by Dianna Love
Chatton’s eye muscles should be stretched out from rolling them every time she read another warning about the “Final Conflict” of the world. She was a skeptic of the nth degree on this Orion Legacy crap, but no believer had ever studied the Orion Hunters as thoroughly as she had.
She’d used that knowledge to locate Wayan, an advisor to China’s Party Chief, and The General, a powerful player in the US Pentagon. Both were her traveling companions on this private flight.
Time for the Czarion meeting. Only the second one since she’d joined ten months ago. She did a final touch on the pretty thirty-two-year-old face she still didn’t recognize sometimes, any more than she recognized the golden-brown hair that fell to her shoulders.
Giving one last brush of her hand down the front of her flawless black Christian Dior suit, she exited the bathroom at the rear of the aircraft, feeling naked without a weapon.
She glided past two of Wayan’s guards who eyed everyone as if constantly assessing the quickest way to kill them. She and The General had security personnel onboard as well and all six guards had swept the cabin for bugs.
Her personal guard stepped forward as soon as she entered the cabin. She said, “Yes?”
“Your purse was searched.”
She’d intentionally left her Hermis Birkin purse in the meeting area when she’d excused herself. “As I expected.”
Having made his report, her man nodded and returned to his position behind where she’d sit across from the other two men who lounged in identical cushy leather armchairs. “Gentlemen.”
Wayan nodded in his formal way with elbows on the chair arms and hands steepled. His round face, chopped black hair, and thin black mustache reminded her of a little boy playing grown-up due to the youthful face and slender build for a man of forty-four years.
The General’s buzz cut kept his odd red hair to a minimum distraction since he was African American. An attractive forty-nine-year-old who wasn’t really a general.
That made her the baby of the group, if they were foolish enough to discount her as such.
Lifting her purse, she stuffed the small cosmetic bag inside. She wanted to smile, because neither of the two men had opened the tampon package that concealed her listening device.
Men. So predictable when it came to feminine products. As if their testosterone levels would drop by touching one.
She opened the meeting by addressing the General. “Did you acquire the St. Gaulden’s coins needed for the exchange?”
“No.”
Wayan immediately frowned, hands tensing slightly then easing quickly to hide the reaction. “You lost the coins?”
“That’s not what I said,” The General replied in a gravelly voice full of curt censure. “Mason Lorde had an employee who stole the coins. I gave Lorde a five-day deadline to produce them or lose his operation.”
“So he missed the deadline?” Chatton asked, considering what it would take to coordinate an operation in the States right now. The beauty of having partners was that someone else could perform an op in your home country and insulate you from suspicion.
“Not exactly. The FBI found the coins first and are moving them to a protected location to keep as evidence.”
Wayan inquired in his polite way that hid the sociopath inside, “Will the coins be vulnerable during this transport?”
The General shook his head. “No, but the personnel involved in the transport and security of the coins include my resources.”
“But that will not gain us the panel from the Amber Room,” Wayan argued, impatiently patting his fingers against each other.
The Amber Room panel was one of the world’s greatest treasures and had once belonged to King Wilhelm I then Tsar Peter the Great. Many believed that all of the room was lost when Königsberg Castle burned during World War II.
But four panels were saved – or so the legend said – one of which held a part of the Orion Legacy.
She didn’t care about ancient mysteries. She wanted to find the person or persons behind the mass murder of her family. And to know what these two would do on the off chance they actually found all five artifacts of the legacy.
Whether the prophecy was real or not, Wayan and The General were both in positions to influence the leaders of the US and China, and they could orchestrate a crisis that would trigger a world war.
She played along and offered a smidgeon of support to Wayan. “I agree with Wayan if we can confirm which one of the four Amber panels is on the market – ”
Wayan cut in. “We must acquire all the panels no matter what.”
“But the one we’re looking for has an identifying mark.”
“This is not negotiable.” Wayan threw a sharp look at the General. “We must have those coins.”
She hated dealing with fanatics.
When the General sighed, he sounded like a grizzly, put out at having to kill a critter that wasn’t worth the effort to leave his cave. “Once we confirm the Amber Room panel is definitely available, I will get to the coins.” Dismissing Wayan by swinging his attention to Chatton, the General asked, “What have you found out?”
She did enjoy seeing those two eyeing each other like reptiles on the attack. “Mason Lorde thought he was going to trade the coins to Mendelson, but the German does not have the panel.” Mendelson had been tough to investigate and would be even harder to find, but she was not easily deterred. “I haven’t discovered Mendelson’s true interest since he’s basically an intel broker. The best I can determine, he picked up rumors that another party has one of the panels, and he understood that this person would trade for eight St. Gaulden Double Eagle coins if one of them was a 1933.”
“A fortune hunter,” Wayan interjected with disgust. As though he thought being a fortune hunter was a perversion. Then Wayan lifted one of his thin black eyebrows. “Is there any chance this Mendelson could be an Orion Hunter, perhaps one of the Teutonic Knights?”
