“No. The fire investigators ruled out the grease fire at the Mirabel Resort as accidental, so that makes three.” Leo opens the letter-size envelope he brought with him and pulls the blown-up photograph of the unknown man in the baseball cap from the video feed. “Video surveillance captured this man near the location of last night’s fire. We suspect he has some knowledge of your operations, because he came on and off the premises without being noticed, and managed to navigate the grounds while keeping his face from being captured by the CCTV cameras.”
“Interesting.”
Leo passes the photo to Mason. “As you can see here, he covered much of his face with a baseball cap. This image is not clear, but it’s the best one from all the camera feeds. Does he look familiar at all?”
Mason studies the image for a while, and then he shakes his head. “It’s way too blurry. But he’s got to be staff… or former staff.”
“How do you know that for sure?”
“We gave those monogrammed baseball caps to all our employees at last year’s family day event. Not that this information can help much. I have close to two thousand staff.”
“Good point. But…roughly how many of them lost their jobs during the last two company downsizing initiatives since that time?”
“Claire from HR can give you an exact number, but I’d say it’s about four hundred. Except… not all those staff had access to this ranch. Only a couple dozen of the downsized senior and mid-level managers would have had business dealings here.” Mason smiles and gets to his feet, heading over to the large mahogany desk at the far side of the study. “I see where you’re going with this. Let me facilitate this search so it’s a little easier for you.” He makes a call from his cell phone and turns on the speakerphone.
“Good morning,” someone answers. “Mason Industries HR Division. This is Claire Regent. How may I help you?”
“Hello Claire? Gerald here.”
“Good morning, Mr. Mason,” Claire chirps. Her tone is more formal and high-pitched now that she’s aware it’s her boss on this end of the line. “What can I do for you?”
“I need you to go through the staff records and pull up a list of all the senior and mid-level managers we let go over the last year.”
“Of course. Just former managers, sir?”
“Yes. No time to explain. Highlight the ones who had access to my horse ranch. Email me the list, and copy Leo Connelly at Allied Force Security in the message.”
“Will get the information to you right away, Mr. Mason.”
“One more thing,” I add. “We should also look at any managers who were affected by the downsizing efforts but are still employed by your organization.”
“What do you mean?” Mason asks.
“Former senior managers who were demoted, or given unfavorable lateral transfers or forced relocations, for example.”
Mason nods his understanding. “Smart. Claire, did you get that?”
“Yes sir. I’ll have this to you within the hour.”
“Thanks.” Mason hangs up, letting out a sigh of frustration. “It’s hard to believe someone still working for me could do this. Ungrateful son a gun.”
“We’re just ruling out some possibilities, but realistically, if an employee is disgruntled enough, and bold enough, anything’s possible.”
“Whoever it is, we need to get them to stop. The sooner the better. This string of fires is no good for business. Never mind my skyrocketing insurance. Just get to the bottom of this before there’s another incident.”
Leo nods politely, but I can see the annoyance flashing across his face. “We’re on it.”
“Is there anything else I can do?”
“There’s no quick fix solution that will eliminate every threat, as you know, given the sheer number of tourists, locals and other visitors that frequent your hotels and resorts, but it can’t hurt to have your Facilities VP beef up baseline security staffing at all locations and increase perimeter monitoring. Even if it’s a temporary measure, it may be enough of a deterrent to discourage another attempt.”
Mason nods, eying us with curiosity. “I much prefer working with absolutes, Connelly, but I understand what you mean.” He crosses the room and extends his arm for a handshake, first to Leo and then, to me. “Thanks for making the trip out here, Connelly, Atkinson. I’ll see you out.”
“Anytime.”
Mason leads us back to the mansion to the front doors, and before he returns inside, he adds, “Hang on, men. What are your best estimates of this douchebag’s next target?”
“I’ve started running an algorithm on the potential sequence of targets,” I answer before Leo does. As Head of Security Strategy, Mason’s question is right up my alley. And the man didn’t just hire us to stand there and look like badasses. He brought us on board to protect his assets and mitigate his losses.
He gives me an appreciative nod. “Good! What have you come up with so far?”
“There’s a Rothman-Finch auction scheduled at the Royal Fenton Hotel in a week,” I say.
“You’re right. There is. Do you believe he’s planning a heist?”
“No. Arsonists don’t typically transition to grand theft. They usually escalate to murder. So, worse than a heist.”
Mason searches my face, and puts two and two together. “Jesus. If his goal is to fuck with my reputation…my livelihood…they yes. I can see how ending lives at the same that as destroying a lot of precious antiques and valuables could do me in. You need to get in front of this potential shit show and catch this crazy little fucker.”
“We’ll do our best,” Leo replies.
“Make it happen,” he concludes, and lets us out.
Leo doesn’t mask his impatience when we’re back at our vehicles. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.”
I nod. “We do. At least he didn’t try to offer you the VP of Facilities gig again.”
“True. We’re way better off operating as a business. There are far too many ways for this guy we’re after to make things go sideways, which means this contract with Mason Industries is already at risk. That, plus you know I’ve never liked the idea of putting all our eggs in one basket.” He unlocks the SUV doors with his remote and climbs into the driver seat. “See you back at the office.”
