Getting dressed was depressing because I wasn't nervous over a date. It was a little hard to get excited over impressing the valet parking guy. My mother kept telling me to get into the nineties and ask someone out, but she didn't work with the men I did.
I drove myself, although Turbo had offered to stop by and get me. I didn't want to spoil Irene's night out on the town.
My Civic was the least fancy car in the lot. "Geeks." Obviously Strandfrost engineers were making up for their nerdiness by driving cars that no one else could afford. At least that's what I told myself since I couldn't afford a Corvette or a BMW.
The valet looked like he would park the Civic. "Thanks," I mumbled, stepping out. I assume he took all car keys by two fingers as if he were removing a soiled napkin. I wasn't so certain of it that I felt obligated to tip him, however.
Inside, bright lights danced across tablecloths dressed with flowers and fine china. Even with the crowd milling about, Turbo managed to get me seated next to Irene. Paul, one of the guys that worked in the lab with us, was on my other side. He was single, early-thirties and just starting to lose his straight brown hair. He made up for it by sporting a bushy mustache.
"Hey, Paul."
He aimed his knife at me with a grin. I looked at him soberly.
"Sorry." He put the knife down, sheepishly. "Some of us write code, some of us are Karate Kid."
Turbo looked confused as though he didn't get the joke. Irene pressed a white-laced hand against her heart. "We aren't going to talk about that, are we?" She blinked rapidly, smoothing a hand down her lilac dress. "I mean, not at dinner anyway."
Paul smiled, kind of like a kid caught kicking under the table. "No way. I just wanted to tease Sedona."
I turned my attention to the waiter, who rushed over and filled one of the glasses with water.
"Would the madam like wine or champagne?"
"Water is all."
Whisk, away went the extra glass. "Are they serving dinner yet?" I asked.
"Just rolls so far." Carefully, Turbo handed round the basket. There were little silver dishes with butter, but the rolls weren't hot, so I passed them along. If I were going to get fat, it wouldn't be over a cold roll with cold butter.
Generally speaking, the night started out fine. I only embarrassed myself after dinner when I asked for hot tea instead of coffee. The waiter didn't look ready to accommodate the special request and by the time it arrived, the speakers had already started.
I was lucky the order took so long because the tea had time to cool. That didn't stop me from choking on it when I realized that the speaker on the podium was none other than the guy that had grabbed my chest last week at Strandfrost.
Chapter 6
Paul pounded my back, trying to be discreet while I struggled not to gag dinner back up. Irene waved one of her gloves in my face, either to provide an inadequate supply of air or stuff it down my throat because I was embarrassing her so badly.
Turbo handed me a glass of water. I managed to get some down without swallowing my tongue. Obviously, I was hallucinating. Thank God the speaker couldn't see down into the dim room.
I looked again. His hair was about right, but his skin was lighter than I remembered. He…had the same eyes, bold, steady and honest. He spoke slowly; he didn't hiss. His arm was covered by a suit so it was impossible to tell if he had a tattoo. Of course I was imagining the whole thing.
"Who is that?" It came out more like a sneeze and everyone was already studiously ignoring me. I looked at the program. There was a glowing description of some guy who served on several impressive company boards. He was currently CEO of I.C. Inc, and had been vice president of some other company in his past. "Steve Huntington." Who was he? And why had he been threatening Allen?
I gulped some of my tea. It was bitter and barely lukewarm. I didn't care. Had the food been poisoned? I hadn't taken champagne or wine. I hadn't even eaten much of the wine sauce that had been on the fish!
I dared one last glance to test my sanity. He was looking right at me! I nearly shriveled and died on the spot, but his eyes moved on. Bolting was out of the question. I would be calm. "I need to leave." Then again, if I got up and left, he might notice. What did I care? I had to be mistaken.
Mercifully, his speech was short. The two that followed were like sitting through a church sermon on a particular sin right after I'd committed it.