Chatton had considered that possibility and executed thorough research. She felt reasonably certain Mendelson was not a descendant of the German family believed to possess one of the five artifacts.
“I don’t think so,” she answered Wayan. “Mendelson deals in illegal arms and classified information. He’s known for capturing assets and either negotiating a profitable trade immediately or...” She paused when the repugnant pictures of Mendelson’s interrogations clicked past her mind’s eye. “...extracting information, which he then sells. I believe his interest is purely monetary, but that does not keep him from being a useful tool.”
“The coins were recovered in Florida?” Wayan asked.
The General shifted in his chair, a sign his back was bothering him again. “Yes. Just north of Miami, which reminds me. I have news on High Vision. I orchestrated a bust on one of their shipments going into Jacksonville.”
He did what? Chatton rounded on him. “High Vision doesn’t ship anything illegal into Jacksonville. As I understood it, they needed a gateway into Miami for their black market drugs, and you were going to arrange that.”
“They do and I did,” the General confirmed. “But for the past month High Vision wouldn’t come to the table no matter what I offered them. They didn’t want to be in our debt. I had to show them that they could either work with us or face constant scrutiny from authorities of all their operations in the United States. Once I had their attention with the Jacksonville shipment, they changed their tune and asked to meet. I’ve assured them easy access to south Florida.”
Wayan didn’t actually smile, but his eyes brightened with enthusiasm. “And they understand what we expect in trade?”
In trade? More like an international shakedown plan. Chatton had to give these two credit some days. She might not always agree with their methods, but they did get results.
The General shifted again and grunted at an ache. “When the time comes for them to repay this favor, they will use their people to transport our shipment.”
“Excellent.” Wayan said
. It was the closest he came to a fist pump celebration.
Chatton had heard nothing of this. “What are they transporting?”
Waving a hand in dismissal, the General said, “Something Wayan and I agreed upon before you came along.”
Did he really think she would allow them to keep her out of the loop on anything? She let it go for now and turned the conversation back to getting the rest of the General’s report on the coins. “What of Mason Lorde, General? Is he contained?”
The General rarely smiled, but the tiny lift at the corner of his mouth counted as one. “Oh, yes, he is contained.” The corner of his mouth lifted higher. “Yes, indeed.”
Chapter 61
Four months later...
Zane placed the Titan on autopilot and leaned back, content in a way he’d never expected. More so now that he was back with Angel after a fourteen-hour stint for the DEA. Being gone for days had never been a problem before, but now he counted minutes every time he left home until he could get back to Angel.
That’s what happened when you found the woman you couldn’t live without.
“How dressy is this party?” Angel wondered aloud as she poured Zane a cup of coffee. “I don’t know how anyone can get excited about Christmas in Florida.”
“The longer you live here, the more normal it seems. You’ll see all kind of styles tomorrow night.” He took a sip and said, “Everything you wear looks terrific on ... or off.”
She rolled her eyes at him and switched topics. “I can’t wait for Trish to get back from her buying trip.”
“She probably misses you and Heidi just as much. I’m amazed at the change in her in only four months. I never realized she had the makings of a business dynamo.”
“Her new shop is going to go gangbusters,” Angel said then grimaced. “I hope she takes some time off after she gets back. She’s been on the road a lot.”
Talk about reasons to be happy. Trish had shifted into high gear after she’d gone through rehab. Those days had been tough, but Angel’s presence had made the difference for him and Trish. His sister had blossomed into the strong woman Angel had seen even when he couldn’t.
Zane chuckled. “I don’t think you’re going to slow her down anytime soon and she’s fine. Heidi would let us know if anything changed.” He leaned across to run his hand over Angel’s cheek. “Don’t get chilled. I can push the heat up if you’re cold.”
“I’m fine, so stop fussing over me.” She smiled then sighed. “I’ll be really fine when the trial is done.”
“Honey, get used to being doted on.” He grinned back at her, thinking he’d never get tired of having her near to pamper. “And the trial is going to be a cakewalk. The FBI only needs you to corroborate their information and timelines.”
“Lorde’s organization imploded once his people realized he was gone. Everyone’s rolling over and cutting deals.” Reaching over again, he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, another excuse to touch her. Seeing her mother’s heirloom ring dangling from the chain around her neck had him wishing she’d have hocked a dozen rings.
You’d think he’d brought her the Hope diamond the night he walked in with that. Damn, he got hard just thinking about the way she’d thanked him that night.
She asked, “Didn’t you think it was suspicious that he committed suicide?”
Yes, but he didn’t want her worrying over it. “Not really. He had to know the FBI was close on his trail. Took the coward’s way out, which fit.”
She scrunched her shoulders. “I just couldn’t see Mason Lorde eating a bullet out of fear. Not someone with his international contacts and financial resources. I would have expected him to run for a while, at least. But I’m glad I don’t have to face him in court.”
