Her eyes flashed. “I own this company, Mr. Gordon. Everything is my call.”
Ray shrugged. Really he didn’t care one way or another, although the job suddenly seemed more appealing now that he met the enigmatic Amanda Newton in person. It would be fun to peel those silky layers away and see if her core truly was frozen.
“You can make some calls to your associates,” he suggested. “Or you can start filling me in on these recent issues you’ve been having. From what I’ve heard you’ve been a fool to walk around in such a vulnerable capacity. You obviously disrespect your worth.”
Amanda’s lower eyelid twitched.
Okay, he might have poked the snake with that one. But damn, it was a lot of fun watching her clamp down her anger.
“Thank you for your input,” she stated coolly. “But as you can see, I’m still kicking.”
That almost goaded a smile from him.
Focus on the facts, Gordon.
“Look, that might have come out a bit more callous than intended, but you clearly have associates that are worried about your welfare. As you point out, you own this company−so what happens to them if you are sidelined?”
Every time those striking eyes met his he had a tough time concentrating on the matter at hand.
“I’ve already received a deposit,” he added, “so you might as well get used to having me around.”
A soft golden eyebrow arched. “I appreciate your−” she searched for a word, “−concern, but I can assure you that I am just fine, and that the police are handling the recent incident. I am not a fool, despite the fact that you’ve already labeled me one. I understand that I have to curb some of my habits and exercise more caution. I do have an escort to and from work every morning.”
Ray nodded. “Right. George Darby.” Seeing her eyes narrow he altered his approach. “And he is fine. But you should truly have some additional surveillance until we confirm this attack was not personal.”
Graceful fingers tapped on her keyboard as she spoke with divided attention.
“Really, Mr. Gordon. I’d rather see your talents used in much more productive ways.”
Whoa.
If he thought there was any sort of double entendre going on there, one glimpse of her resolved profile confirmed that she was not the flirting type.
“Such as?” he swallowed and fidgeted in the chair.
“You excel in the field, Mr. Gordon. I recall your history now, and you don’t belong babysitting a corporate mogul. You belong out in the elements, chasing criminals that conventional law can’t handle.”
The statement caused a jab of queasiness. In her stone cold sober way, this woman had just assessed him, provoking him into considering a truth that he wanted to ignore. He wanted the conformity of babysitting moguls. He was gearing up a business targeted for that docility. He had spoken to this woman less times than he had fingers on his hand. How could she possibly have reached her conclusion over a few hasty phone conversations elicited in a tense context? How could she have reached that faint line of indecision he had yet to acknowledge?
“I’m not sure where you gathered that—” Ray’s voice faded.
It was obvious that her attention was diverted. Amanda’s eyes narrowed on the laptop screen. Her shoulders stiffened. She leaned forward−no−swayed forward. He considered clearing his throat, or saying something snarky to get her attention, but her trembling stopped him. He wouldn’t have even noticed the motion if not for that ring. The ceiling bulbs flashed off the facets, revealing the slight tremor. Any blush in her high cheeks fled to the point he thought she might pass out. The vivid blue irises surrendered to expanding pupils. A gap appeared between soft pink lips, and in the stillness of the office he thought he heard her staggered breath.
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
Her arm jerked. Her shoulders and torso swiveled towards him, but her face was still locked on the computer screen.
Horror. That was the best way to sum up her expression.
The sheer force used to control her demeanor caused a ripple effect as her limbs quaked enough to ruffle the silk blouse. Her chest rose on a deep breath and finally she met his eyes.
Oh lady, you aren’t nearly as composed as you think you are.
She rose, the wheeled chair gliding gracefully out behind her. Bloodless fingertips pressed against the desk.
“Yes, everything is fine,” she replied hoarsely. A gentle clearing of her throat and she added, “I will show you out, Mr. Gordon.”
Ray climbed to his full height, looking down at her with concern. “Hey, you don’t look well.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated, pinning her shoulders back.
Still running her fingertips along the edge of the desk for support, she rounded it and headed towards her door, standing there expectantly.
Ray didn’t move. He remained facing her desk, and spoke with his back to her.
“We’re not through here,” he stated. “Look, I’d love to slack off and work on the next project, but I was hired by your peers to do a job, and that is what I’m going to do. Judging by whatever you just read on your computer, I’d say there is more going on than you’re willing to share with the police. That’s exactly why you need someone like me.”
On the last declaration he turned around and sucked in a long breath. Slim white fingers dusted an ornate doorframe, a wordless invitation for him to leave. But the Ice Queen’s eyes gave her away. What he saw there went beyond fear. Beyond anguish. It was pure desolation. He had seen it before. In the eyes of his men as they faced an insidious foe in foreign lands. The look chilled him to the core.
He took a step towards her and saw her struggle keep her chin elevated. Muscles on the side of her throat flexed as she swallowed her emotions.
“I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Mr. Gordon,” she announced huskily. “I will check with my associates and make sure you are compensated appropriately.”
Ray struggled not to touch her arm and ask again what was wrong. Any other woman, and that simple touch might break a dam. They would be crying in his embrace in mere moments. Not Amanda Newton, though. She was ready to attack her foes alone.