At the end, the music came back on and Paul tugged at my shoulder. "Don't you want to get dessert?"
Instead of serving dessert at the table, someone had decided that milling around would give the inventors time to show off their awards. Maybe now was a good time to escape. I stood. Paul reached out a hand. "Are you okay? You look kind of pale."
"I don't think dinner agreed with me." The speakers certainly hadn't. I edged around the table.
Irene fluttered politely at someone, and Turbo had his back to me. It would be rude to leave without saying goodbye.
I touched Turbo's sleeve to get his attention at the same time I heard the person he was talking to say, "It's a pleasure to meet you."
It was him. I stood stock-still.
I was nearly out of air when I realized that Turbo hadn't turned to acknowledge me. I sucked in a deep breath. "Good-bye," I muttered and stepped back. Paul grunted when I came down hard on his left foot.
I would have sailed right around him, but Paul grabbed my arm to keep me from plowing him over. Turbo turned around. "Oh, Sedona."
Mr. Huntington was bending over Irene's hand, responding to her ridiculous Victorian gesture.
I sidled along like a crab, moving around behind Huntington to make good on my escape.
"Your husband is a talented inventor," Huntington said to Irene. He stepped backwards and pivoted to include Turbo. Pain shot through my foot.
"Uhmph." I didn't mean to push him, but it hurt, and I was trying to escape. He stumbled forward into Irene, who gasped for the millionth time. He caught himself and Irene, steadying her.
He turned quickly then, brilliant blue eyes lighting on me.
I froze. His eyes were blue, not dark brown.
There was no sign of recognition. He apologized. "The room is a little crowded."
"Oh." His eyes were blue.
Paul, bless his heart, stuck out his hand. "I'm Paul Carter. I've been wanting to meet you."
"I didn't." I said it low enough that no one noticed. The creep had brown eyes, not blue. He had slammed against me, holding me to the window. He had tried to kill me, but his eyes were brown.
Paul began discussing his patent. Huntington's eyes turned to me.
I looked at the floor. There I was, ready to accuse the man of horrible crimes just because he happened to resemble some nightmare.
Before Huntington could ask about my contributions, Paul volunteered information. "This is my date, Sedona."
Paul may as well have knocked me down. I gaped at him, wondering what part of the conversation I had missed.
Huntington stretched his hand towards mine. I stared at it before managing to get mine into proper form. "Um. Nice to meet you."
"How is your foot?"
"No problem. I was on my way out anyway."
He stared at me in silence for a moment. "It's great of you to show your support." He included Irene in the comment, and out of the corner of my eye, I swear I saw her simper. I settled for staring at the floor and tried to concentrate on dying. If I held my breath long enough maybe I could just expire and the whole nightmare would end.
While Paul blathered on about his patent, I made a polite noise and edged away. I made my smile as vague as Irene's. Let him think I was an idiot. I had covered any sign of intelligence with an astounding display even my own family wouldn't have recognized.
Paul reached out and snagged my sleeve. "Did you want to sit down? Let me just finish telling Mr. Huntington about the new design."
By the time Paul turned back, Huntington had turned away. Within seconds, he was lost in the cr
owd, smiling at other attendees, playing host. Paul looked annoyed.
"Who is he?" I gulped out.
Paul pulled out a chair and sat heavily. "He's the new board member. Don't you read the annual report? He was just elected to the board this year."
Sure I read it, and I always checked to see how much the executives were making. I just never paid any attention to the board member's names. I couldn't imagine why a board member would attack Allen.
I closed my eyes. I was under too much stress.
Even closed, I could see blue. The attacker did not have blue eyes. Maybe Huntington had a brother.
Paul didn't apologize for telling Huntington that I was his date. I hadn't realized until that moment that Paul pitied me because I didn't have a shiny patent of my own. I attended to show support for my colleagues and boss. How was I to know they considered me an outsider?
