by Taylor Lee
Magnus shrugged. “I wish I could say that everyone in this community is as excited as the city fathers are about our development. But that is far from the truth. Under ordinary circumstances, I would tell you to ignore the rabble-rousers. We’ve always been able to wear them down in the past. But we’ve never run up against naysayers who not only control the only newspaper in town and a hell of a lot of the other media but also head up the most significant branches of law enforcement. As I told you, while that stunning editor is truly a bitch on wheels, her prominent father is a hell of a backup. Between the two of them, they present a multi-faceted force to be reckoned with.”
Remembering the irate woman at the motel, Griffin nodded in agreement. “If the father is anything like the daughter, I would have to agree.”
Magnus added with a grin, “But you have to admit, Griffin, as obnoxious as that newspaper editor was, she is a hell of a looker.”
Griffin took a long pull of his whiskey, then said with a dispassionate shrug, “That goes without saying, Magnus.” Thinking about the extraordinarily beautiful woman who’d taken him on, Griffin acknowledged how inadequate his cohort’s description of the newspaper editor was. A “looker” didn’t begin to describe the tall, blonde woman. In that he was well over six foot, Griffin appreciated taller women. They seemed sturdier, not as crushable as petite women. Considering the sun-streaked hair that she’d pulled into a casual ponytail, Griffin couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to take down that thick, golden mane and let it flow over her shoulders. Preferably her naked shoulders, he thought with a soft smile.
He realized his expression must have given him away when his astute ally chortled. “Be careful, boss man. From everything I hear, that babe is a ball buster if there ever was one. Nope, as righteous as you admittedly are, I think the most you and I are going to be able to do is wonder if that centerfold body of hers looks as inviting naked as it does clothed.”
Griffin grinned as he walked into the house to convene their scheduled staff meeting. Glancing over his shoulder at his smiling partner, he said with a wink, “Speak for yourself, Magnus. Without seeing it yet, I can assure you that editor’s bod is Hustler-worthy—and then some.”
****
Tara glanced around the table, determined to make her colleagues understand. She knew that she sounded shrill, but she never thought that she would have to explain to her media-savvy cohorts that they needed to take on Black Enterprises and its arrogant owner as hard and fiercely as they could.
Turning to the newest member of their team, she said, “You need to understand, Ryan. Griffin Black is a dangerous man.” At the young man’s frown, she continued. “I know you never ran into land-grabbers in your big-city milieu back East. Good grief, the robber barons snapped up all the pristine land in your neck of the woods a hundred-plus years ago. But it’s different here. We actually have beautiful, undeveloped land that needs to stay that way. That is our obligation. It is our charge.”
Ryan Fowler put up his hands and said tentatively, “I know you feel strongly about this, Tara, but I’m gonna be honest. From everything I’ve read about Black, he’s richer than God and as powerful. Seems that he’s one of those golden boys who gets what they want no matter the cost or obstacles in their way. In fact, looking at some of his other deals, it seems like the more challenging the project, the more Black himself gets involved. And it’s not as if he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Heck no. Forget Rockefeller or Carnegie or even Preston Courtland and his copper cronies in Arizona. They all came from inherited money. Black seems to have pulled himself up from the proverbial bootstraps by sheer effort. If my research is on-target, when he gets personally involved, everyone steps back. Nobody takes him on and wins.”
Blowing out an annoyed sigh, Tara pinned her colleague with a hard stare. “Assume that everything you said is correct, Ryan. What that means to me is that we have to fight harder than we ever have to make sure he doesn’t succeed.”
Hank Livingston, the editor of the Gazette and as passionate about development issues as Tara was, turned to the Gazette’s chief legal counsel. “What’s your read, Ethan? Does the Gazette have a chance to stop this land grab, or have we met our match?”
Tara wasn’t surprised when Ethan Westbrook was equivocal. Like the studious law professor he’d been before he accepted Hank’s offer to advise the Gazette, Ethan was the antithesis of Tara’s passionate rabble-rousing. When she felt like being fair, which wasn’t often and never when it came to land development, Tara gave Ethan credit for trying to put all sides of an issue on the table. Between her and Hank, who were both given to fiery opinions, she admitted that they could use Ethan’s cooler head at the table. At least she felt that way except when it came to development issues—at which point, Ethan’s evenhandedness seemed cowardly.
