by Cassie Miles
Again, he asked, “Who?”
“Nobody.” Mitch Murano. Though she had no tangible reason to suspect the Boulder guru, there was something about him that put her on edge.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll find out more when we go to the Haymarket mansion.”
“Ruby said the general didn’t want you there,” she reminded him.
“I’ll have to convince him that I can be useful.”
Gennie anticipated a minor explosion from the general. He loved his wife and would do anything to please her, but he didn’t like being pushed around. “Don’t worry, Noah. If he boots you out, I can handle the situation by myself.”
Though he didn’t come right out and say that he didn’t think she was capable of managing the general, Ruby and Slocum’s next of kin, she could tell that he was doubtful. His forehead tensed, and he raked his fingers through his close-cropped hair.
She kept her gaze steady. They seemed to be teetering on the brink of an argument, and she wanted to be ready.
Instead of raising an objection, he finished his wine, set down the glass beside the sink and said, “We’ll talk in the morning.”
She followed him out of the kitchen and into the hallway that led to the bedrooms. “If things don’t work out with the general, I’m sure you have a lot of business to take care of tomorrow.”
“I should pay a visit to Murano at his institute,” he said. “Zoey can come with me. Her insights might be useful. She hates that guy.”
“But I want to go with you,” she said quickly. “Warrick might be there. I should be the one who confronts him. Like you said, I know more about him than anybody else.”
“But you’re going to be busy at the general’s house. You can’t be in two places at once.” He paused at the door to the guest bedroom where they had already dropped off her suitcase. “Sleep well, Gennie.”
Her night with Noah hadn’t turned out the way she’d hoped or expected. The attraction was there but so was the tension. The bed in the guest room tempted her with the promise of plump pillows and fresh linens. But she needed a shower before she crawled under that crisp white duvet. Dragging herself across the room, she peeled off her clothes and kicked off her shoes. It took a moment to unwrap the ankle support, but when the pressure was relieved she was pleased. The swelling was almost gone, and she had a wide range of motion.
Inside the glass doors of the huge shower, she adjusted the faucets and ran her hand across a green tiled wall as she stepped into the spray. The water was screaming hot. Steam swirled around her arms and legs. The shower jets massaged her shoulders. Finally, she relaxed. The combination of wine and shower was better than a dozen sleeping pills and hours of meditation.
She looked forward to a peaceful night. No worries about tomorrow when she’d either be at the general’s mansion or Murano’s institute. Tonight, her mind would banish all thoughts of murderous arms cartels, smarmy blackmail schemes and how she could be attracted to Noah and annoyed with him at the same time.
Stepping from the shower, she toweled dry and took inventory of the pattern of light scars from the explosion in Afghanistan. After three years, most were barely noticeable. The worst was a shrapnel wound below her collarbone. The scar had bothered her enough that she’d disguised it with a tattoo of a butterfly. After she brushed her teeth, she slipped into a striped nightshirt and padded across the cashmere carpet toward the beautiful bed.
Her mouth was dry. Before she dove between the covers, she ought to get a glass of water from the kitchen. Also, she realized, she’d left her purse and cell phone on the counter. She eased open the door, hoping she wouldn’t wake Noah, and tiptoed into the hall.
With the ambient light from the sliding-glass doors, she could see well enough to make her way down the hall. In the kitchen, she turned on the light over the stove and looked through a couple of cabinets for a water glass.
She heard him clear his throat. “Noah?”
“Can I help you with anything?”
He leaned against the doorjamb with his muscular arms folded across his naked chest. Plaid pajama bottoms hung from his hips. His dark brown hair was spiky from the shower. She didn’t think he was purposely trying to be sexy but... Oh, my.
She swallowed hard. “Thirsty.”
“Help yourself,” he said. “I’m glad we ran into each other.”
“Are you?” She filled her glass and took a gulp.