Feeling no more need to hang around, I made polite good-byes, this time without stepping on or pushing anyone. The whole night was an absolute bust.
* * *
For weekends like this, I needed my best friend, a good book and a poolside chat. Unfortunately, Suzy was busy with her five-year old. After calling her in the morning and lying about what a great time I had, I settled for the book at the pool by myself.
By Monday, when I had to face people again, I was almost prepared. I stuck to the lab doing my job. In the middle of the afternoon, Turbo called me into his office. I figured he was going to lecture me on my bad behavior.
"I'll be right there," I said on a sigh, hanging up the phone.
I dawdled, but there was only so much time I could waste. I peeked around his office door, hoping something had called him away in the last five minutes.
Sadly, he was still there, waiting. His office was crowded with computers, ongoing inventions, and an oscilloscope. Four stuffed heroes--Dilbert, Taz, Bugs Bunny and Marvin the Martian--had a place of honor on top of his monitor. Turbo sat in the middle of this mess with his hands folded across his stomach and his feet propped on the support under the desk. He stared intently at his email with an expression that could only be described as smug.
Turbo was often deep in thought, sarcastic, lost in code, or even tired, but smug, well that was a new one. "Come in," he waved me to a chair.
I sat.
He grinned.
Uh-oh.
"New assignment for you," he said heartily.
"Since when do new assignments make you laugh?"
He looked a little sheepish, but still pleased. "This one is right up your alley."
"Me? Not us?"
"Well, you work for the customer and so do I. Technically that would be us." He wagged a finger at me and sat up. "Remember when I told you that Allen was up to his neck in gambling debts?"
"You mean when you were speculating?"
He leaned back and gave me one of his long, disapproving pauses before saying, "The board of directors wants our help." He cocked his head sideways. "Well, specifically yours."
My eyebrows left my face. "Mine? They don't even know I exist!"
"I suggested you to them and the Federal Agents working the case."
I had already lost my eyebrows in surprise; now my eyeballs popped out of my head. I wasn't sure I liked the idea of being "suggested" to Federal Agents--for any reason. "Uh…"
"After the patent dinner, the Feds, several of the board members, Paul and I all got together. Turns out that the board is looking for a candidate to help infiltrate a problem that has cropped up at Strandfrost."
"What problem? Allen's gambling problems?"
"No," he said dismissively. "Money disappearing." Before I could say anything, he continued. "There are certain funds missing. Basically it looks as though Allen has been skimming money from the budget that should have gone to charities."
Sally's comments came to mind. She hadn't mentioned charities, but had said something about money for stuff that hadn't been needed. She never said how the mess was cleared up. "If Allen is skimming from charities, why not just arrest him and make him go away? What do they need me for?"
"Well," Turbo sat back and folded his hands again, "that's where it gets interesting. The checks to the charities were signed by Allen, but the charities never received the monies. No one knows exactly who cashed the checks, but they were cashed. The Feds are pretty sure Allen had help from someone getting them cashed. Of course, he kept at least part of the money himself."
I thought of bull face and his friends. "You think the guys that broke in here were due some money from the scheme?"
"It's quite likely. They seemed to think Allen owed them for something. All we know for certain is that the board doesn't know where the money is, and the Federal Agents aren't leaving until we find it. That's where you come in. You're about to be an up-and-coming executive, and you're going to horn into Allen's territory."
I was a lab rat, happy to play with equipment for hours on end. I took things apart, I put them back together, I ran analysis. My favorite uniform was blue jeans and a casual shirt or sweater, but on Fridays and bad hair days, I had been known to show up in t-shirts. I almost always tucked them in. "Uh, I don't think that will fly. I haven't exactly acted interested."
"It really doesn't matter what Allen thinks. It's his associates that matter--we're hoping that whoever is behind the check-cashing scheme will push Allen aside now that he has made mistakes. They will be looking for a new, malleable person with signature power willing to sign off on company contributions to charities. Management has noticed you and your potential because of your bravery, of course, so it's only natural that you'd be promoted."
