“Jackie is on her way down, Mr. Carter,” Mary offered, making direct eye contact again.
“Thank you, Mary,” I repeated with a nod and a smile.
“You’re welcome, sir,” she said again, granting me one more brilliant flash of smile before breaking eye contact and returning to her work.
Less than two minutes later, the slim figure of Jackie Walsh stepped between the parting elevator doors. Her voice fit her appearance perfectly. She had curves in all the proper places, carefully obscured by an immaculate and immensely flattering Donna Karan suit. Slim legs peeked out from beneath the hem of the skirt, firm and shapely, clad in the sheerest of stockings. Skillfully applied makeup, barely discernible to the normal eye, enhanced exquisite cheekbones and a complexion that was just a c-hair short of perfection. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched upon a nose so well-shaped that you would swear it was purchased (and you would be wrong), the tips tucked behind delicate, unpierced ears shown off in splendor by the almost boyishly short haircut. Her caramel eyes were clear and beautiful, and a less observant person might easily miss the incredible mind hidden in their depths.
I stood as she approached, professionally manicured right hand extended in a textbook showing of perfect grace. “Good evening, Mr. Carter,” she began, and if the coldness of my hand startled her, there was no hint of it on her face. She held my hand for exactly the amount of time that a professional handshake required; I’m sure it was written in the employee handbook somewhere.
“Come to fetch me?” I asked with a grin, my British accent pretty good, and she smiled.
“Mr. Smith is just finishing an appointment. He has asked me to see you upstairs.”
“Lay on, McDuff,” I said, gesturing for her to lead the way and then openly staring at her backside, which was worthy of bronzing. She could feel my ardent gaze as if it used heat instead of light to transmit the image to my brain, but she was used to people looking and showed no outward signs of discomfort. She was neither flattered nor put off by the attention; she viewed it as a price of looking the way she did.
The elevator doors closed, and I made sure my eyes were back up at a decent level when she turned to face me. We knew each other just well enough to be comfortable in the silence that settled as the elevator ascended, and it wasn’t long before the doors opened to reveal Jeffrey’s tall form clad in an expensively tailored, three-piece Brooks Brothers suit, wing tips gleaming.
“Good evening, Michael. I trust I did not keep you waiting too long?” Jeffrey said, extending his hand. An odd look flashed on his face for a moment before disappearing, and if it were not for that, I might have missed the fact that his shield was up.
Out of respect for the privacy of other revenants, I generally avoid reading Jeffrey’s mind, and he is both well aware and extremely appreciative of my courtesy. Either his shield was a message, or he was clearly disturbed enough by something to post warning signs. Its presence gave me enough perspective to recognize the look on his face: awkwardness. The kind of awkwardness a divorce lawyer might feel when greeting the husband after just having met with the wife. Without reading his thoughts, I was fairly certain who his last appointment had been; the question was, what exactly had she been here for?
“Not at all,” I replied lightly, fixing a very direct, very knowing look at him. Jeffrey blinked twice, my innocuous words unable to distract him from the look I leveled at him, telling him plainly that I was on to him.
“I will take it from here, Jackie. There is a client folder on your desk and some notes to transcribe.”
“Of course,” she replied softly, looking to me. “Will you be needing anything to drink, Mr. Carter?”
“No, thank you,” I answered, and she took her leave. I watched her as she walked away, and Jeffrey watched me. When she disappeared into her office, I turned back to him and his disapproving look. “Behave,” he said in his clipped, precise manner of speech, his tone warning. I shrugged.
“I thought I was behaving. It was all I could do not to ravage her on the ride up.” Jeffrey’s look withered to scandalous, and I laughed, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Relax, I know the rules.”
Jeffrey sighed mightily and turned toward his office. “You may know them, but you don’t always follow them.” My smile broadened as I followed, chuckling softly. It has always been my not-so-private opinion that Jeffrey is too stuffy, the unfortunate byproduct of being raised by two revenant “parents” whose combined age was over 1400 years. I consider it a small victory that I have gotten him to loosen up a little around me; with any other revenant, that long-suffering sigh would have been the end of his reply.