“When I said I wanted to go with you to the general’s house, I didn’t mean to imply that you couldn’t handle questioning these people.”
It was a legitimate concern. She wasn’t trained as a detective. “I don’t know much about interrogation.”
“But you’ve got good instincts.” He joined her at the sink and filled his own water glass. “You’ll do fine.”
His nearness—and his nakedness—were almost more than she could handle. His tanned chest seemed to glow in the dim light from above the stove. His arms were ripped but not bulky. If she stroked his flesh, she knew the skin would be supple and the muscles would be like steel. She felt herself leaning toward him. Her tight nipples were inches away from his chest. It was imperative for her to put distance between them.
“Phone,” she blurted. “I came out here to check my cell phone.”
Backing away from the sink, she grabbed her purse on the countertop and reached into the inner pocket where she kept her cell phone. “There’s a text message from Ruby.”
“No more trouble, I hope.”
She read the text aloud: “Roger wants you to come for brunch at ten. It’s okay to bring Noah.”
“Practically an invitation,” he said wryly.
There was no way to avoid spending more time with him tomorrow. Was she happy about this turn of events? She liked Noah. He was one of the good guys, maybe too good, definitely too appealing. When he moved toward her, she backed off again. “I should go to bed.”
She fled down the hall to the guest bedroom. Her heart banged inside her rib cage. Any thoughts of a pleasant relaxing sleep were dead, but that wasn’t an altogether bad thing. Sliding between the sheets, she smiled to herself. Tonight, she expected to have many hot, sensual dreams about Noah’s bare chest.
Chapter Eleven
Five minutes before ten o’clock in the morning, Noah rang the doorbell at the entrance to the Haymarket mansion. Clad in a sports jacket, a necktie and a responsible attitude, he was ready for business. This meeting was an opportunity to mend ARC’s relationship with the general, not to mention that he and Gennie could make progress on the murder investigation and shift the suspect spotlight off him.
He could tell that she was nervous. Her posture was as rigid as if she’d been standing at attention. He whispered, “It’s going to be okay.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she murmured under her breath. “I know how to keep my eyes open and my mouth shut.”
The doorbell was answered by the housekeeper/butler. Henry Harrison was a slim gray-haired man who dressed in a black turtleneck, jeans and cowboy boots no matter what the season. He’d opted out of yesterday’s event but returned to literally put the house in order. He gave Noah a quick hug and whispered, “I hear what they’re saying, and they’re wrong. I know you didn’t kill him.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“But I wouldn’t have blamed you too much if you did kill him. Captain Slocum was a hard man to get along with.” He introduced himself to Gennie and escorted them down the hall to a sunny breakfast room where the general and Ruby sat at a round table, sipping coffee from bright yellow mugs. The cheerful decor and the vase of red and yellow tulips on the table contrasted the dark silence between husband and wife. Noah wondered if their mutual hostility was because she’d told him about the letter.
When the general shook his hand, he echoed Harrison’s sentiment. “I don’t consider you a suspect, No
ah. But I’m damned angry about yesterday’s security lapses.”
“We could have done more.” That was the only apology Noah was going to offer. According to the report he received this morning from Tony Vega, his field operatives performed their assignments as well as could have been expected. They hadn’t prepared for such a well-planned, well-executed assault. The killer knew everything—from the range of the surveillance cameras to the best getaway route, and he’d used the crowds at the fund-raiser as cover. ARC Security hadn’t made mistakes, but they hadn’t anticipated the impossible.
Ruby came around the table, gave him and Gennie a hug and got them seated. After he took his first sip of Harrison’s excellent coffee, Noah said, “I spoke to Anna Rose this morning, and she sends her condolences.”
“I appreciate that.” In his casual clothes and Broncos baseball cap, the general looked like he was more interested in eighteen holes of golf than in a murder investigation. “Anna Rose and I have known each other for a long time. Her husband was a good friend.”
