BROCK CONGRATULATED himself as he walked away from the front desk at the Delano. Jordan Walsh had checked in as he thought she would. The Web site for 300 SL Coupes owners—GullWings.com—had announced the group would be staying here.
Each year when the show came to Miami, the group stayed at the Delano. Why? Brock didn’t have a clue. Every friggin’ room was white. White walls, pillows, chair, sheets. Nothing but white.
Some idiot had put a bed in the lobby. People sat on it instead of chairs. Made no sense to Brock. At the prices they charged, the hotel could afford a few comfortable sofas like the Four Seasons.
A young punk with tattooed biceps and a diamond stud in his nose lay sprawled on the lobby bed. Chattering groupies surrounded him. Some rock star, Brock decided as he walked by. The place was always crawling with butt-ugly punks who made megabucks with music that fractured eardrums.
He figured they stayed here because the place was as weird as they were, and Madonna owned the hotel’s Blue Door restaurant. The food was good, but the view of the palm-lined pool with nearly naked babes everywhere was the best thing about the place.
He left the lobby and walked toward the martini bar. It was a long narrow table set at an odd angle, tall barstools lining both sides. Tiny glass halogen bulbs dangled from filament wires to give the bar a touch of light while leaving the surrounding area in shadows.
He spotted Jordan Walsh sitting alone at the far end of the bar. She had changed into a black dress with a V-neck. It showed off enough of her Bugatti tits to be sexy but not slutty. Her red hair provocatively brushed her shoulders and glistened in the glow of the halogens.
“What are you drinking?” he asked as he walked up and saw her with a Martini glass full of black liquid.
“A Black Dahlia Martini. Vodka with Chambord. It’s yummy.”
Looked and sounded gross but he kept it to himself. “I’m a single malt guy.”
He slipped onto the barstool beside her, and sneaked a look at the swell of those Bugattis just visible along her neckline. Soft, creamy white skin, the kind a true redhead would have. No doubt she had a flaming pussy, too.
“Which is your favorite?” she asked.
“Knockando,” he replied without hesitation. The waitress drifted by them and he ordered the Scotch on the rocks.
“Ah, a Speyside malt.”
Startled, Brock stared at her. Few women knew much about the great scotch distilleries.
“I’ve traveled extensively in Scotland,” she told him. “I’m familiar with the Highland malts, the Lowland malts, the Island malts. Speyside is in the heartland of whiskey distilling. Glenfiddich, Glenlivet, and Macallan are better known, but Knockando is right up there.”
He bristled a little, wondering if she were implying he’d selected a great malt but one that was inferior to the really big single malt names. He hadn’t begun drinking single malts until he’d come to Obelisk where Kilmer Cassidy guzzled it. He’d taken to drinking Knockando because it was a little off-beat.
He refused to be one of the herd. Those other single malts could be found in any supermarket. You had to look a little harder to find Knockando. Of course a five-star hotel like the Delano would have it.
“This my first show,” Jordan told him. “I’m nervous.”
“People will ask a lot of dumb questions,” he replied, deciding he was being too sensitive. Jordan didn’t disapprove of his taste in liquor. “Just remember not to let them touch the car. Oil from their hands will ruin the paint.”
She took a tiny sip of her martini. He couldn’t help noticing her delicious red lips. He imagined that succulent mouth around his cock. He had a woodie in half a second.
“Do you have dinner plans?” he asked, his mind actually on getting her up to his room after eating.
“I’m having dinner with Horst at Nemo’s.”
Shit! Horst Trensen IV was the Gull Wing Association’s president. The cocksucker had never worked a day in his life. He’d made his money the old-fashioned way—he’d inherited it. Well, one day soon Brock was going to be just as rich. He would leave Obelisk and devote himself to collecting cars.
Maybe Jordan would be willing to sell hers. The glamour of the show circuit would wear off after a few shows. If she refused to sell, there were other ways to take care of the problem. It was one of the perks of his job.
“I’m free tomorrow night,” Jordan said.
“Great. I’ll make reservations at Tuscan Steak for eight o’clock.”
The waitress delivered his scotch, and he asked, “Would you like another martini?”
Jordan shook her head. “More than one and I do crazy things.”
Brock would have to remember that. He scribbled his room number on the tab and added a five percent tip. He saw no reason to overtip cocktail waitresses for doing basically nothing.
“There’s Horst. He’s early.”
Brock saw Horst swaggering toward them. Picking up his drink, he said, “I’m taking this up to my room. I’ve got work to do.”
“I’m at the Pentagon. Top secret stuff. If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.”
She laughed, a mellow tinkling sound. “Go on. You don’t mean it.”
Brock chuckled. The broad had no idea just how much he did mean it. He would allow her a little fun with the car and himself time to have fun in the sack with her. But if she didn’t sell him the car, he would kill her.
CHAD STOOD in his empty living room and watched Keke, Hana, and Nola drape folding chairs with the red fabric and tie it in place with big bows. Off to the side, Devon was covering a table. His sisters were chattering about their children, but Devon had hardly said a word.
