A man stood in front of the blue sedan, leaning against the driver’s door in a casual fashion. He stared back at me nonplussed for a second, probably wondering what crazy lady had arrived in the place of Mina Blakely. Then he raised his hands up in mock surrender, giving me a lopsided grin that effectively doused my panic.
I knew who he must be and was immediately ashamed of my overreaction.
“Don’t shoot.” A tinge of laughter rode on his voice, which was sweet and kind. The sort of voice you’d expect a doctor to have. Between the voice, the gentle face, and the blonde hair that flopped boyishly into his eyes, I’d bet that Dr. Orion Stephenson had one hell of a bedside manner.
“Doctor,” I breathed, putting a hand to my chest, as if that would still the heart that threw itself against my ribs. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
He chuckled. “I think that’s my line. I’m sorry, Ms. Blakely. I’m not usually in the business of giving people heart attacks, you know. Bad for business.”
A strangled laugh escaped my lips. The quip wasn’t even that funny, and I could hear the hysterical note in my own laugh. I waved his apology away.
“Sorry. I overreacted. I was pretty far away in my thoughts. I’m ready to go if you are. Will Danny be coming along?”
Danny was Orion’s partner and had been for three years. Eventually, they had plans to marry, whenever Dr. Stephenson plucked up the courage to finally step out of the closet. But for the time being, his inheritance was controlled by his grandfather, a conservative man who ran in the same circles as my stepfather. The funding for the clinic depended on keeping the old man happy. And apparently the illusion that Orion was a “player” made the old man feel more secure.
I’d be the fourth girl in as many years to show up on his arm. In the past, he and Danny had solicited escort services for this purpose. But with the growing popularity of the Hustlers, Orion had decided that a classier option was needed.
Orion shook his head, and his blonde hair came to rest over his eyes. I smoothed it back out of reflex, and he smiled.
“He’s on a retreat. He hates it when Grandfather is in town. Refuses to go to any more dinners with him. So I think this is going to work out just fine.”
I grinned back, the remnants of my terror slipping away. This was just another job. I knew how to play the part well enough.
“Alright then. Let’s go knock Grandfather’s socks off.”
At the restaurant, the back of my skull tingled with the awareness that there were eyes on me.
I tried to write the sensation off as rampant paranoia. We were in the middle of a crowded dining room. It would be strange if people weren’t looking at their neighboring diners. Orion’s rather lascivious grandfather had been eyeing me all night.
Still, I couldn’t shake the idea that my blackmailer was here. I’d been so distracted, I’d barely been able to focus on the conversation.
Finally, the tension too much to bear, I pushed away from the table. I wasn’t going to do this job the justice it deserved if I didn’t take action. I needed to have some reassurance. There was only one man I knew to call for that.
Orion glanced up at me, concern furrowing his brow. “Are you alright, Lara?” he asked, using the codename we’d agreed upon during our brief email exchange before the job.
I nodded weakly. “I just need to sneak off to the little girl’s room, if you don’t mind. Save some cheesecake for me, will you?”
He nodded but I could tell from the set of his mouth he was unconvinced. I was usually a better liar than this. If he was catching my fibs, I was really off my game.
I tottered to an adjoining hall as quickly as I could, making a big show of urgency. I didn’t slow until I reached the bathroom. After checking that the stalls were empty, I leaned my back against the entrance door and pulled out my phone with shaking fingers. I’d have to keep this brief, for Orion’s sake as well as my own.
The man on the other end answered on the first ring, and the familiar and beloved New York accent thawed some of the ice that had settled into my gut. If anyone could rescue me from the mess I found myself in, it was this man.
“Tucker,” he grunted into the phone with customary bluntness. “Who the hell’s calling?”
“Tucker, it’s Mina. I need your help with something.”
The squeak of springs protesting sounded over the speaker. I could picture him settled into the hideous yellow monstrosity of an armchair that was perched before about a dozen computer screens.