It didn’t help that Ethan was interested in her. In fact, he’d damn near proposed to her. It had been all Tara could do to convince the earnest man that she was the last person he would want to be involved with over the long haul. Good grief, even she found her wildly inflamed opinions challenging. She could only imagine how they would wear Ethan down over time. In the meantime, she enjoyed his company. He was pleasant, reasonably good looking, and successful. Hank had rightfully thought it was a coup that they’d been able to convince the well-regarded man to head up the newspaper’s legal department. Tara agreed. And she admitted that on a personal level, it helped to have a companion available for the many social occasions her job demanded. Unintentionally, she was sure, Ethan provided a protective barrier, shielding her from the annoying interest of what seemed to be ninety percent of the male population of Sierra Vista. Now, if she could just keep a damper on his incipient ardor and convince him that the most he could hope for was social companionship. She was grateful that so far, Ethan seemed to concede, accepting her limited engagement.
Nodding to the white-haired owner of the Gazette, Ethan shrugged. “I know you, Hank, and especially you, Tara, won’t be surprised that I’m urging caution. But Ryan is correct. Griffin Black is a powerhouse. Not only is he wealthy, which he is, but as with many self-made men, he is arrogant as hell and frankly has reason to be. His MO is simple—and radically successful. He spots a particular piece of land that no developer before him thought could be bought or successfully developed. Through vision, drive, and frankly chutzpah, he beats back the Johnny-come-lately challengers and, voilà, notches another Black success on his belt.”
“Good God. I thought Mayor Watcher was a suck up.” Tara didn’t qualify her annoyance. “Damn, Mr. Westbrook, you sound like you’ve more than drunk the Griffin Black Kool Aid. Surely you don’t buy into that old shibboleth that only men as rich as God deserve to own ninety percent of the wealth in our country. Moreover, that any project the powerful Auric Goldfinger wannabes deem worthy of their attention is certain to be a success.”
Ethan put up his hands in apparent defeat and conceded. “I hate to agree with your assessment, Tara, knowing how you feel about the up-and-coming Goldfingers. From what I’ve learned about him, Griffin Black may not be hatching a cataclysmic scheme to raid Fort Knox like the original Goldfinger did. But my sense is if that was his goal, he’d have a damn good chance of achieving it.”
Tara pursed her lips in a tight line, then shook her head in agreement. Allowing a slight smile to light her face, she said with a flippant shrug, “Well then, Counselor, if you are correct, it would appear that I need to bring out my most intrepid inner James Bond if I’m going to have a chance of stopping the fearsome Griffin Black.”
Hank Livingston rose from the table to answer his phone. Concluding the conversation that was monosyllabic on his end, he clicked off his cell phone and grinned at his waiting team. “Well, well, well. It appears as though you may have a chance to harness your intrepid James Bond, Tara. Apparently, the illusive Mr. Black has agreed to host a media event and, for some reason, they invited me.”
Tara jumped up, not hiding her exci
tement. “May I assume that your editor is also invited? And even if I’m not, that you have no objection to my crashing the party?”
The older man chuckled. “Yeah, like I could stop you if I wanted to—which I don’t. After all, you have better manners than me—not. But you sure are a hell of a lot purtier.”
Chapter 3
Tara was astonished when they turned the corner on the driveway to the Debussy estate. There had to be twenty media vans and three times that many eager news people and camera men crowding the front lawn of the exclusive home. Tara snorted, remembering hearing that Black had commandeered the palatial property, apparently buying it outright from the estate of the now-dead former owners. Margaret Debussy, the daughter of one of the wealthy copper scions who were among the first of the state’s robber barons, had succumbed to cancer several years ago. When his wealthy wife died, Barrett Meier, the disgraced federal agent who’d married the heiress, managed to “out-thieve” even the copper barons. The former ICE agent had conceived a sweeping border corruption scheme, the scope of which put it in the annals of the most egregious crimes affecting Arizona. Fortunately, due to the bold undercover FBI agent Ryker Thompson and the help of her father and deputy sheriff sister, Thompson had brought the multi-million dollar scheme to a crashing halt. To the joy of the two older Trouble sisters and their sheriff father, Ryker Thompson had not only taken down the criminal mastermind but also captured their outrageous baby sister in the process.