It’s not yet nine in the morning and already, I can use a drink.
9
Robin
I’m flying solo tonight. Barclay is in Amargosa Valley taking care of his grandmother, and won’t be back for at least a week. My waitress friend, Lacy, is keeping me company as the crowd has lightened up since happy hour ended an hour ago.
“My feet are killing me,” Lacy whines, leaning a hip against the table closest to the stage as I get set up for my gig.
“It may just be me, but those seven-inch heels seem mighty high for waitressing work,” I say idly.
“These heels get me more tips than cowboy boots or comfy shoes, darling. A girl’s gotta eat.”
I look over at her. Lacy does not need heels or any other enhancement to make an impression on her male patrons. Not with perfectly perky cleavage, a stunning face that probably makes men hard just looking at her, and those long, long legs. But we’ve talked about this before, and there’s no convincing her.
“Get used to that throbbing in the balls of your feet, then.”
She flashes me a withering glare. “Just because your boy toy isn’t here tonight doesn’t mean you gotta be so wound up.”
“Who? Barclay? He’s not my boy toy. Or my boyfriend. We’re friends. We just sing and make music together.”
“And it’s downright beautiful music, all right.”
“Thanks for saying that.” I smile. It means a lot getting good feedback. I’d give almost anything to write, perform for audiences who enjoy what we create, and record our songs full time.
“So you’re single?”
“Yes. Very single and I’d like to keep it that way,” I tell her, and I’m being completely honest.
After all the drama with my ex-boyfriend, Dave, I’m not ready to get back on the horse. I’ve got enough life lessons from him and from Danielle’s experience with Reid.
Reid.
Cocky, overly confident, ridiculously sexy Reid.
Just thinking about him makes my cheeks burn.
No, thinking about Reid makes me want to accelerate my plan to go to Nashville. It’s a sure bet to put four entire states between us so that I never have to see his smug, arrogant face again. I know it sounds like an extreme measure, but I’m almost ready to do just about anything to talk myself off a ledge—the one that involves getting any closer to someone like Reid.
It should be easy. It really should. I just have no explanation for what happens to me when I’m around him. My mind stops functioning, my body goes on autopilot, my breathing does its own damn thing, my skin tingles for God knows why, and my core. My core has no business acting the way it does.
I won’t have to deal with all this lust-filled turmoil if we’re thousands of miles apart. Nashville seems like the best possible option. All I have to do is save a bit more money and stay the heck away from Reid. Starting with tonight’s gig. I remind myself why I’m here. To smile and be friendly with the patrons, put on a good show, and sing my heart out like my life depends on it. Oh, and to collect my tips at the end of my set.
Of course, this is Reid and his buddies’ regular watering hole, so I should be ready to see him walk in the front door anytime.
Like this very second.
The bell above the front door chimes. In walks Reid and two of his buddies. And there goes my stomach, all in knots. Dammit. It doesn’t help that he ambles in wearing a black muscle shirt and dark jeans that show off every muscle in his arms, chest, abs and thighs from across the room. Or that when our eyes connect, I have to press my thighs together to stop the reaction that spreads through my center, as though he reached out and physically touched me.
Lacy must notice that I’ve completely stopped tuning my guitar and am staring like a deer in the headlights. She looks back and forth between me and the approaching wall of men. “Honey, you may be single, but I don’t think you will be for long.”
“What? Why not?”
She motions with her chin at Reid and his friends, who take a seat at a table closer to the bar. “Just a hunch.”
“Trust me. I don’t plan on cozying up with anyone, least of all from around here. I’ve got zero luck with men.”
“Whatever you do, keep your paws off Jaden.”
“Who?”
“Jaden Pratt. The blond one who usually comes in with them. It’s just Leo, Beau, and Reid coming in right now, but Jaden usually joins them. Speaking of, have you and Reid…dated or something?”
“Aww, hell no!” I almost shriek.
“But you have some kind of history, right?”
I think about the simplest way to reply to her question. “It’s complicated.”
“Well, let me just say I’ve never seen him look at any woman in here the way he looked at you just now. I’m telling you, honey, the electricity between the two of you can’t lie.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It’s the fact that temperature in the room just went up a few degrees from whatever it is the two of you have.”
Crap.
I keep the rest of my thoughts to myself and do my best not to give anything away. Nervousness makes me check the time on my phone. Ten minutes until I start my set.
“I’d better use the ladies room before I get up on stage,” I tell her.
“Don’t you think he’s cute?”
“Well, sure he is. Why are you starting to sound like you’re trying to hook us up, Lacy?”
She picks up her serving tray and gives their table another look. “You’re changing the subject.”
“Which is?”
“Maybe it’s time for you to un-complicate what’s between you, honey,” she drawls.
“There’s nothing between Reid and me,” I insist.
“Keep telling yourself that. But remember that saying…the best lies are the ones we tell ourselves.”
I don’t need Lacy getting philosophical on me about Reid. What I need is to get my set over and done with, and go home.
