Heather was relentless and so wild she was nearly out of control, and at one point in their lovemaking for the second time, Treadwell was nearing some limit he’d never known existed.
When they finally parted, he rolled over on his back and tried to catch his breath. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled.
Heather laughed. “Is that good or bad?”
Treadwell had to laugh too. “Better than good, but you damned near killed me.”
“I think I scratched your back. Maybe even drew some blood.”
“I’m not a bit surprised,” Treadwell said. “But seriously, you need to stick around town for a while.”
“Our stock is going to hell, just like the market, so I might as well stay here to see how it pans out.”
In the morning she, along with a lot of other stupid bastards, weren’t going to be so happy at how things turned out. Except for the investors BP serviced. They’d be calling him the savior. The miracle worker. The God almighty of the market.
Heather poked him in the side. “Hey, earth to Reid,” she said. “Where’d you just go?”
“Sorry. A lot going on today.”
“You get laid twice, and you forgot me already?”
He rolled over and kissed her. “A thousand apologies. Won’t happen again, promise. By tomorrow I’ll be a different man.”
She kissed him back, then drew away, a mysterious look on her face. “You have a virus in your system and a person named Levin has the antidote on a flash drive, right?” she said. “You were reading the riot act to someone named Julia—I’m guessing she’s your head of IT, the one on the exchange floor this morning. And she talked to Betty Ladd, who Daddy and I met. And Betty hates you. And you threatened Julia with Butch’s pals paying her a visit if she didn’t keep her mouth shut. Would that be Butch Hardy, your chief of security?”
“It’s complicated.”
She propped herself up on an elbow. “I’m sure it is. But from where I was sitting in the cheap seats, you sounded like a gangster.”
Treadwell grinned. “Macho Wall Street bullshit.”
“What’s going on?”
“We’re in the middle of something pretty delicate. Something I can’t talk about just now. Understand?”
“The bathroom door was open, and I heard just about everything. You were pissed off big-time. Sounds more than delicate to me.”
His cell phone buzzed, indicating an incoming text. He got it from the nightstand and opened the message. It was from Butch, and the news wasn’t good. Send my car, he texted back.
“Bad news?” Heather asked.
“No, just difficult,” Treadwell said, and he got out of bed. “Sorry, but I gotta go.”
“You said that you’re on the brink of—what’d you call it? ‘The biggest financial coup in history’? So tell me about it, I can keep my mouth shut.”
“I wish I could, really. But it involves a client, and sharing that kind of information with anyone is strictly a no-no.”
“I can help you, Reid, and I think you know it,” Heather said. “Let me in.”
“I’ll think about it,” Treadwell said. He gathered his clothes off the floor and headed for the bathroom.
“With the right incentive, maybe I won’t keep my mouth shut after all. Betty Ladd seemed like a genuine person.”
Treadwell stopped and turned back to her. “That would be the biggest mistake of your life. Trust me on that one.”
She just looked at him with a half smile.
In the bathroom with the door closed, he splashed some water on his face, gargled with mouthwash, and then got dressed. But it was only when he was finished that he realized he’d left his cell phone on the nightstand.
“Son of a bitch,” he said half under his breath and he went out to find Heather sitting on the edge of the bed, his cell phone in hand. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
She turned and looked up at him, this time her smile broad. “Hardy says Levin is gone and the kid is missing. What’s it mean?”
“Wall Street shorthand to keep snoopy people like you in the dark.”
“I do my homework too, Reid. Hardy isn’t one of your financial whiz kids. He’s a thug. An ex-cop with a questionable record.”
Treadwell took the phone from her. “A word of advice: Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it, and it won’t be something you wanted after all.”