And she’s an ace, brilliant cyber genius! Late last night, Noah had emailed her the information about Slocum’s finances, and she’d already uncovered records to confirm the deceased man’s worth at a million-plus. She’d also found addresses for two of his three properties. One was his primary residence in south Denver, and the other was near Boulder.
“Both Anna Rose and I had questions about the arrangements for the fund-raiser.” Noah carefully kept his tone non-confrontational. “You requested twice the usual number of field operatives plus a sniper on the roof.”
“That is correct.”
“Did you have a reason to suspect there might be trouble?”
“Actually, Slocum was the one who suggested more security, which seemed odd because then he didn’t want the metal detector at the door.” The general scowled into his coffee mug. “In hindsight, I think he knew there might be danger and wanted extra protection.”
“Who was the threat coming from?” Noah asked.
The general shook his head. “Don’t know.”
He sat back while Harrison and the cook served fruit cups, granola and an egg-white frittata casserole garnished with avocado. Noah was fairly sure that the general would have preferred bacon and grits, but other people—probably Ruby and the butler—were looking out for him, making sure he had a healthy breakfast. The general didn’t sweat the small stuff, like a menu. Roger Haymarket had been a top-level military officer for decades. He was accustomed to having his basic needs taken care of and his orders obeyed.
“We should take a look at Mitch Murano,” Gennie said as she filled her plate. “He’s a public figure. Surely, he has enemies.”
The general beamed at her across the table. “I’m so glad I can welcome you into my home. You were always special to me, Gennie, like the daughter I never had.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“A real Colorado gal,” he said. He might joke around, but the general took his western heritage seriously. The Haymarket family was wealthy, powerful and owned thousands of acres of ranch land near Aspen. “I always bragged that you could shoot better, run faster and climb a sheer rock wall face without safety ropes. When you turned down a job working with me, I was real disappointed.”
“All for the best,” she said. “You wouldn’t want me as an aide. I’ve got a temper.”
“Well, you can be cantankerous.” He turned to his wife. “Did I ever tell you that sweet little Gennie called me a bald-headed baboon?”
“Yes, you told me.”
It seemed likely that the general had repeated that story dozens of times, and Gennie didn’t appreciate the teasing. Her jaw tensed. An angry red flush crept up her throat.
The general dug into his fruit. “I’m hoping you and Ruby will start spending time together. You gals have a lot in common.”
Did they? Noah glanced from Gennie in her simple olive green pantsuit with a sleeveless white top to Ruby who wore full makeup, an armful of bracelets and a multicolored caftan. The differences between them went deeper than their clothing. Ruby was flamboyant and loved to gossip while Gennie kept her thoughts and feelings under tight control. Similarities? They were both determined and stubborn.
“Let’s get back to Murano,” Gennie said, stomping back into the conversation like a miniature Godzilla. “Are you aware that Kenneth Warrick is working for him under an alias?”
“The FBI investigators mentioned it. Before that, I didn’t know. You’ve got to believe that if I had seen Warrick or heard his name, I would have told Mitch to fire him. Warrick is bad news. He was acquitted in our Afghanistan investigation, but I always thought he was involved in the staging of the explosion that nearly killed you.”
“Have you spoken to Murano about him?”
“Not yet, I have a lot on my plate, sweetheart.”
“When will you talk to him?”
“Well, aren’t you a dog with a bone?” He reached over and patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Gennie. I won’t let Warrick get anywhere near you.”
The blotchy red flush spread to her cheeks. Before Gennie erupted, Ruby redirected the conversation with light chatter about the delicious food. Noah was grateful. He couldn’t excuse the general’s condescending comments but didn’t want to hurt the old man who seemed truly fond of Gennie.
Noah knew he was walking a delicate line with Gennie. He didn’t want to say anything that would turn her against him, but he had to be cautious about his attraction that grew stronger by the minute. How could he be honest with her? Her direct approach with Haymarket wasn’t a good way to get information from him, but he couldn’t muzzle her.