“Just look at him. He’s sexy as sin. Every woman in here wants a piece of him. Well, everyone but me. I’m happy to wait for a dose of Jaden.”
“Every woman in here can have him,” I reiterate.
“But he’s not looking their way.”
“It’s a free country, Lacy. Reid can bore a hole through me…with his eyes, I mean. I’m just here to play my music and save my tips.”
Lacy shakes her head and clucks her teeth with disapproval. “That’s a damn shame, because he’s headed over here.”
What else is new? It’s as though he’s on a new mission, and I’m the target.
He strides over to us. “Evening, ladies,” he says, sporting that cocky grin I wish I didn’t have to see for the third time in three days straight.
“Howdy, Reid,” Lacy greets him. “Is Jaden coming by later?”
“Possibly.”
“Nice. I’ll let you two catch up…or whatever,” she tells him, and turns to give me a wink. “Looks like I’ve got a few customers to serve.”
“Excuse me,” I tell him. That’s all he gets. Me walking away. I’m not about to engage with him after he tried to kiss me last night.
Straightening my shoulders, I get to my feet, set down my guitar on its stand, and make a beeline for the restrooms.
“How are you doing, Robin?” Reid asks, still hot on my heels.
“Busy,” I answer in a clipped tone.
“Did your sunset pictures come out well?”
I make it to the door of the ladies’ room and slow down just enough to turn and give him a nod. “They did. Thanks for asking.”
“Good. I’m glad you made it home all right.”
“I did. Well, I have to be on stage in a few minutes, so…”
“Right. Have you given it any thought?”
I stare up at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”
He leans a hand on the door post, practically blocking out the light with his height. “You. Me. Dinner. Drinks. Maybe more.”
“That was a ‘no’ yesterday, and it’s still a ‘no’ now.”
“Are you sure?”
Anger rises up from my chest, and soon my neck and face begin to feel hot. “Where do you get off? It wasn’t enough for you to do what you did to my sister. Now you want to add me to your casualty list?”
“Calm down. I asked you out on a date, nothing more.”
“And I said no. Twice. Look, I’ve got a performance to put on in a few minutes. You’re not helping my state of mind right now. How about you go have a meal or a drink with your friends, and let me do what I came here to do?”
“I wouldn’t be here asking you if I didn’t think that maybe you wanted some answers of your own.”
“What do you mean?”
Reid’s composure changes from open and playful to serious and formal. He straightens up and moves his hand from the door post, letting his arms hang at his sides. “You never got my side of the story, but you know what? Fine. Let’s leave the past where it belongs. Good luck on stage.”
I watch as he turns and all but stomps back to his table.
Interesting.
But whatever.
Getting inside the ladies’ room, I freshen up and iron out my nervous energy. Maybe I have him where I want him now. Ready to leave me alone and let things be, Above all, as long as he leaves Danielle alone, I’m happy. At the moment, even if he wanted to, he can’t get to her. She and my parents are at the tail end of a two-week road trip to Seattle and parts of Washington state in the family camper van. Maybe by the time they get back, Reid will have gotten used to seeing me around Whiskey Jacks, and his fixation on me and my family will stop.
Although, I still h
ave to take a bit of the blame for his curiosity. I opened up a can of worms with that song. Tonight, I need to keep the music light and cheerful—the opposite of what Reid invokes in me.
The problem is that even as I think of all the potentially upbeat songs on my playlist, every one of them can be misconstrued as relating to Reid and me. From Tim McGraw’s I like it, I love it, to George Strait’s Blue Clear Sky, and even Alan Jackson’s Good Time.
I head back to the stage with the thought that I need some new material. Songs about rainbows and horses, or trucks and beer. Nothing about chasing tail, falling in love, heartbreak, or undeniable attraction.
Rusty introduces me to the audience, and I avert my eyes from Reid’s table, kicking off my four-song performance set with the neutral Ray Stevens classic, Everything is Beautiful. The relaxed crowd of patrons seems pretty satisfied with the oldie. I increase the tempo with Tim McGraw’s Truck Yeah, then wind down with Kip Moore’s Somethin’ ’Bout a Truck and Brad Paisley’s Mud on the Tires.
Nope.
Even songs about trucks, beer, and rainbows make me think of him.
It’s no use, but I find some satisfaction in the fact that the couple of times my eyes wandered over to Reid, he was busy with the usual throng of female patrons slinking into the seat beside him to whisper in his ear, hang on his every word, or cop a feel of his biceps.
And not once did he meet my eyes.
Apparently, I struck a nerve earlier.
Getting off the stage for my fifteen-minute break between sets, I avoid him by taking the long way around to the far end of the bar. But his unfriendly reaction is short-lived.
Reid sidles up to me and sits on the bar stool beside me. “Can I buy you a drink?”
I point at my bottle of water. “I just got one. Thanks anyway.”
“I meant a real drink.”
“Can’t. Not between sets. Alcohol isn’t good for the vocal cords.”
“Got it. You have a way with that guitar. Those last two songs got feet tapping and heads rocking.”
“Thanks,” I say politely, peeking over at him for a split second as I take a gulp of water.
His Ex’s Little Sister: Insta-Love on the Run, #1 Page 5