“Hey, Mina. What’s going on? Is there another copy of the tape floating around the Internet again? I can have it scrubbed in just a few minutes. You didn’t have to call. Just shoot me a text.”
“It’s not that, Tuck.” My voice shook, and for the first time since leaving Bel-Air, I felt like the scared twenty-six-year-old I was. “I need you to track an email. Someone is threatening to kill my girls.”
Chapter Two
Logan
I’d take a battlefield over a boardroom any day.
I finished typing out the text and pressed send on my phone. The message whisked off into the ether, ready to land in the inbox of Colonel Wallace Graham. Covertly texting was par for the course for me during meetings with the board.
Only one board member could see my phone from her vantage point. Miss Valentina—a pretty blonde with a too-white smile and obvious breast augmentation—enjoyed the view too much to rat me out to the chairman. She hadn’t been shy about her interest, and now, as she gave me a sly smile, I wondered when her coy attempts at footsie would escalate to something worse.
I frowned at her, giving her a glare that crushed what she was obviously thinking. Cold and insensitive, maybe, but necessary. Some people were made for the corporate world, crawling out of their mothers with lies on their lips and an ambitious twinkle in their eyes.
My father, Alden Farraday, had been and still was one of those men. Born with a silver tongue and a silver spoon in his mouth, he’d been the biggest, baddest shark in the water for years, building a weapons technology company—Farraday Industries—that received many of the U.S. Government’s contracts. He’d expanded over the years and now owned almost more companies than I could count, including one that built helicopters. Now he was retired in all but name, leaving me in charge of an industry giant that I’d never wanted—and a shitload of trouble.
I missed the clear-cut nature of combat. When it boiled down to us or them. Fight or retreat. Win or lose. You knew who had your six, at the end of the day.
Or at least, who was supposed to. But if that had held true, I wouldn’t have been in this position, would I? I couldn’t help the quiet snarl that built in my chest when I considered the injustice.
I’d never wanted this. After coming back home, I’d seriously considered becoming private security for some silly Hollywood starlet. But I couldn’t abandon my father and Farraday Industries. And I couldn’t make changes to expand in the direction I wanted. Not yet, at any rate.
The polished surface of the table reflected my scowling face back at me. I barely looked like myself. Deep frown lines slashed my forehead over sharpened cheekbones. I’d lost weight since taking the CEO position—my appetite rarely kept up with my fitness routine these days. Dark waves of hair threatened to spill over my ears. It was definitely time to get it cut again.
Maybe I was being foolish, maintaining the crew cut even after being discharged, but I couldn’t seem to let go of old habits. You could take a soldier out of the uniform, but it appeared he’d just find a new one. Army fatigues swapped for a three-piece suit and power tie.
“And I think that should conclude our business for the day.” Piers Chamberlain drew the meeting to a close with a pleased smile, as though happy to have kept our attention.
I was gratified to see that I wasn’t the only one whose eyes had glazed over during the monotonous presentation. The chairman of the board was an influential man, but certainly not an interesting one.
<
br /> “Thank Christ,” I muttered.
“Pardon?” Piers strained toward me, frowning.
Miss Valentina snickered, delighted that I’d been caught.
Leaning my chin on one long-fingered hand, I gave Piers a disarming smile—my smile was famous for serving to get me out of trouble. “Nothing of importance, Chairman. I hope you have a pleasant evening. Let’s adjourn.”
The closing remarks were spoken and I strode from the room before Piers could corner me for further conversation. There was no way in hell I was going to shoot the shit with the chairman.
Phone in hand, I jammed my thumb down on the call button, dialing the most recent number to call.
A pleasant woman’s voice tinkled through the speaker. “Farraday Industries, you’ve reached Logan Farraday’s office, may I please inquire as to the nature of your call?”
My lips quirked up into a smile. “Don’t be a smartass, Leah. I know you have caller ID.”
