even more than she did now. Tyler would be the only one to stand against him, but by controlling Gloria’s shares, Cesar would effectively have majority control. All decisions would be his.
“You had your chance.” Cesar motioned for him to step back even farther.
Glenn did, bending to avoid the propellers. If he could get into the helicopter, he could lift off, maybe, before a bullet hit him.
“You brought this upon yourself.” Cesar put his other hand on the gun and spread his feet, took aim. “If you’d stayed with Victoria, your shares, along with mine, would have gone to the son you would have had. Fifty percent in the hands of a Montilla. I would have been satisfied with that.”
Glenn took another step back. Cesar meant to shoot him, then escape in the chopper. Maybe take his body and drop it into the ocean. It’d take time, but eventually Glenn would be declared dead. Then Cesar would gain the power he craved.
But instead of squeezing the trigger, Cesar said, “Get in.”
Did he plan on carrying out the murder over water? The bullet hole in the chopper would point the finger at him. Maybe he’d just push his victim out over the open water, too far from shore to swim back.
Yet there was a flaw in the plan. In the close quarters of the chopper, Glenn could overpower him. Hope reared its stubborn head.
He opened the door and stepped up, waiting for Cesar to get behind the controls.
But the man stayed on the ground. “Go!” he shouted. “In a couple of hundred yards, the chopper will lose power and you go down. Whether you are over a populated area at that point or over water is your choice. Don’t bother trying to call for help. The radio is disabled.”
Cold sweat rolled down Glenn’s back. “And if I refuse to fly?”
“I shoot you right here. I’ll make sure it’ll look like the work of environmentalist extremists.”
“They wouldn’t. I cancelled the Florida oil rig contract.”
“I reinstated it this afternoon and issued a press release to go public tomorrow morning. Florida is good for our bottom line.”
“But that’s not the direction the company is going.” They’d agreed to diversify into renewable energy.
“It is now.” Cesar’s expression stayed somber.
He had a weapon. Glenn had nothing.
Or . . . He was sitting in a potential weapon, actually. He closed the door and went through the preflight check, registered the alarms that told him everything wasn’t as it should have been. But Cesar had told him he had a few hundred yards in the air. He only needed a couple of feet.
He lifted the bird into the air, but instead of banking to the left and taking off towards the harbor, he stayed low and drifted toward Cesar, turned so he could get between the traitor and the door to the staircase, then he herded the bastard toward the edge of the roof.
The first bullet hit the windshield but missed him. So did the second. Glenn pushed forward. If a bullet hit the fuel tank, the game would be over in a hurry. The chopper was an imprecise weapon, while the handgun wasn’t.
But as Cesar dropped on his stomach and aimed again, his arm jerked, red spreading on his shoulder.
Glenn glanced back, just in time to catch sight of Miranda dashing forward from the elevator, head down, her weapon aimed. He set the bird down a safe distance from her, then ran to help because Cesar was now shooting at her.
Chapter 17
MIRANDA STOOD AT the edge of the roof, looking over the lights of Baltimore and the harbor, while Glenn talked to the last remaining police officer by the elevator. They’d taken Cesar away in handcuffs, but her body was still buzzing with adrenaline. The scene that had greeted her when she’d opened the door to the roof had about stopped her heart.
She’d pushed aside all emotion to enter the combat situation, but now those emotions were rushing back and stealing her breath.
&
nbsp; She was in love with Glenn. She was no longer the clueless young woman, a fish out of water, insecure, like she’d been in college. She hadn’t known her own mind. Hell, she hadn’t known herself. And still, giving him up hurt like hell.
But this time around . . . The thought of giving him up again felt as if she was trying to rip her own heart out of her chest. She wasn’t sure she could do what she had to do here.
Glenn came up behind her, put his arms around her, and pulled her against his chest, holding her tightly against him. “They’re all gone. Cesar will be officially charged in the morning.”
She sagged against him, soaking up his presence.
“How did you know?” he asked next to her ear.
“We use the tools we have. Cesar had Venezuela.”
He pressed a kiss against her temple. “God, I love your brain.”
Her heart leapt.
“You saved my life again,” he said.
“We all have some bad habits. I’ll try to quit this one. I didn’t mean to hover.”
“I want you in my life.”
“You’re just saying that because you think I’m cheaper than a full-time bodyguard. Which you seem to need, by the way.”
“I’m serious.”
She turned to face him, wishing that things could be different between them. “You know why that’s not possible.”
“I don’t care about your past.”
“But the media and your future constituents will.”
“I want you more than I want future constituents.”
“Don’t ever say that in front of Gloria,” she advised. “She’ll have a heart attack.”
“I love my mother.” He flashed her a level look. “But my entire life can’t be about pleasing her, or about the company, or about a possible future in politics.”
“You could help a lot of people.”
“I can help a lot of people without becoming a politician. The way Washington is gridlocked these days, I can probably do more from the outside than from the inside.”
“Your grandfather was a senator.”
