Knight's Mistress

by C. C. Gibbs

  His gaze narrowed. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Then Kate pointed. ‘You don’t wear cufflinks. Is that allowed when you’re a CEO?’

  A shrug, a bland, blue stare. ‘Everything’s allowed when you’re me. My company is privately held.’

  Her spine stiffened. As she opened her mouth to speak, he stopped her with a lifted finger, picked up his phone and hit a button. ‘I’m calling Max. He’s scheduled to fly out at seven. He’ll fill you in on all the details en route. As will Werner in our Amsterdam office. Now, in the nicest possible way, I’d like to invite you to work for us. Just the one assignment in Amsterdam. Yes or no, Miss Hart? I’m done fucking around. Just a minute, Max.’ He held her gaze.

  ‘You’re a control freak,’ she muttered.

  ‘Is that a yes?’

  Silence.

  ‘Two weeks, a month, that’s it. Money’s no object. Come now, say yes.’ He smiled, a beautiful, charming, practised smile.

  Why did it seem that his smile was offering her the entire world and its pleasures? Clearly, a lunatic thought.

  ‘Very well,’ he softly said into the lengthening silence, his blue gaze grave. ‘Give me two weeks of your time. I won’t ask for more.’

  A pause, a last small grimace, a barely discernible nod.

  His instant smile could have melted the entire polar ice cap in under a minute. ‘Welcome aboard, Miss Hart. I look forward to working with you.’ He grinned. ‘At a distance, of course.’

  He was way too smooth and way too beautiful and way too familiar with getting his way. But, deep down, irrationally, she wanted the job more than anything. And she knew better than to fall under his spell. Screwing the CEO was never wise.

  As if, anyway.

  Besides, the word bondage had come up on one of the murkier blogs in Europe. Whether it was true or not, a man that rich and powerful?

  Anything was possible.

  CHAPTER 2

  Dominic walked her out to the foyer where Max was waiting. He introduced them, made a few gracious remarks about Miss Hart joining the firm as a contractor, said, ‘Thank you, Max, thank you, Miss Hart, good journey,’ and walked away. The fact that Max was there waiting for her would have pissed her off if she’d been given the time to properly register her resentment before being whisked off in a limo by Dominic Knight’s vice president, ADC and all around chargé d’affaires.

  That Max was ex-MI6 was immediately apparent from the top of his blond brush-cut to the tips of his desert-booted toes. His British upper class accent was both calming and intimidating. ‘May I say how pleased we are to have you with Knight Enterprises,’ he said as he settled into the seat beside her. ‘Nick was intent on hiring you.’

  ‘I got that impression,’ she said, drily.

  He laughed. ‘You’ll get used to it. Everyone does or they’re gone.’

  ‘That was pretty clear too.’

  Max merely shrugged. ‘I don’t think he even notices. He sees it as efficiency.’

  She stared him down for a second. ‘Don’t say, “Get used to it”, or I’ll strangle you.’

  He laughed. ‘I wouldn’t dare.’

  She sniffed. ‘I don’t need this job, you know.’

  ‘I do know. We do have a serious issue in Amsterdam, Miss Hart, so take it from me personally, we’re grateful for your help. Your reputation precedes you. No one quite matches your skill set in cyber forensics.’ He gave her an avuncular smile. ‘We’ve taken the liberty of collecting your luggage from your hotel. It’s already at the airfield. I have some papers for you to sign on the plane. Nothing out of the ordinary,’ he said at the sudden scepticism in her gaze. ‘Just the usual forms for our contractors. Pam, my personal assistant, will run you through the process. Then I’ll give you an idea of what you’re up against. We’ve been trying to sort out this mess for a while, without luck. You’re the talent we need.

  ‘As for Dominic, rest easy, Miss Hart, you’ll find it simple enough to work for him. He’s interested in results and I’m sure you won’t have any problem delivering. You’ll have carte blanche on this project. We’re trying to avoid a PR disaster. This plant is supposed to be state-of-the-art in terms of employee health and safety. It’s a pilot project for green technology and community involvement in an area of the Balkans that has high unemployment. And now morale is low, production is down, the parts aren’t up to standard, workers are beginning to complain. It’s only a matter of time until stories about the working conditions hit the news media. So’ – he flipped his hand in her direction – ‘you’re going to make Dominic happy and solve the mess.’