He’d checked the references she’d listed on the employment form Eddie had given her. Both the Cress Creek Country Club and the Four Seasons had called him back with the information. Devon had been an excellent employee and was welcome to return at any time.
He’d Googled her, but came up with nothing, which seemed a bit odd. Most people had their name in the paper occasionally, and it went onto Google’s database. He’d originally told himself that he was doing this to protect Eddie, but he wasn’t fooling himself now. The mysterious Devon Summers must be up to something.
He walked up to her asking, “Where’s Zach?”
She glanced briefly at him just long enough to be polite. “I left him at the office. I didn’t want him shedding on your beautiful floors.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Her back was to him and she was bending over. Great buns. Every time he got close to her his pulse rate spiked. He was undeniably attracted to her, but she didn’t seem to feel a thing for him.
“Zach’s welcome any time. Bring him tomorrow.”
There was a smoldering quality to her remarkable eyes. This close he could see it, feel it. Her subtle yet provocative citrus scent conjured up X-rated images.
Shelby drifted in, late as usual. “Hi, there. Tell me what to do,” she said to Devon.
“Start draping chairs. Keke will show you how.”
“I found, like, this amazing, awesome tip,” Shelby responded. “Diamond engagement rings should be cleaned with vodka.”
“Shelby, what do you get when you cross a Labrador and a Bloodhound?” Devon asked.
“I give. What?”
“A Blabador.”
Shelby giggled, and Chad decided Devon’s jokes were her way of counteracting Shelby’s obsession with wedding trivia.
“Now get to work,” Devon told the girl.
Chad said goodbye to his sisters and left for the office. On the way there he decided to drive by Devon’s place. Call it morbid curiosity, but he wanted to see where she lived.
The area wasn’t exactly the best part of town, but it was probably all Devon could afford. The street she lived on was more commercial than Chad had anticipated. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d driven along it. There were one or two rat trap apartment buildings, but it was mostly businesses.
He slowed down his Porsche and double-checked the number Devon had given as her address. Son of a bitch! It was Mailboxes in Paradise, a chain of mail delivery stores that also sold office supplies.
He parked his car and walked down to the Stop N Go Minimart. By using a pay phone, his caller ID wouldn’t show up on Devon’s telephone. That was assuming she’d given Eddie her correct home phone number.
On the second ring, Devon answered, “Hello…hello.”
Chad immediately realized she’d put down her cell phone number. Maybe she couldn’t afford another phone. Still it didn’t explain why she hadn’t given her home address.
“Hello? Hello?” Chad was about to hang up, when she said, “Warren is that you? We have a bad connection.”
Chad hung up and stood staring at the pay phone. Who in hell was Warren? He walked back to his car, trying to think of some reasonable explanation for her behavior.
Devon was definitely up to something, he decided. She didn’t seem to be the dishonest type. Kicking himself mentally, he shoved the key in the ignition. How in hell did he know? The woman barely talked, to him or anyone else.
By the time he’d reached his office, Chad had come up with a plan. It would be easy to hack into the databases of the water and power companies. He breezed by Ane, who had a few messages but nothing important, and went to his computer.
The firewall was so outdated that it took him less than three minutes to access the power company’s files. Devon Summers’s name did not exist in their database. She didn’t exist in the water or gas company records, either.
What in hell was going on?
Maybe she had a roommate, he thought, or perhaps she rented a room from someone. That would explain not having accounts in her name. Somehow he saw Devon as a loner. He couldn’t imagine her renting a room, especially with a dog, and he couldn’t see her sharing quarters with another person.
His gut instinct, fine-tuned during his years with Special Ops, told him Devon lived alone. He was right about this. He knew he was.
DEVON HAD WALKED OUTSIDE Chad’s living room to answer her cell phone. The only person who had the number was Warren. When the connection malfunctioned, she tried calling Warren back, but was transferred to his pager. She IMed him to call her back ASAP.
She walked across the yard to make certain no one could overhear her conversation with her handler. She’d never called him before, but she knew he was supposed to be available 24/7. Her phone rang less than a minute later.
“Is there trouble?” Warren asked.
“No. I thought you called me.”
“Get back to me on a secure line.” Warren hung up.
Devon knew how paranoid WITSEC was about using cell phones. What went out over the airwaves could easily be monitored by anyone with a cheap scanner from Radio Shack. She wasn’t sure where the nearest pay phone was but none were close. A big house like Chad’s had lots of telephones and a local call surely wouldn’t be noticed.
She found a sleek black telephone in the kitchen and phoned Warren. She asked, “Did you call me about something?”
“No.”
“I guess it was a wrong number then. Someone called and hung up. I thought it was a bad connection.”
Two beats of silence. “Probably was a wrong number.”
“That’s it. Nothing else to report. I—”
“How’s the job going?”
“Great. We’re really busy with a big wedding. We’re holding it at Chad Langston’s beachfront home in the Kahala area. Do you know him?”
“No. Should I run a check on him?”
Devon told herself she didn’t want to know anything more about Chad. It was difficult enough to keep her mind off him as it was. “No.”
“Your boss checked your references.”