Leah Hanover sniffed on the opposite end of the line. “Yes, and that is all these dinosaurs have. Do you think you could speak to the CFO about getting some proper equipment? You’d think this corporation that makes more money than God would be able to afford better.”
“I’ll send him an email.”
There were a lot of things I wanted to replace. But while my father still held on to the company by the tips of his bony fingers, I wouldn’t be able to get away with pushing for a total renovation. There was too much at stake at the moment, with Owen Mason threatening to pull his support. We needed his materials to produce the Sikorsky CH-53K King Stallion and the Sikorsky VH-92. If that contract fell through because of a fuck-up or mismanaged cash flow, my father would defy his impending death long enough to see that I beat him to the grave first.
At the elevator, I pressed the button for the top floor.
“Boss?” Leah’s voice cut through the thick stew of dislike I’d been simmering in. Thoughts of Owen Mason were going to give me an ulcer at age thirty-six.
“What?” My voice came out sharper than I’d intended. I wasn’t angry with Leah—well, at least nothing she’d done today. Leah had been known to tease past a point I’d normally tolerate. I afforded my personal assistant more leeway than she probably deserved, given that we’d dated very briefly after my return from Iraq.
Single and still stinging from my military career being stripped to tatters, and with more anger than was healthy, I’d jumped into bed with my father’s pretty personal assistant after downing one too many champagne flutes.
The chemistry had dissolved once we’d sobered up, and we agreed not to speak of it.
I lowered my voice and tried to get a grip on my anger. It wasn’t Leah’s fault that Owen Mason was blackmailing my father, or that I was stuck in a position I hadn’t wanted or asked for. “I’m sorry, Leah. The hostility was uncalled for. What were you saying?”
The unknown was getting to me. The private investigator I’d hired to look into the matter of Owen had yet to make much headway in the case and my own attempts to corner Owen Mason to shake the nature of the blackmail out of him had proved unsuccessful.
“You have two messages and an event reminder on your schedule.”
“Give me the cliff notes version, Leah. I’m in no mood.”
Leah slid into a cool, professional tone as she read off the important bits. “Your father has granted you access to his health records, and Doctor Watts has an update for you on his condition.”
The elevator doors pinged open on the top floor, saving me from answering right away. A short hallway stretched between the elevators and the door to my father’s inordinately large office and private lobby, which took up most of the floor. The door was flanked by Cole and Demetrius, two of the guards on my father’s payroll. They had orders from my father to guard me at all times, but I felt ridiculous being guarded in my own building, so I’d sent them up here.
I twisted the brass knob and stepped into the lobby, hating the space as much as I did when I’d stepped into the role of CEO almost a year ago.
My father’s presence was so thick even in the lobby, he might as well have been sitting on the distressed Italian leather sectional tucked into a corner.
I nodded at Leah as I hung up the phone, and she got up to follow me into my office as usual.
I was itching to have the polished mahogany panels removed and install simple drywall. My father had cultivated the cultured air of a dean’s office with a high vaulted ceiling, an honest-to-god chandelier hanging from its center.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Who the hell needed a chandelier in their office? Who needed a chandelier, period?
I sank into the chair behind the executive desk that dominated the space, scrubbed at my face and blew out a breath. The crux of the matter was that I couldn’t step out of this position. Maybe not ever. Not while my father was dying.
My father had congestive heart failure, a condition which would have been debilitating on its own for a man as proud as my father. Under normal circumstances he would have undergone surgery to improve blood flow to his heart. But he couldn’t because a hereditary disorder known as Von Willebrand kept his blood from clotting properly. If the doctors opened him up, he could die on the table. He was damned if he did, damned if he didn’t.
So he’d insisted on turning over the company to me. A “show of strength” as he’d called it. A father passing on an empire to his son—his healthy son. The PR department had a field day with it.
I rubbed my temples, trying to ward off the headache threatening to lock my head in a vice, and addressed Leah. “Send an email to Dr. Watts that I’ll be in contact tomorrow.”