“Allow me to go on record and state that I think you are wrong,” he said quietly. “Isn’t leadership about delegating?”
“I don’t delegate my own safety,” she replied a little too hastily, and then clamped her lips together.
A simple tip of her head in dismissal was all she conveyed.
“Very well, then.” He took a step, pausing abreast of her in the doorframe. There was scarcely enough room for two bodies as he felt the chill emanating from hers.
“Be careful, Miss Newton.”
He stepped into the stark light of the corridor and winced as the door snapped shut behind him.
***
Amanda listened for Ray’s retreating tread. She sagged against the door and clutched the pain in her forehead. For all the stress that she faced on a daily basis she was never susceptible to headaches. One email just changed that.
Flattening her palms on the door, she used them to propel her towards her desk. She rounded it, approaching her chair as if a fanged-python curled on its cushion awaiting her return. Settling down in the chair she lifted a shaking hand to the keyboard to maximize the email she had hastily hidden when Ray Gordon leaned forward.
Just like the previous email that she had written off as spam, this came from a no-reply address that somehow made it through BLUE-LINK’s vetting software. The previous email could have been dismissed as a vague threat−although combined with recent events, its innocence seemed questionable. This email, however, seemed more targeted. More personal. Too personal.
I know that you have them.
It has taken me many years to find you−to find them.
It is time they are reclaimed.
Them? This person could be talking about anything. It could be someone blindly fishing. It could be a troll’s pathetic attempt to reach a
wealthy executive and spook her. It could be an ex-client who felt they had been wronged by BLUE-LINK.
All of those were innocent, viable options.
But the reference to them was disturbing.
Amanda closed the email and searched through her contacts for Ray Gordon’s number. It came up immediately, but she did not reach for the phone.
Dammit, she didn’t need security. She was overreacting. This email troll had done exactly what he set out to do. He spooked her.
Shutting down the laptop, Amanda stood and gazed out the wall-length window. It was only 5:30pm, but already darkness had descended on London and the sparkling lights of the city rose to combat it. With a resolved nod, she decided to make it a rare early day.
It was time to go visit them…
CHAPTER THREE
Fully expecting to sit in the café for several hours, Ray was surprised when he saw a flash of Amanda’s blonde hair under the illuminated BLUE-LINK sign. She bustled out of the sliding glass doors and onto the busy sidewalk.
Alone.
He shook his head and whispered a curse.
Technically he was still on the payroll, so he had been sitting in the cafe, downing a coffee, prepared to make sure she made it safely back to her apartment.
She paused under the overhang, glancing each way and nodding at someone passing by who must have recognized her. To Ray’s relief he saw a car pull up with the old man at the wheel. He recognized George Darby’s profile from pictures he had drawn up in research on the flight from New York.
It certainly wasn’t the best security, but at least she wasn’t walking home alone. Ray threw money down on the table and hurried down the road to his parked rental car. He would watch until he was certain she was safely tucked in her apartment and then he would call it a night and determine in the morning if he was still contracted or not.
As he merged into traffic several cars behind the silver Audi he was surprised to see it turn off in the opposite direction of her flat. He followed at a discreet distance.
They wove through meandering streets until the buildings grew shorter and the roads less congested. Ray almost missed it when the Audi pulled over to the curb and George’s tall frame emerged. The man stepped to the back passenger seat and held it open.
Amanda emerged. Even under the street lights Ray thought she looked amazing. Hell, she was rich. Didn’t the rich always look amazing? Still, a glimpse of that sleek hair flowing down her back had him curious about the exchange between her and the old man on this quiet suburb sidewalk. Eventually the driver nodded and stood with his arms folded against the side of the car as Amanda quickly jogged between two buildings to enter a wrought iron archway. There, she was swallowed by the pervasive darkness of an unlit park.
What the hell?
Ray’s attention shifted to George again, who still stood by the car, but rounded it so that he faced that wrought iron gate.
Ray hesitated, awaiting her hasty return, but the obscurity behind those gates had consumed her, and although George’s body language stated he was uneasy, he seemed accustomed with this stop.
Moving in the shadows, Ray crossed the street further down and backtracked, disappearing into an alternate gate several buildings away. What he had anticipated being a park was actually a cemetery. A very dark cemetery. There wasn’t a nightmare he hadn’t lived through, and few things that scared him…but the eerie flashes of tombstones in the ambient moonlight was enough to creep anyone out.
Not Amanda Newton, apparently.
Wind rustled the black limbs above, the barren trees locked in a swordfight. Nature’s blend concealed his tread.
How in God’s name did she negotiate this craggy turf in high heels?
Ray proceeded cautiously. He wasn’t sure if his caution was to avoid being detected, or in defense of some nighttime ghoul pissed off that he’d crossed his grave.
Gradually his eyes acclimated, grateful that the cloud cover was fleeting. Only under the canopy of tree limbs did true obscurity lurk. He traveled that path, but kept his eyes locked on the grounds benefited by moonlight.
In the distance he saw a spectral figure. If he didn’t recognize the glow of her hair he would have truly believed that ghosts existed.