Puzzled, Devon asked, “After he’d hired me?”
“A little strange but…”
“I’m doing a good job—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Warren told her. “The Cress Creek Country Club and the Four Seasons forwarded the inquiry, and our people called back.”
Eddie seemed too harried by the snafu with Inoye’s niece’s wedding to suddenly check her references, she decided. “Do you know what telephone number they called?”
“I could find out. What’s going on?”
After a moment of silence, he said, “I’ll get back to you with the number.”
“Okay.” Devon stared around the enormous kitchen with the white lacquered cabinets and sleek black granite counters. It was hard to imagine Chad preparing a meal in here. “Is it safe to call my sister yet?”
“This Saturday.”
Relief surged through her. It had been almost four months since she’d spoken with Tina and her niece, Ariel. It had been over two years since she’d seen them. She shouldn’t get too excited. Saturday was Phaedra Natsui’s wedding. Devon would be on the run from dawn until God-only-knew-when. Her first conversation with Tina and Ariel would be a short one.
At least she was getting to talk to them. Sometimes the weight of her memories of those happy days when she could hop on a plane and visit her sister was unbearable. She longed to feel safe again. To sleep one night without fear.
“There is some good news,” Warren told her. “We’re transferring your things from your condo in Santa Fe to your apartment here. They should arrive within the week.”
“Great,” she replied halfheartedly. She had clothes and office stuff WITSEC had sent after she’d left Houston. The clothes were too heavy to wear here, and since she couldn’t work in accounting, the disks and software weren’t of much use. Worse, they’d just take up space in her small studio.
“WITSEC rigged it to have your condo go into foreclosure. That way we can remove your belongs and sell the place without attracting too much attention.”
“Good. I can use the money.” Wait, she thought, remembering the disaster in Santa Fe. “Don’t transfer the money here. I think that may be the way they found me last time.”
“I doubt it. We do double blind transfers.”
“I don’t care. Keep the money for now.”
“You owe WITSEC for the cosmetic surgery.”
“Fine,” she said with sarcasm. “Deduct that amount. Then let the rest sit. I don’t want to take any unnecessary chances.”
“Okay. It’s your call.”
She hung up and went back to draping the serving tables. A few minutes later, her telephone rang again. “Call me back on a secure line.”
Devon wandered into the house and hoped no one noticed. Chad’s sisters were too busy draping chairs and chatting about their children to pay attention to her. She called Warren, and he rattled off the number WITSEC had called to give her references.
“That’s not the number of our office,” she said, a frission of alarm waltzing across the back of her neck. “I guess it could be Eddie’s cell phone.”
“Christ! Lemme get back to you.”
She gave him the number on the kitchen telephone, then hung up. She wondered how reliable WITSEC was. Someone inside the system might be leaking info to her former bosses. If she’d known then what she knew now, she would have anonymously contacted the FBI, left PowerTec, and found a new job. Then she would still have her life, her family.
The phone rang a few minutes later, and she answered it before the first ring was over.
“It’s a cell phone number,” Warren told her, his voice brusque. “It belongs to Chad Langston.”
Devon wasn’t surprised. Chad was interested in her, and he had access to Eddie’s records.
“What do you know about Langston?”
“Not much.” She explained what she knew about Chad Langston
Warren was silent for a moment. “I’ll run a background check on him.”
It was less than an hour later when Warren called again and had her use the secure line.
“This sucks,” Warren said. “Langston was with Delta Force during the Gulf War.”
“So?”
“So! So they are the best of the best. It’s a multiservice unit that culls the top guys from all the branches of the military for Special Ops. You know, covert operations.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Not only can he survive behind enemy lines with nothing, but he knows how to use all sorts of high tech equipment. He can find out a lot about you that a regular guy couldn’t. He did research for DARPA after his military tour was over.”
“DARPA?”
“It’s the advanced research division of the Department of Defense. Top secret stuff. They employ the best scientists in every field. Not just any Delta Force guy works with them.”
“Interesting.”
Now she knew why she found Chad so attractive. He acted like a jock but a brilliant mind glimmered through. He’d gone to Stanford and had made Delta Force. She’d always found bright men incredibly attractive. Of course Chad took this to a new level. He was way sexier than most men she’d been drawn to.
Sexier than Tyler, she decided. A twinge of hurt pierced the armor she’d erected around her emotions. She tamped it down. Tyler had never really loved her or he wouldn’t have found someone else so quickly.
She told herself to forget the past, forget how attractive Chad was. Concentrate on the clear and present danger. Her life depended upon it.
“Langston’s going to figure out you aren’t who you say you are in no time. You need to have a cover story ready or I’ll have to relocate you.”
Relocation. She honestly didn’t think she could face another relocation. She loved Hawaii. The astounding beauty and the rich heritage of this place had captivated her. When the trial was over, she planned to return here to live.
If they moved her again, it would be months more before she was allowed to speak to her sister. She honestly didn’t think she could survive another relocation.
She told Warren, “I’ll have a good cover story ready.”
“Clue me in so I can backstop it.”
“I’ll call you later.”