Zane was, too.
She asked, “How’s the High Vision thing coming along?”
Angel could change mental gears faster than he flipped switches in the cockpit.
“Everything with that group is strange. They get busted in Jacksonville and end up the victims. Not one thing illegal ever turned up in that shipment. The DEA knows they’re smuggling contraband into the country through Florida because they follow the trail in reverse when they find it on the street. But High Vision keeps getting tipped to their raids. Has to be a leak in the operation somewhere.” He did a quick check of the instruments and the open skies around the plane and added, “But Mac’s got a plan.”
“Is it something you can tell me?”
He appreciated that she understood when he couldn’t talk about some things. Mac had brought Zane in to work more closely with his group, and that meant Zane had more sensitive information. “He’s bringing in some new blood. Individuals from different agencies to work on the task force. Especially one guy who we hope can find the mole.”
“A field operative?”
“Probably.”
Angel tapped her fingers nervously on her thigh. “Will you have to work much with this new guy?” she asked in a pensive voice.
“Nah, from what I hear, it’s mostly just keeping an eye on him. He’s something of a loner.”
She still drummed her fingers, worrying.
He couldn’t have that.
Mac didn’t want anyone talking about changes taking place, but the part involving Zane wasn’t classified and his wife’s peace of mind was his priority at the moment. “Speaking of my work, Mac is making some changes in their charter service needs.”
Her finger tapping picked up speed. “Like what?”
“He wants to add more planes to the operation.”
She swung around, mouth open. “He’s going to split up your business with others?”
“No, honey. He’s giving me three more airplanes, paid for, that will operate like I’ve been doing. They’ll be part of Black Jack Charters. They’ll work for me.”
Her eyes lit up. “That’s great news.”
It was. Much as he loved flying, he was looking forward to being home more. He had reason.
He made a minor adjustment to the controls then returned the airplane to autopilot and switched topics on her this time. “What are you going to do with the reward money for finding the coins?”
He’d never forget the surprise on her face when Angel heard about the six-figure reward offered for the return of the coins. In an effort to make up for the wrongs she’d suffered, the FBI made sure Angel received every penny.
“I’d like to go back to school,” she began. “But I also want to help other women. I don’t have an exact plan, but Trish and I have kicked around some ideas.”
Reference to school made him reflect on her scholarship and lost running opportunities. “Are you disappointed you couldn’t compete in this year’s Tamarind Triathlon?”
“No, but you should feel guilty. It’s all your fault,” she declared, a teasing sparkle in her eyes.
“Nay, nay.” He shook his finger tauntingly at her. “I’ll take fifty percent of the responsibility, Mrs. Jackson. Good thing I made an honest woman of you when I did.” He cocked an eyebrow at her.
“I did not lie. I just suggested that the pill was an effective birth control. I never said I was taking the pill. I had no idea being pregnant took so much energy. I’ve run marathons that didn’t kick my butt the way my first three months did.” Angel patted her middle that had the beginnings of a baby bump, and smiled wryly at him. “And you said you married me right after the explosion so you could keep me legally locked away.”
Zane rolled his eyes and laughed. “You’ll be able to compete next year. Junior and I will be at the finish line to cheer you on as you win.”
“Junior? You better prepare yourself for the possibility of a girl.”
Zane envisioned holding a little girl in another five months. She’d have pale coppery hair and border on perfection if at least half of her genes came from her mother.
“Honey, nothing would make me happier. I’m partial to angels.”
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHOR<
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Thank you for reading my books. I hope you enjoyed this one and, if so, will post a review for me.
Dianna
Slye Temp romantic thrillers coming soon from
Dianna Love
Nowhere Safe (February 2013)
Honeymoon To Die For (Summer 2013)
Kiss The Enemy (Fall 2013)
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*Visit www.KeeperKase.com to find out how to get FREE – signed – glossy cover cards of Dianna’s books.
Please enjoy the following Sneak Peek from Nowhere Safe
Joshua Carrington and Trish Jackson – Slye Temp #1
He has nothing to lose until she gives him a reason to live.
Nowhere Safe
Slye Temp Series – Book One
CHAPTER ONE
Chelsea was late.
Twelve seconds late.
The kind of late that could cost a life.
Josh forced his grip to relax before he crushed the crystal glass of thirty-year-old scotch. It wasn’t as though she’d hit traffic making the fifteen-kilometer drive from Farmlingham. Maybe dodge a sheep or two in the road, just part of the country ambience this far north of London.
He expected Chelsea to strut across the polished oak floor of this eighteenth century mansion any minute, chin cocked up as if she owned the place. She could do it, too. Pull off pretending she was one step from British royalty and not a bastard child who made her living as a liaison for touchy deals between dangerous people.
A bastard just like him. One of those little things they’d had in common from day one. Another was an obsessive penchant for being on time.
Always. And she demanded it as a nonnegotiable term for anyone wanting her liaison services.