She stood with her head tilted down and her hands clasped. She was staring at a stone, and as he dared to step closer he thought he heard her whispering. Or was it the wind?
The sight was gothic and hypnotic. An ethereal beauty trapped in the moonlight, waiting for a creature of the dark to come forth and sink his fangs into the delicate white skin of her throat. For one wild moment he wanted to be a vampire. He wanted to taste that throat. To run his lips along it−his tongue.
She moved.
Ray sank back behind a tree.
Gingerly negotiating the frosted grass, Amanda approached him and continued past, her steps more assured as she reached even ground. As soon as he heard her heels reconnect with pavement she was at a jog, darting through the archway and into the door that George just opened for her.
***
The cemetery was an interesting excursion that he would have to investigate. In the hasty research he had conducted on the mysterious woman, he learned that she was orphaned at an early age and raised by her maternal aunt−name not provided.
Could it have been her parents in that cemetery? Would she still be visiting them over twenty years later−at night?
It wasn’t a sibling. He read that she had none. A former lover? There was no record of any marriages, or even engagements. Hell, he wondered if she even dated. What a waste if she didn’t.
After seeing that she was safely back at her flat, he watched George escort her inside and return downstairs minutes later.
It had been nearly 48 hours since Ray had slept. The red-eye flight was not a mobile sedative. It was an opportunity to get some work done. Now the hours were catching up on him. BLUE-LINK had arranged for an apartment rental, anticipating his extended stint. Why not? He’d take them up on it for a few days and use that time to confirm that Amanda Newton was as safe as a business magnate could be.
Keying in the address for Gloucester Court, he tried to banish the evocative vision of the woman in the moonlight. If his head finally hit a pillow tonight he feared the poignant grace of that image would keep him awake.
As he entered the Kensington area, rows of stately porticoes with step-up doorways and yellowed bulbs flashed through the car windows. Ray pulled up to a stately white Georgian building several stories high. On the ground floor five black doorways were flanked with white columns and arched roofs. The peace of the neighborhood was a pleasant contrast to the business district, and much quieter than a hotel. He definitely preferred the privacy here.
Hauling out his green canvas overnight bag from the trunk, he stepped up to the black door marked 5 in gold stencil. Attempting the doorknob, he found it was locked. He thumped his fist against the cold wood.
A muffled acknowledgement came from the other side, followed by a sloth-like shuffle, as if someone was dragging a body.
Ray came alert, thinking of the licensed Glock packed away in his bag. As his fingers touched the zipper the door cracked open six inches. In that gap appeared a red nose, two curious green eyes, and bushy eyebrows that narrowed into a V.
“What is the password?”
“Excuse me?” Ray thought he misheard the young man.
“The password,” the elfin face demanded. “What is the password?”
“Well, I wasn’t told I needed a password for admittance.” He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and withdrew a business card. Flipping it over he read it hastily, and said, “I was told to come to this address and ask for Samuel Pierce.”
The gap opened another inch as Ray noticed the long lapel of a bathrobe, and the white terry tip of a slipper.
“Are you Raymond Gordon?” The ginger-haired leprechaun asked.
“Ray,” he replied tolerantly. “Just Ray.”
The door swung open to reveal a high-ceilinged foyer with a narrow wooden staircase to the side. Ray glanced over the man’s brash crown which barely reached Ray’s chin. A dimly lit hallway lined with flute lamps revealed several doors.
“Come in,” the leprechaun said, hobbling back a few steps.
It was then that Ray noticed the man’s limp. The man was not necessarily short as much as he was lopsided, challenged by one stunted leg. It explained the dragging sound Ray heard earlier.
“It’s snowflake, by the way.”
Frowning, Ray stepped across the threshold and studied the odd man. “Your name is snowflake?”
The man doubled over in laughter. “The password. Snowflake is the password.” He rolled his eyes and hobbled down the hall with a beckoning wave.
Ray shook his head. This hardwood corridor seemed to date back to the Victorian era. And the copper-topped gnome shuffling down the hallway in his over-sized bathrobe looked like he had just stepped off the set of a Potter movie.
Maybe he would have been better off with the hotel.
“I have your key in my apartment,” the man chirped over his shoulder.
Ray guessed him to be in his twenties. Injured perhaps? The limp was pronounced enough that the man used the wall for support.
“Left my cane in there as well,” the gnome muttered. “Give me just a second.”
He extracted an antique key from his deep pocket and opened a nicked doorway to the left. A cat shot out at light speed, disappearing into the shadows at the end of the hall.
“Bean! Dammit. You scared the new resident.”
Ray felt compelled to correct him on two accounts. One, the feline had not scared him. And, two, he was by no means a resident. Maybe a tenant for a night or two.
“Look, I’m just here for−”
“I know why you’re here.” The man spun around, his ginger hair sticking up on one side as if he had just been sleeping. “You’re here on BLUE-LINK business. Only BLUE-LINK employees occupy these apartments.”
Gracelessly stooping over, the man retrieved a wooden cane laying across lumpy couch cushions.
“You can call me, Sam,” he added. “I really abhor Samuel.”
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