My eyes narrowed. "My bravery?" Foolishness was more like it. "Who is telling management that they noticed me?"
"Well…" he hedged. "Not everyone thinks this is a good plan, but the board wants to talk to you. If they agree you are the right person, you'll get promoted a few levels and be able to work on this problem."
"Um…I don't think this is a very good idea."
Turbo sat forward again. "Sure it is! You can take care of yourself! You're smart, you've been asking about being promoted, and here's the perfect chance!" He pounded a fist into his open palm. "We can stop those bastards!"
"We? Are you going to be promoted too?"
He shrugged and sat back. "Of course not. I'll just be the technical representation."
"Oh boy."
"The meeting is tomorrow at nine."
"The meeting?"
"The meeting to talk to the Feds and the board."
"Oh boy."
"Do you think," he frowned with intense concentration. "Do you suppose you could wear something that made you look like you wanted the job?"
I glared at him. "No. Not until someone gives me a better reason."
He knew me well enough not to argue. He thought hard for a few moments, but let it go. "The group should be able to answer any questions you have, if they know the answers. I guess they need you because that is what they lack the most. Answers."
I was less than pleased and not nearly as excited as Turbo. Apparently Turbo and Paul not only thought I was lacking in patents, they must have thought I needed fear in my life also.
Chapter 7
I shoved Turbo and the promotion out of my mind. The day was over and Monday night was shooting night. So my brother Sean had decided, anyway. I met him at the range. He hadn't said anything about bringing Brenda, so I was surprised to see her. "Hey, guys." I glanced quizzically at my eldest brother. He looked like a man who had lost a fight with his beloved wife.
"You decided to learn to shoot?" I asked Brenda.
She glared at Sean. She was a very pretty woman, smaller and more petite than I. Her hair was dark enough to be called black and cut short in a little pixie haircut that made her resemble a very cute elf. "Yes. If you need to learn to protect yourself, I guess I do too."
"Well now." I squirmed.
Sean took over. "It isn't as though you get into trouble all t
he time like my sister does."
"Hey!"
He silenced me with a look. "She," he pointed an accusing finger in my direction, "has been like this all her life. She gets chased by horses, falls down stairs, jumps out of moving vehicles, runs after purse thieves and gets mugged."
"I was only three! How was I supposed to know the horse would charge?"
"She needed a gun even then." His lips tight with anger, he slapped his credit card on the table. "We need three targets." He put another gun case on the counter. I added the case he had given me that contained the twenty-two. It wasn't exactly a killer weapon, but Sean knew it was the one I shot the best. It had very little kick and was accurate.
He pointed to his thirty-eight. "You use this one," he snapped at me. "Brenda can learn with the twenty-two."
It was an indoor range, which was a lot more claustrophobic than outdoor shooting. Sean led the way to the edge of the pop-up targets. Immediately, my stomach rebelled. I didn't view shooting as a sport and shooting at police training targets was not amusing.
Sean set Brenda up with ear protection in a nice quiet booth. He pushed the button, put the target on the platform and sent it out. Since I was standing there looking like one of the targets, he turned and pointed at me. "You know how to use it."
And I hadn't, and he was angry. Sean was a lawyer and a good one. The problem was that he represented victims; rape victims, robbery victims, and little old ladies that had been mugged. He only hated two things about his job: the fear and the grief that resulted from the weak being too weak or too unwilling to protect themselves.
Like a good little soldier, I loaded the gun. I preferred semi-automatics to revolvers, but I also preferred rifles with nice safe scopes and targets that were very far away and didn't resemble people.
The codes for controlling the targets were more complicated than just point and shoot. Fully focused on the instructions, I nearly jumped out of my shoes when Brenda screamed. Heads turned in our direction. Screaming in a place where there were guns and high adrenaline was probably not a good idea.
1 Executive Lunch Page 3