  Making Dominic happy was probably every woman’s dream. ‘Someone’s skimming off the top, I presume,’ she said instead.

  ‘A considerable amount. At the expense of not just the employees’ working conditions, but the reputation of our firm.’

  ‘Hmmm.’

  He smiled. ‘Sound like fun?’

  She nodded. ‘I like to solve puzzles. Especially complicated ones like this.’

  ‘Good. You’ll have security. I don’t know if Dominic told you. There’s a level of criminal involvement whenever large sums of money are at stake.’

  Wide-eyed, she whispered, ‘Security?’

  ‘It’s just a precaution. Amsterdam is a long way from Bucharest. Don’t worry.’

  ‘Oh crap.’

  Max grinned. ‘Charge him more.’

  She gave him a sideways look. ‘Will that bulletproof me?’

  ‘I’ll bulletproof you. Promise.’

  His quiet certainty reassured her. And Amsterdam was a long way from Bucharest. ‘Thanks. I’m a small-town girl. Bodyguards aren’t in my repertoire.’

  ‘You won’t even notice.’

  Late that night, actually in the wee hours of the morning, when everyone was sleeping in their bedrooms on the company 747, a knock on the door woke Max.

  ‘Phone call, sir, in the lounge,’ one of the stewards announced.

  Slipping into his robe, Max entered the lounge, took a seat in a leather easy chair and picked up the call.

  ‘Sorry to wake you,’ Dominic said.

  ‘What the hell time is it back there?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I can’t see a clock. The reason I called is to tell you that I’ll be in Amsterdam Saturday.’

  ‘What for?’ The Amsterdam office was small, just a satellite, of little consequence to the company’s bottom line.

  ‘I’m on my way to Hong Kong. Thought I’d stop by.’

  It was triple the distance going through Europe. ‘She’ll do fine,’ Max said. ‘She’ll do better if you don’t fuck with her head.’

  ‘I’ve been telling myself that.’

  ‘And you’re coming anyway. She won’t like it.’

  ‘You surprise me, Max. After all these years, I’d hoped you’d understand me better.’

  ‘She’s not the starry-eyed type.’

  ‘I noticed.’

  ‘You may not get what you want.’

  ‘Of course I will. I always do.’

  ‘She might quit. Then our problem here doesn’t get solved.’

  ‘I’ll see that she doesn’t quit. Now go back to sleep. I’ll see you in four days.’

  Max swore as he set down the phone. Dominic could be a cold bastard. Or just reverting to type after his wife’s death. Dominic’s CFO, Roscoe Kern, had explained everything when Max had first come on board Knight Enterprises. While Dominic had become a friend in the five years they’d worked together, he was at base an emotionally detached person, largely indifferent to everything but his business. He might have tempered his obsessive need for control during his marriage, but it was back in full force now. In fact, it was even worse than before, according to Roscoe who’d been with Dominic from the beginning of his ascent to one of the wealthiest men in the world.

  Heaving himself out of the chair, Max grimaced.

  He’d be earning his bloody pay in Amsterdam.

  It was cool with a lig
ht rain when the plane landed in Amsterdam, the wind off the ocean bracing. Not that January weather was an issue inside a luxurious Mercedes. Nor was it noticeable in the short walk between the car and the entrance to a palatial town house in the old city centre.

  They were greeted by a discreetly dressed major domo: simple black suit, sleek hair, welcoming smile. Kate was to be installed in an apartment in the eighteenth-century structure that had been restored to its original magnificence by Knight Enterprises seven years ago.

  After Max had conducted her on a swift tour of the richly decorated main floor reception rooms used for company functions, he escorted her to an apartment on the fourth floor and left her with a breezy, ‘I’ll send someone for you tomorrow. Take the rest of the day off.’

  The door had no more than shut on him when a woman’s voice said in accented English, ‘Would you like something to eat?’

  Kate spun around.