Pushing her way through the melee, Tara found a spot to the side of the crowd where she had a view of the chaotic scene around her. The excitement among the media was palpable. She spotted several correspondents from Tucson and Phoenix whom she knew and sidled up next to them. Melody Martin, a stringer from the Arizona Republic, and Peter Graham, from the Arizona Daily Star in Tucson, turned to her eagerly.
Melody spoke first. “Damn, girl. I don’t believe it. Even when you don’t try, you get all the great Arizona scoops. We’re still trying to wrap up that crazy border corruption scheme that your father and that hot FBI stud brought down. Now you have none other than Griffin Black, the über-developer, landing on your home turf. It ain’t fair, Tara. You have more national news happening under your nose than we get in six months. But, girl, I gotta tell you, Griffin Gorgeous Black ranks right up there with that studly Ryker Thompson your baby sister shanghaied.”
Peter Graham chuckled. “I don’t know about what you ladies call the ‘stud scale,’ but even I know that Thompson and now Black rank right up there in the ‘studsphere.’ ” The astute reporter pinned a hard gaze on Tara. “Just wondering, sweetheart, given your views on development, how are you doing with the biggest development project in Arizona outside of the big cities? You gotta be chompin’ nails, sweet cakes.” When Tara just shrugged, Peter pressed, “C’mon, Tara, throw me a bone. How are the local folks responding to all of this excitement?”
“Are you referring to the fact that Black Enterprises somehow got a toehold on one of the most pristine pieces of land left in the state? An accomplishment that flies in the face of every effort we’ve mounted to maintain our natural resources? That not only did they steamroll our pathetic local city fathers but apparently have at least preliminary approval at the state and federal level? How do you think we are responding? Not surprisingly, Mayor Watcher and his sycophantic followers are creaming their jeans with excitement. They are practically humping anyone associated with the carpetbagger’s entourage. Those of us who care about our dwindling natural resources and want to preserve them are, shall we say, less than enthusiastic.”
“I don’t know about you, Tara, but I’m not above creaming my jeans to get a little closer to that righteous hunk!”
Looking up where Melody was pointing, Tara saw Griffin Black walk through the fifteen-foot, heavily carved oak doors to the Debussy mansion followed by no less than a dozen of what had to be his minions. The only person she recognized was Magnus Armstrong from their aborted meeting yesterday. When the group arranged themselves around their leader, it was apparent that the Black team was split evenly between men and women. It was also apparent that every distaff member of the group met a rarified pulchritude standard. In a word, the women were stunning. And young.
Standing next to Black was one of the most gorgeous Asian women Tara had ever seen. Exquisite was the only way to describe the slender, dark-haired beauty. Tara knew from her preliminary research that Black was divorced. From the looks of the cadre of attractive young women surrounding him, it was clear that the reprobate was enjoying his unmarried status. Only from pouring over the fashion magazines that she and Tatiana loved did Tara know that the Dolce and Gabbana turquoise pantsuit and strappy sandals the Japanese princess was wearing had set her boss—and likely lover—back at least five thousand dollars. Gazing at the array of sophisticated, wealthy interlopers, Tara shoved at the gorge rising in her throat. Who the fuck did these people think they were? That they could parade into their small town and sneer at the locals from their elevated perch?
Allowing herself to focus on the tall man anchoring the impressive group, Tara acknowledged the makeup of his team wasn’t surprising. Given their leader, how could they be anything but gorgeous and sophisticated? Tara realized that at the Whispering Pines, she’d been so intent on getting him to answer her hostile questions that she hadn’t had a chance to truly scope out the robber baron himself. From the dozens of articles she’d read, she’d known he was good looking. But until she saw him standing in front of the awed crowd, she hadn’t allowed herself to see the totality of the man.