“Will do, sir. And the second message is from your sister, Katherine. She wanted to let you know that she and Phoebe will be going to South Padre for the weekend.”
A fifty-pound weight dropped off my chest. At least one thing had gone right today. If party-girl had been a job, my sister would have been at the top of her profession. If she weren’t on a plane by now, I’d have dragged her up to the office and kissed her. Finally, a weekend during which I didn’t have to avoid Phoebe.
“Book her hotel room in South Padre and tell her that I’ll pay all expenses if they stay a week.” A week without a pair of giggling young women crowding my home would be damn near nirvana at this point. “What’s the reminder?”
“Isadora Anwick’s gala is taking place at the Ritz-Carlton tomorrow night at eight.”
Shit. I’d completely forgotten about that. I’d be expected to show, as a gesture of goodwill. Anwick’s company wasn’t directly tied to Farraday, but she held enough sway in our business sphere that it would be unwise to blow off the party entirely. It was already the height of rudeness that I hadn’t been in contact already.
“RSVP for me, please.”
“Did it last Wednesday.” Leah smiled, smugness layering her tone as she cocked her head. “Because I’m just that good. What would you do without me, boss?”
“Fade into utter obscurity, I’m certain.” Fond affection for my PA curled in my chest, the first warm feeling I’d had all day. Things would never have worked out between she and I but these were the times I was glad I hadn’t followed through on my gut instinct and reassigned her. Leah was invaluable to me.
She cackled as she made her way to the door. “Sure would. Gotta go, Boss, the vultures are clogging up the phone lines.”
I turned my chair and stared moodily out the window overlooking the greater Los Angeles area. I’d been in a holding pattern for too long. Something was going to have to break soon, I’d just have to deal with the fallout of it when it did.
Suddenly, Anwick’s party sounded like exactly what I needed. I could knock back a few drinks, maybe find a cutie to unwind with over the weekend, and then hunt down Owen Mason and squeeze him until he squealed.
Tomorrow evening couldn’t come fast enough.
Chapter Three
Mina
Steam curled up from m
y coffee cup, and the enticing scent of a caramel macchiato teased my nose.
The Saturday morning sun was beginning to rise over the Hacienda Heights, spilling golden promise over the landscape as I sat on the porch of the Hustler house. I glared at the lightening sky. My phone was silent on the arm of my rocking chair. Cold morning air whipped my hair into my face and I drew the cardigan tighter around my body.
I hadn’t slept at all the night before, awaiting a call from Tucker that had yet to come. I could feel the bags forming beneath my eyes, still heavy with the need to sleep. Heather was probably beside herself. She was intimately acquainted with my schedule and would be puzzled at the fact that I didn’t have an engagement planned for last night. The polite thing would have been to call and fill her in, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to repeat the information.
If I told Heather what had happened, it made the threat real. I wasn’t ready to face that just yet. With any luck, Tucker would call and he’d have taken care of the problem.
Taking a deep draft of coffee, I sighed. I’d been subsisting on caffeine since sunset the night before. During a job a few years ago, I’d learned how to brew many concoctions. I’d been paid thousands to playact the seduction of a cute Starbucks barista.
The phone buzzed and I whipped it to my ear. “Tucker?”
Tucker’s voice was clipped and tight with stress. “I’m sorry, Miss Blakely. I haven’t found the identity of our mystery sender.”
My spirits, which had been residing somewhere around my toes since the night before, drained away completely, making me feel empty and hollow.
“It’s alright, Tuck. It’s been less than twelve hours. I suppose I shouldn’t expect miracles.”
The dull thunk of a fist hitting wood echoed over the speaker. “That’s just it, Mina! It shouldn’t have taken more than three, max. Most people demanding a ransom are low-level thugs. Any person with more sophistication wouldn’t bother with a threat like this. They’d have enough technical know-how to take what they wanted.”
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