Chapter Thirty-Four
"I'm sorry we have to use my office for this, Tyrone, especially since it's a late supper as it is."
The big man looked up from his plate, which contained some kind of Italian pasta dish in a white sauce mixed in with herbs and meats; the name of which he doubted he could pronounce even if he knew it. Italian really wasn't his strong point. Smiling, he shook his head at his dining companion, sitting across her desk from him in her large chair, still in her working clothes. Not that he was complaining, she always had a knack for wearing something professional but flattering. Today, she was in slacks, with a black jacket over a white shirt and had, at some point prior to their dinner, let her hair down, so her red curls cascaded down to her shoulders.
Giselle tapped her fork against her glass, the sound drawing his attention from her hair. "Tyrone, you're staring again."
He shook himself lightly, accidentally jarring the solid oak desk as he did so and smiled apologetically. "Sorry. What did you say?"
"I said that I was sorry we had to use my office for our dinner, and that it was so late."
He smiled reassuringly. "It's no problem; you've got a great office. And it isn't that late."
She giggled quietly. "It's nine o'clock at night, Tyrone."
"Oh," was all he could manage for a moment, but decided to move on to a new topic. "You look good tonight."
She crossed her arms in a mock pout. "Just good?"
He sighed, pushing a piece of chicken around his plate. Out of the frying pan... "You know I don't like talking sappy."
A knowing smile crossed her face. "But you're going to anyway, right?"
Tyrone rolled his eyes, but knew there was no getting out of saying it now. "You look beautiful."
She smiled in a pleased, but smug, sort of satisfaction. "Why thank you. You don't look too bad yourself."
He raised an eyebrow, looking down at his attire. He was wearing a custom-made suit, largely because of the occasion at hand, but also because no other suit would fit. His tailor had joked that the jacket would have fit a moderately sized horse. Tyrone wasn't sure if it actually would, but it fit him well enough. His shirt, shockingly white against the black of the fabric and his own ebony skin, was obscured by a tie that he was constantly tugging at to keep it from choking him. He ran a hand over his shaved-smooth scalp self-consciously, an awkward shrug his only response to her teasing praise.
Giselle cleared her throat, setting her fork aside as she finished her meal. "So, you took the day off today? I was surprised; I don't think you've ever done that."
He chuckled, but it sounded just the tiniest bit forced. "Yeah, had some other things to deal with. Why do you ask? Did you miss me?"
She smiled slyly. "Maybe a little. Especially when I had to bring the baker's dozen camped out in my penthouse lunch without you backing me up. Those guys creep me out."
He nodded, silently deciding how best to respond. He was, after all, under orders not to let on that he was working more closely with 'the boss' than Giselle was. "Where did you say they're from, again?"
"Oh, I don't know," she sighed. "I think they're from all over, going by the accents. I still don't know why they had to be camped out in my apartment, though."
He smiled sympathetically. "Well, you said they were sent by the higher-ups, right?"
She nodded. "Yes, well, that doesn't mean I have to like it. They've turned my living room into an armoury. My couches are covered in rifles and body armour, and my coffee table has more handguns than I've ever seen in one place. Made me nervous just looking at it."
Tyrone could well imagine what she meant. "Well, they should all be gone soon, right? As long as they keep quiet up there, nobody should be any the wiser and their gear was brought into the country under the radar, yeah?"
Giselle's entire body tensed up. "You haven't mentioned it to anybody, have you?"
He shook his head. "No, of course not, I was only asking."
She relaxed, massaging her temples gently. "Sorry. It's just making me a wreck. Keeping unregistered, restricted and illegal weapons under my roof is not in my general job description. I'm still having trouble believing that the owner of Mytikas Multinational would have these sorts of connections in the first place."
He sighed, preparing yet another reaction of feigned ignorance. He was getting tired of having to pick his words so carefully. Social espionage was not his forte. "Miti-what? Is that the company that owns yours?"
She took a sip from her glass before responding. "Yes, but don't spread it around. They like their privacy, apparently and don't take much of a hand in public things. They let their subsidiaries do most of that. They just sort of back us up. Financially I mean."
He nodded, trying to smile. "I'll remember that."
"Thanks," she smiled in return. "So... what exactly did you have to attend to, today? More of your shady underworld business?"
Tyrone could see her falter a little at the mention of his less upstanding enterprises. "No, not today. I've been sniffing around for our two missing intruders. I've got some plans if they turn up, but they're not much good if I don't know that they're coming."
She nodded quietly, and then perked up. "Well, maybe they won't come back? From what you said, they got out of here in a hurry the last time. And you nearly caught that mercenary when he was here, didn't you? Could be they're too scared to try again."
He chuckled quietly, not faking it this time. "Maybe. But Lawson's a stubborn one and I did some looking into her family. Her parents were a cop and a reporter, so I'm guessing she gets it from them. I couldn't find anything on that little twerp she was with, though, but he seemed pretty mousey."