Black was at least six foot three or more inches tall. His fitted, creased trousers and open-collared black and gray striped shirt emphasized his lean muscular body. Along with what looked like a pair of Gucci leather boots, his casually expensive attire spoke to a fashion sense rarely seen in their blue-jeans-and-plaid-shirts Southwestern town. As knowledgeable about men’s fashion as she was women’s from her exhaustive study of Maxim, GQ, and Men’s Fitness, Tara acknowledged that the man who was seemingly determined to turn her already chaotic life upside down could have graced the cover of any of the magazines she’d poured over.
It didn’t help that his fashion sense wasn’t the only disturbing element of his impressive persona. A crop of dark hair with compelling streaks of gray at the temples hung carelessly over his forehead in a faux-careless manner that had likely cost hundreds of dollars to achieve. A light dusting of beard shadow accentuated his high cheekbones and firm jaw. His sensuous mouth and incongruous grin spoke to a confident masculinity that was frankly intriguing. But it was his eyes that captured her. Dark, arched brows and sinfully thick eyelashes made his emerald eyes even more compelling than the startling color. All in all, Tara thought with a silent groan, her nemesis might just be one of the best-looking men she’d ever seen.
Clearly, she wasn’t the only member of the eager crowd who was impressed with the man who opened the press conference with an impudent grin and provocative challenge to the assembled media. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. May I assume that life in Sierra Vista is quieter than the big cities I’m forced to visit, and you’re looking for some excitement—or perhaps you’re looking for an opportunity to tackle an outsider intent on invading your beautiful county.” Allowing the good-natured laughter to settle, Griffin put up his hands in pseudo-acquiescence and said with a grin, “In either case, ladies and gentlemen, have at it. I’m at your mercy.”
For the next ten minutes, the skilled raconteur answered questions from the assembled media that ranged from informed queries regarding his prospective development to how he was going to keep his decidedly forward-looking haircut as stylish as it was. Tara wasn’t surprised that the “hairdo” question came from one of the local television anchors known for her willingness to get up close and personal with the wealthier men in town. Deciding that she’d heard enough from her fawning peers and feeling more than a little frustrated at Black’s ability to control the interview so skillful
ly, Tara decided to enter the fray.
Stepping forward, she asked in a clear voice, “Mr. Black, I asked you a question yesterday that you chose not to answer, so let me ask it again. Why did you decide to come to Cochise County to build your development? Did you run out of pristine land to rape in Colorado?”
The startled murmurs from her peers didn’t surprise Tara nor was she put off by them. She was determined to take on this reprobate no matter how skilled he was at controlling the discussion.
She wasn’t surprised when Mayor Watcher stepped forward and said with a strained smile, “Now, now, Tara, give our guest a chance to settle in before you try to take him down. As much as you like to make headlines, we wouldn’t want him to think that all of our news folks are as biased as you are.”
Before Black could answer, Tara addressed the aggrieved mayor, “I’m not interested in taking Mr. Black down, Mayor Watcher. I’m merely trying to stop him from raping our beautiful county the way that he has done with his misbegotten projects throughout the country. As for my bias, you are absolutely right. I am biased and determined to fight for our pristine land even though you and your subservient city council yes-men are apparently willing to sell it to the highest, or in Mr. Black’s case, the lowest bidder.”
When the mayor’s face flushed an unhealthy shade of mauve and he surged through the gaping crowd toward her, Black put up his hand, stopping him.
“Thank you for your concern, Mayor Watcher, but I’m pleased to answer Ms. Trouble’s question—as off base and insulting as it is.” He added with a tight smile, “I must say, madam, I’m impressed with your vocabulary. I haven’t heard the term misbegotten since my snobbish tailor indicated that my favorite purple shirt was a misbegotten horror and I should send it to the trash bin. I admit that while I still wear the shirt, I no longer pair it with the truly misbegotten pair of pink trousers that did end up in the trash.”