Ruby checked her gold wristwatch. “Look at the time. Dean Slocum’s next of kin will be arriving at any moment. Roger arranged for them to catch a military flight into Buckley. After they land, one of the men on base will drive them here.”
Again, Noah was struck by the smooth efficiency of the general’s life. It probably took one phone call to make those transportation arrangements. “I expect you’ll miss Dean Slocum. It’ll be difficult to find someone to fill Slocum’s shoes.”
“He was efficient,” the general said. “An excellent factotum.”
Gennie asked, “According to his sister-in-law, your factotum had over a million dollars in the bank. Do you have any idea how he came into so much money?”
He waggled a finger at her. “You’ve been talking to my wife, haven’t you? She thinks Loretta Slocum is up to something. But I just don’t believe it. Loretta and Buddy are salt-of-the-earth people with no hidden agendas and no underhanded plans.”
“I hope you’re right,” Ruby said, exchanging a glance with him and with Gennie. “The FBI agents said that the next of kin are automatic suspects.”
“Buddy and Loretta were in Nashville,” her husband pointed out. “That’s a damn solid alibi.”
Ruby shot to her feet. “I’m going upstairs to change. Gennie, will you come with me?”
“You bet.”
When the women left the breakfast room, the energy level dropped several degrees. Between the two of them, Ruby and Gennie used up a lot of oxygen. Noah looked over at the general. “They’re something else, aren’t they?”
“Gennie is still mad at me, but she’ll come around.”
Noah wasn’t so sure about that. “It might take a while.”
“Kenneth Warrick is a sore spot with her. That bastard didn’t visit her in the hospital after she nearly died. She hates him, and I don’t blame her. Frankly, I think the investigators got it wrong when they cleared him of all charges.”
“You aren’t the only one who had a problem with Warrick,” Noah said. “Before the fund-raiser, Slocum told us to keep an eye out for him. That surprised me.”
“Why’s that?”
“Slocum and Warrick were birds of a feather. I could see them workin
g together. Maybe they were partners.”
“Makes sense, Warrick was an arms dealer.” Like the military man he was, the general homed in on an idea and took action. He whipped out his cell phone, put through a call to his temporary aide and told him to contact another general in US Army Intelligence.
Noah wasn’t sure that military intelligence would uncover the facts about illegal arms dealings quicker than Anna Rose with all her cyber connections. But the general appeared to be on his side. ARC was forgiven, and that was a goal he’d hoped to accomplish this morning.
Haymarket poured himself a second cup of coffee and added three sugars. “Did Slocum know that Warrick was working for Murano?”
“He was using an alias, but he wasn’t in hiding. Gennie said that Warrick has changed his appearance.”
“If he’s still in the area, the FBI will find him.”
Noah didn’t share his confidence. In his experience, the feds tended to get tangled up in bureaucracy. “We’ll see.”
When they heard the front doorbell ring, both men rose from the breakfast table.
“That must be Buddy and Loretta.” The general called out toward the kitchen. “Harrison, will you show our guests in here. And maybe you can rustle up some bacon. I wouldn’t mind pancakes and maple syrup.”
So much for fruit cups and frittatas, General Haymarket was in control.
* * *
GENNIE RECLINED ON a velvet sofa in Ruby’s walk-in closet, which was as large as the master bedroom in her parents’ house. The floor-to-ceiling racks of footwear displayed sneakers, pumps, stilettos and many, many boots. There were trays of jewelry, racks of scarves and shelves full of handbags. In addition to the gowns, day dresses and suits, Ruby owned a huge collection of Western clothing with elaborate embroidery and miles of fringe.
As she tried on outfits, she narrated each of her choices. “This full skirt shows that I’m sweet and feminine. And I’ll go with flat-heeled pumps in case Loretta is short. I don’t want to tower over her. These pearls are a nice touch. What do you think?”