We walked into Jeffrey’s immaculate and ordered office. It was tastefully decorated but not overly lavish. The few snippets of lavishness were focused on client comfort. A medium-sized mahogany desk sat near the far wall, flanked on either side by two windows offering an impressive view of Manhattan. Jeffrey rounded his desk and turned to face me, waiting out of habit for me to be seated before he did the same.
I took my place in one of the plush chairs, crossing my right leg over my left, ankle resting on the knee. “Do you really find her attractive, or do you say things like that just to get a rise out of us?” he asked, gracefully lowering himself into his thousand-dollar chair, his only selfish perk.
“Both,” I admitted with another shrug, uncrossing my legs and propping them on the edge of his desk, left ankle over right. I folded my arms across my chest and pinned him with a look, returning his forthright question with one of my own. “Why is your shield up, Jeffrey? To hide Gisele’s visit or expose it?”
The slight coloring around his neck indicated that my directness had taken him aback, but his face was carefully masked. He knew there was no point in denial. “You are putting me in an awkward situation, Jason.”
“I am,” I agreed, nodding my head once. “Answer the question.” If the answer was not forthcoming, I was prepared to rummage through the contents of his mind like a vigilant parent searching for drugs in her child’s bedroom. When it suits me, I take a lesson from Congress, completely ignoring the laws that I pass.
Jeffrey looked at me in silence for a few moments, an internal debate raging, and then his face went slack in defeat. Perhaps the logical portion - about 99.9% of him - reasoned that he had put up all the fight expected of him and it was simply better to surrender to inevitability. “Neither. I assumed that your unannounced visit was directly related. The shield is my way of asking you to leave it alone.” Asking was the right word; Jeffrey knew I could empty his mind if I were so inclined, and he rightly sensed me teetering on the edge of inclination.
I thought about his request for a few moments. Jeffrey was not taking Gisele’s side with his actions; he was trying to stay out of the game completely. Being the only mortal among well over a hundred revenants, Jeffrey had fast learned to deftly avoid situations that might be detrimental to his health. Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to be able to on this one; he was going to have to choose a side, and we both realized it. “Two questions, and I will,” I said at length.
Jeffrey pondered my words for only a moment, but he knew a gift when he saw it. We both knew an interrogation wouldn’t have been my first choice in this situation, but necessity trumps, and Jeffrey knew for certain that my hesitance wouldn’t stop me from going FBI on his ass. He nodded, trying not to seem too eager.
“Did her visit have anything to do with me?”
Jeffrey swallowed, the muscles in his throat moving slowly, and no doubt painfully. “Yes.”
I’d suspected as much, but his direct answer punctuated the moment like a thundering bass drum. “Should I be concerned?”
He hesitated slightly, and then answered on a sigh. “Yes.” His tone told me I should be more concerned with her mental state than by anything she had specifically said to him. I raised my eyebrows but didn’t push, knowing that further answers would be better coming directly from Gisele, and I told him as much. He relaxed
somewhat, but he was still a bit tense and jumpy, made worse by his iron determination to fight it.
“Coincidentally, my visit tonight had nothing to do with her. I had no idea she was even here, but your answers change things a bit.” Jeffrey shifted uncomfortably in his chair, a few beads of sweat breaking out across his hairline. “She can’t know about our discussion tonight.”
Jeffrey shot me a pointed look, wiping his hairline with a monogrammed handkerchief. “That will be difficult to ensure.”
“I realize that,” I nodded, thinking. “Can you tell if someone gets through your shield?”
Jeffrey’s forehead wrinkled, the expression on his face clearly indicating apprehension at the implication that Gisele might even attempt such a thing. Jeffrey had been protected from up on high his entire life; he wasn’t used to fearing revenants, and he didn’t want to get used to it, either. “Not with mother, but Gisele lacks her... finesse.” Jeffrey considered Phobos to be his mother, and rightly so as she had pretty much raised him. Fortunately for both of us, there are only two other revenants who could match her metaphysical prowess, and Gisele wasn’t on that list.