  A large, heavy-set woman with short, fair hair, neatly dressed in a white blouse, blue skirt and sensible shoes, stood ten feet away. ‘I’m the housekeeper, Mrs Van Kessel. Lunch is ready, if you’d like.’

  A housekeeper? Crap. Having a stranger around was going to be weird. But since she was always hungry, Kate smiled politely. ‘Thank you, lunch would be nice.’

  She was shown into an exuberantly rococo room, with pink marble pilasters, gilded everything and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the canal. A small table, set for one, had been placed next to one of the windows. A vase of coral-coloured tulips provided a bright splash on the sparkling white linen cloth and no sooner had Kate seated herself on a rosewood chair, upholstered in pale yellow satin, than Mrs Van Kessel appeared with the first course.

  Over lunch, Kate found herself silently exclaiming wow at the fine china, the heavy, ornate silver, the superb food that looked like a picture in a magazine, the unobtrusive service, the choice of wines. Was she in a dream or what?

  She had repeated that question exactly to her grandmother on the phone after she’d locked herself in her bedroom.

  ‘Nana, you should see my bedroom here,’ Kate said with breathless wonder. ‘It looks like something out of that Marie Antoinette film I love.’

  ‘Now, sweetheart, you’ve worked hard to get where you are,’ her grandmother unflappably said. ‘Enjoy it.’

  Nothing ever fazed Nana. ‘OK, I will. But you’re going to get daily reports on this little bit of heaven I’ve fallen into.’ She’d already texted her grandmother from San Francisco, apprising her of her departure for Amsterdam.

  ‘Send me pictures. I’ll show them at my bridge club.’

  ‘And piss off Jan Vogel who’s always bragging about her grandson the doctor.’

  ‘Don’t you know it,’ Nana said with a smile in her voice. ‘Now tell me about this new job of yours.’

  Kate explained the task before her, careful not to divulge anything that might blow back on Knight Enterprises. If PR was an issue, the less said the better. But when her grandmother asked about her new employer, she offered an even more edited version. It seemed everyone in the world, including those in the bush of Northern Minnesota, knew of Dominic Knight.

  ‘He seems nice.’ The Minnesota term encompassed a wide range of possibilities, not all positive depending on the tone – hers at the moment scrupulously neutral for her grandmother. ‘Smart, of course, articulate … you know I didn’t really see him for very long. If I see him again, I’ll let you know. How’s Leon?’ Leon was the Great Dane Nana had rescued from the pound. ‘Is your new fence working out better than the old one?’ Leon had leaped that one in less than five seconds.

  ‘You bet. Jerry from Lampert’s says it’ll still be standing when only the cockroaches are left. Leon checked it out and decided it wasn’t worth jumping. Make sure you eat well, now. I know how hard you work. Such long hours, dear. I don’t know what the world’s coming to.’

  ‘You should talk. After school you were always coaching something.’ Her grandmother was the grade-school principal in their small town and also coached girls’ basketball and softball.

  ‘That was different. I was out and about, moving around. You’re hunched over a computer hours at a time. Really, dear, promise me you’ll get some exercise.’

  ‘Yes, Nana.’ Right after I put a nail through my forehead. ‘You know, I might go out for a walk now. See the town.’ Might was a polite word.

  ‘Remember, take pictures on your cell. The Ann Frank house, the Rijksmuseum, the Van Gogh museum, all the canals, of course. What have I forgotten?’

  ‘I’ll send you a book, Nana. The pictures will be better.’ And it would save her a lot of walking.

  ‘No, I need them on my cell phone. Jan will have a fit when I show them to her.’

  Kate silently groaned. There was no way out of it. The bridge club had been in existence for fifty years and every week Nana and Jan Vogel had been at it in that small town, passive/aggressive butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-your-mouth smiley way. ‘OK, Nana, but in a day or so. I’ve got jet lag.’ A white lie wasn’t really a lie; for strangers, yes, but not family. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’

  The next morning, Kate was introduced to everyone at Knight Enterprises’ Amsterdam branch. The office was housed in another chic town house, this one with a view of the sea. Her office on the top floor had an even more glorious view of the water, not that she’d be gazing out the windows much. She was itching to get started.