"And the mercenary?" she pressed, her concern obvious. She really wasn't cut out for a life of underhandedness. Which was a real shame; he knew their boss would notice it as well, if he hadn't already. He would never let someone who balked at getting their hands dirty run a company of his. It was like he had said on the phone the last time they had spoken; he didn't like to give the opposition much of a chance.
"Black is too arrogant to take a hint," he started, but then shook his head. "But I don't think he'll be back. He got what he wanted the last time he was here and, unless he's given another reason to annoy me, I doubt he'll feel the need to try anything."
She smiled in apparent relief. "So once the pair try something and get caught, you can focus on finding Black. And once he's taken care of, the men in my living room go away. Good, okay, that's more encouraging." She paused, frowning. "It does seem a bit much, though, doesn't it? Twelve armed men and their commander against two twenty-somethings and one man who probably doesn't even know we're coming after him so determinedly?"
Personally, Tyrone agreed with her, but he knew their boss well enough by now to guess his intentions; this was all a scare tactic. Someone else was involved in this, or at least his boss thought there was, and he was making damn sure that they got the message to back off. "I'm sure it's just to keep his interests safe. You fight fire with fire, right?"
She giggled nervously. "I generally prefer to fight it with water, but I see what you mean."
Pushing his own plate aside, he smiled. "We should stop talking about this; it's making you nervous. I thought we were trying to have a nice night?"
Giselle smiled playfully. "We were, weren't we? All right then, Mr. Burgess, shall we retire to the lounge?"
He followed her gaze and laughed quietly at the 'lounge' in question; the professional-looking set up in her secretary's office for those waiting to get in to see her. Taking her hand in his, he let her precede him through the doors of her office, passing one of her more peculiar office decorations on their way by; a large glass case, inside of which was kept a pair of old, ratty, feathery things that looked like oversized feather-dusters to him. He remembered having to deliver them up here not long after he had started this job. It had been their boss' idea, some sort of symbol of the company. Those sorts of things went right over h
is head. Pushing his idle curiosity from his mind, he followed Giselle through the doors and sat beside her on the black, trim-looking couch she had selected. The unfortunate piece of furniture groaned a little when he sat, but neither of them minded, or even really noticed. Looking at her much-smaller hand in his, Tyrone smiled quietly.
"A flower petal in a bowl," he mused aloud, causing Giselle to raise an eyebrow.
"Did you just wax poetic?" she asked, trying her best to stifle a grin.
He snorted. "No."
She giggled quietly. "Oh, come on, you did too! You said my hand was like a flower petal."
"Because it's small and pale and my hand is big and dark," he interjected. "That's not poetic."
She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "It is too."
He sighed, but felt himself smiling at the same time. Women. "Okay, it was poetic. But you can't go telling people. You'll ruin my reputation."
Her grin widened. "Well, you'll just have to do something for me to buy my silence, won't you?"
Of course, it was at that exact moment that his phone began to buzz in his pocket. Tyrone dearly wished he could ignore it, but he made a strict policy of telling those who had his number never to use it unless it was important. Sighing, he gave Giselle a quick peck on the nose, and then fished the disruptive noisemaker from his pocket.
"Burgess."
"It's Murakami, Sir," came the response. "I just saw someone entering through the back door."
Tyrone sighed again. Yeah, that figures. "All right, I'll get the plan in motion. Keep an eye on the monitors and wait for further orders."
"Roger that, Sir."
Hanging up, he smiled apologetically at his couch-sharing company. "Sorry. I put a new camera facing the back door, since it was a blind spot that Lawson and her boyfriend had exploited before and, well... it looks like our intruders are making their move."
"Lousy timing," she pouted, but he could tell that she wasn't really angry. "Okay, then; you go catch the pains in our collective backsides. I'll be waiting up here."
He smiled at the idea, but shook his head to clear it. "I want you to be careful, okay?"
She blinked. "Why? What do you think is going to happen?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "I have a plan to put in motion and we're on home turf, so to speak, but... there are things I'm not sure about. Just say that you'll stay here. Please?"
She nodded slowly. "Okay, Tyrone. I promise."
Taking a moment to kiss her properly, the big man turned and strode from her office. He hoped it was Lawson or her friend who had slipped in, he could handle them without issue. Black was rapidly becoming a problem, but he was confident he could match wits with him should it come down to it. No, what was really bothering him was what Giselle had told him about the men upstairs. Thirteen trained soldiers were far too many considering what they were up against, message or no message. Stepping into the elevator, he pushed the button that would send him to the first floor and took a deep breath. He was probably just being paranoid. He hoped that he was.
But he seriously doubted it.
In Icarus' Shadow Page 50