“Nicely put,” I commended with a smile he didn’t feel compelled to return. “I agree. Would you know?” When I saw he was about to immediately reply, I interrupted. “Forget pride; think clearly. I need you to be realistic.”
He paused to think about my words, not his answer. He gave me a look that said I should have known better, but I disagreed. Jeffrey is the consummate businessman, struggling to suppress the appearance of pride at every turn but secretly thriving on it. He has an enormous ego - nearly as big as mine - and fortunately, he also has the tools to back it. In addition, he has a brilliant, analytical mind, which was currently telling him to concede my point despite the sting to his pride. “I believe so, yes.”
“If that should happen, I would need to know immediately,” I said, my eyes locked on his and utterly sober.
“This conversation is alarming,” Jeffrey stated with another pass of the handkerchief and a shift of body position, but after he settled himself, he nodded his assent with uncharacteristic facial jitters.
I nodded once. “For both of us.” I let that settle for a while, surveying the office as Jeffrey struggled with his composure. After a time, he cleared his throat, indicating his readiness to continue.
“I need fifteen men, security professionals. Good ones, not rent-a-cops, with solid records and references. Three rotating shifts of five. Class III armament.” Jeffrey was writing on a legal pad, his composure maintained despite the fact that this request was probably unprecedented amongst his revenant clientele.
“Primary duty?” he asked without looking up. I’m pretty sure he was afraid to, the notepad his much-needed detachment.
“Protection. One female principal.”
Jeffrey looked up then, his face stricken. “Alicia?” I nodded, my expression telling him to keep his mind on the task at hand. He cleared his throat again. “When?”
“Yesterday.”
“That too will be difficult. They do not grow on trees.” It was my turn to shoot him a withering look. “Sorry,” he murmured, looking back down at his notes. “Duration?”
“Long term, possibly indefinite.”
“Cost?”
“Unimportant.” Jeffrey looked up again, the look on his face bordering on panic; he was beginning to see the possible dangers that could surround this request. I imagine his head was swimming; I know mine was. “Have anyone in mind?”
“Darius Richter. He is the only one who can meet the requirements on that timetable.” I focused my attention as Jeffrey rattled off an impressive laundry list of bullet points about one Darius Richter, some of them probably national secrets.
His company, Life and Liberty Security Services, had a solid reputation and was well-known in the elite circles of wealth both here and abroad. Despite the size of his company, he still handpicked all of his security professionals, most of whom came from his extensive military ties. If anyone had the experience, the training, and the means to protect a principal, it was Darius Richter.
“You sold me. Once you’ve assembled the team, I’ll need to meet with them first, and then I’ll take them to Alicia.”
This steady barrage of uncommon events had pushed Jeffrey pretty far, and this last piece of information was the straw that broke his tenuous grip on rigid control. It slipped through his fingers, tearing off a nail or two on the way out. “You want to meet them?” he gasped again. I looked away abruptly, reminding him again to locate his detachment and hold on tighter this time.
I feel I must explain something, before you start thinking that Jeffrey is a total loser. Revenants do not ever seek assistance from mortals, and if you cannot figure out why, imagine asking your plate of lasagna to help fix a problem for you. Laughable, right? Combine that with Jeffrey’s fairly accurate deduction that the only possible reason I could have for needing 24-hour security on Alicia was the fact that I wasn’t going to be there to protect her myself. That knowledge bothered him on two levels: first, it was information he desperately wished he did not possess, and second, he was worried that Gisele was going to be the reason for my absence, and the precautions I was taking indicated how seriously I took the coming confrontation.
Perhaps now you understand why my request would make him lose his focus for the third time in one meeting.