  Werner, the office manager, explained what they’d tried, where they’d failed, what they were hoping she could accomplish. He was a tall, young man, very blond and Dutch-looking, nerdy, bright and clearly frustrated by their lack of progress. ‘If you need anything,’ he said, standing in the doorway on his way out, ‘let me know. Anything at all.’

  She smiled, pointed at her espresso and water bottle. ‘I’m good for now, thanks.’ Then she booted up her top-of-the-line Alienware laptop, feeling like she always did at the beginning of a search. Exhilarated. Focused. A predator on the make.

  She took two breaks the first day, one for lunch, one for supper, then worked till midnight. On her way home, she thought she might have seen her bodyguard, but wasn’t sure. Max was right.

  She was back at the office by seven, hot on the trail of a bank in Latvia where the money was being sent. Today she was hoping to find the final destination of the money and the names on the accounts. Probably the Ukraine, she guessed, where there was no extradition treaty with the US. But she was sidetracked into the Israeli email service Safemail, where any sender’s IP address was blocked, and after six relentless hours of knocking on server doors and bumping into impenetrable security systems, she finally found an entry point. She was on her way after that, the familiar feeling of invincibility infusing her senses, adrenalin rushing to her brain, her keystrokes speeding up until her fingers were flying over the keys, independent of coherent thought. This was the magic, the guilty thrill that motivated every hacker and every person who took risks; the vibe, the passion, the rapture that science had documented as the so-called happiness hormone.

  As she worked, time and place evaporated, the world narrowed to a keyboard and monitor screen, to colours and numbers, her pulse rate running high like an athlete in a marathon. She had the key, her target was in her sights, she was closing in.

  And then finally.

  Yes! Yes, yes, yes! There it was!

  Singapore. A bank name. A bank account number. A customer name.

  She fell back in her chair and shut her eyes, exhausted, drained, chilled to the bone. Noticing her surroundings for the first time in hours, she glanced at the clock. Three o’clock. She glanced out the window. Dark.

  She ran a printout of the information, cautious about emailing it to Werner when the criminal enterprise in Bucharest, including the plant manager, had access to the company servers. She left a cryptic text message on Werner’s phone, describing the location of the printout – inside the Italian dictionary on her office shelf. Then she found her coat,
walked the few blocks home without remembering having done so and found the door to the town house opening as she climbed up the small flight of stairs.

  ‘A late night, Miss Hart,’ a man she didn’t know politely said. ‘Would you like some refreshments sent up?’

  She shook her head, tried to smile, found herself unequal to the task and managed to whisper, ‘No thank you.’

  Three minutes later, fully clothed, she crashed on the puffed-white-satin-covered Marie Antoinette bed and slept through the entire next day.

  CHAPTER 3

  A musky scent insinuated itself into her consciousness first. Moments later a deep familiar voice breached the remote margins of her brain – an echo of the voice in her passion-filled dream – and she softly moaned.

  Dominic recognized the sound and smiled. His new employee, lying face down on the bed in her grey nylon quilted coat, wasn’t all about double-entry accounting. A pleasant thought, perhaps even the reason he’d taken the long way to Hong Kong. But a dangerous one as well. And at the moment, he hadn’t decided what to do about her yet.

  He’d have to decide by morning. The Gulfstream was scheduled for take-off at ten. Which was just as well. In his experience, deadlines were a spur to action.

  Like now.

  He was here to rouse Miss Hart. Unable to wake her, Mrs Van Kessel had asked for his help. Bending down, he repeated, ‘Wake up, Miss Hart. Wake up.’

  A petulant groan.

  He lightly touched her flushed cheek with the pad of his index finger. ‘People are waiting for you, Miss Hart.’

  Touch, smell, sound sluggishly converged, brewed and blended, intensifying her lush dream that had her lying naked on Dominic Knight’s desk top in Palo Alto. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, his soft voice urging her towards orgasm, her whispered response a feverish, racing litany of yeses. His blue-eyed gaze was heated, close, hers half shut to absorb the spectacular, high-pressure sensations as his hips moved in a slow thrust and withdrawal, touching her deeply there and there and oh, oh, oh …