Jeffrey is quite possibly the least flappable mortal I know, more so even than Alicia. He prides himself on that composure and chastises himself bitterly for any loss of it. He would probably kick himself black and blue after I left his office. Reaching deep for his reserve of calm, he said, “I will call your mobile when it is set up.”
“Good,” I answered, turning my gaze back to him like a spotlight, making him uncomfortable, like he had gone to church wearing only his expression. I let the silence stretch between us for several moments, letting his nervousness grow until he understood how important my next words would be. “Jeffrey, I’m counting on you. Tell me now if I’m making a mistake.”
The words erupted like Vesuvius, bits and pieces of their import and meaning falling all around him, hissing and spitting and snapping Jeffrey immediately out of his discomfort. Despite my personal beliefs on the subject, I have been one of Jeffrey’s staunchest allies since my ascension to the elite revenant ranks. I was the only one standing with Phobos against all five Ancients when, after Nekros’ passing, they tried to forcibly evict Jeffrey from the Ekhaya. My first act of defiance surprised everyone, including me, when I let the Ancients know that they would all be leaving the Ekhaya before Jeffrey. Jeffrey would sooner cut off vital parts of his anatomy with a rusty dinner fork than ever fail me.
“I understand your concern, just as I assure you that it is not necessary.” Finally, the Jeffrey I knew and respected was back in control, bitterly hating his earlier weakness.
“That’s what I thought,” I offered with a conciliatory smile. “I’ll see myself out.”
◆◆◆
I next found myself in Niagara Falls, the primal, powerful sound of the water oddly soothing. I stood at the railing overlooking Horseshoe Falls, the cold, penetrating mist from the falls coating my skin and helping to scatter the troubled thoughts that were stuck on Octavian’s words like a song you hear and just can’t get out of your mind.
... you must realize that, eventually, you will be forced to choose. With Gisele, there can be no other way.
That choice was coming, and for a reason I couldn’t explain, I was certain that my precognition had been a warning of that choice and whatever would follow in the aftermath. Either choice brought its own serving of danger; the trick was to choose the lesser danger. Actually, the trick was to make the right decision, regardless of the consequences, and find the strength and courage to face them.
That was certainly no small feat, and given my track record of late, my chances for success weren’t too good. Okay, okay, I had a better chance of
winning the Powerball without buying a ticket, but I have always thought that we are truly defined by how we respond to situations where there seems to be no satisfactory course of action, when all the mystical forces of this world are aligned against us, and every choice we might make starts at bad and keeps getting progressively worse.
I guess a defining moment was preparing for a visit, and I was hoping it would be more like a long-lost friend than the in-laws.
I tossed thoughts around in my head for hours, until my coat was drenched and the mist began to soak through to my clothes. I wiped the sheen of moisture from my face and head, my cold hand lukewarm against my skin after being sheltered in my pocket.
Many things were still unresolved; one thing, however, was very resolved: it didn’t matter why Gisele had gone to Jeffrey. I would be watching over Alicia during the night, and she would stay with me in the vault until her security team was in place. Taking her out of the equation left me as the sole target, and I was more difficult to hit than the exhaust port that killed the Death Star.
Even if Jeffrey were willing, which was about as likely as the pilot light going out in Hell, he couldn’t do that much damage. My fortune was so vast and diversified that it would take him and a team of lawyers and accountants months to effectively squander it. By mutual agreement from the beginning, there was no way for him to tie three-quarters of my aliases to one another, and those he could tie didn’t matter. Jason Connally was legally dead, and there was no evidence left to resurrect him; Nekros had made sure of that.
Gisele knew all this, and if that wasn’t enough of a deterrent - hell hath no fury and all that - messing with Jeffrey would earn her several very powerful enemies for her trouble, and that wasn’t even counting me. Those enemies might not be able to kill her, but it’s conceivable that they could drive her from the Ekhaya, and that possibility alone would make her choose a different tack if she was going to take a real shot at me.
Corrupting Alicia Page 24
