"Why would Sebastian leave town with Crystal Moore? He hated her."
Maryan snorted. "Evidently he didn't hate everything about her. Her father's some sort of religious fanatic. Either she had to get out of town, too, or her dear, pious father was going to kill her."
"But, I don't . . . Oh, please tell me this is a joke."
"Some joke. At least Sebastian had the decency to do the right thing. He took her away to keep her safe from her crazy father. She's pregnant."
"He wouldn't do this to me."
"Oh, wise up. He told me about your cute little after-lunch meetings. He's a big boy. What do you think he did with all his nights."
Her throat felt squeezed and twisted. "He's good. He's not the way the others think he is."
"He's a red-blooded man. And he got a girl pregnant."
"No!"
"Yes. And now he's trying to make it right. Go home to Mommy and Daddy."
"No! I want Sebastian."
"You can't have him. He's finally done something right. He's left Seattle with the girl he raped."
"When I was growing up, this was a one-horse town populated with tight-asses." Sebastian Plato looked down from his new thirty-second floor offices onto the sun-drenched streets of Bellevue. Bumper-to-bumper midday traffic wound sluggishly between sleek glass buildings in shades of blue, rose, gunmetal gray. "It's still populated with tight-asses. Probably tighter. Doesn't anyone own anything but a Mercedes or a Lexus here? Or at least a car that didn't just come off the lot?"
"You can't tell the makes of cars from this height, Sebby."
He crooked a finger at Zoya, a still spectacular ex-supermodel who kept Raptor Vision, the modeling and talent-agency division of Raptor Enterprises, where he wanted it—on top. "I know the cars they're driving down there," Sebastian told her. "Come here and look at this place."
"I've already seen it. We should be deciding how you'll deal with Maryan when she gets here."
"Leave Maryan to me."
"She's due, Sebby."
"Don't sweat it. Get over here."
Zoya was almost as tall as Sebastian, with her waist-length black hair slicked severely back and arranged in a mass of braided loops. Her face was all sharply boned, exotic flamboyance. She stood beside him and said, "You don't drive a Merc or a Lexus."
"I'm not from Bellevue," he reminded her in a tone that warned her not to raise the worn-out topic of his less-than-
traditional taste in personal vehicles. He pointed beyond the buildings of Bellevue, to the breadth of bordering Lake Washington and the soaring glass and concrete towers of downtown Seattle in the distance. "When I was a kid we stayed over there. Wouldn't come to the eastside on a bet. We called this place the burbs, and laughed at people who lived here."
"Childish." Zoya never tempered her opinions with tact.
Unperturbed, Sebastian said, "As I told you, we were children then. Children are childish."
"But you're still disdainful of Bellevue."
He shrugged. "Why would you live here when you can live in the middle of things?"
"A good question," Zoya remarked. "One wonders why Sebastian Plato, big city dweller, would choose to buy a house here."
"I was speaking in generalities. I want to be close to the office."
"Next question," Zoya said. Her thick lashes lowered over eyes almost as black as her hair. "Why would this man choose to open a branch of Vision here, rather than in Seattle?"
"Statement," Sebastian said curtly. "I have my reasons." And he didn't intend to study them too closely.
"Maryan still doesn't—"
"Maryan will have to accept my decision in this. I know she still doesn't think we should have started operations in the Seattle area. The subject isn't open for discussion. It's a natural step. Natural, and overdue." And the first expansion that had filled him with enough confusion to mess with his sleep.
"I can't disagree with that," Zoya said. "Too bad we've got this other business to contend with."
Sebastian turned from the window and prowled his office. Didn't have his stamp on it yet. Probably never would since he didn't expect to be here long.
Or did he?
Damn, he hadn't been this unsure of himself in ten years—not since he'd founded his fledgling Raptor Enterprises on swagger, bullshit, and other men's money.
He sat on his rosewood desk and planted his feet on the burgundy leather chair. Those men had taken smart flyers on him. They'd made back their investments several times over.
Zoya's soft, white silk dress swished as she swept up a press release. "Will you meet with this O'Leary woman?"
"No."
"No?" She leaned over the back of the chair and swung the paper between finger and thumb. "Of course you'll meet her. She and her group are accusing us of luring kids into sin and death. Big seller topics. We'll get media coverage. It'll be great for us. Best PR money didn't buy."
"I don't like burgundy. This chair can go. And the rugs."
"Fuck the rugs," Zoya said succinctly. "And the chair. Dammit, Sebastian, this is business. And it's not like you to be coy."
He reached to whip the paper from her fingers, and tossed it on the desk. "Leave it to me. I'll deal with it."
"Maryan's plane is probably getting in from Chicago as we speak. She'll wonder why you aren't snapping up this opportunity."
"No, she won't," Sebastian said shortly.
"Your sister never passed up a promotional opportunity."
"Maryan won't question passing up this one." They couldn't afford too much publicity here. Not unless he wanted his past spread all over the papers.
"But—"
"Drop it, there's a love."
One of Zoya's many skills was a nose for the right moment to switch topics. She returned to the windows that wrapped around three sides of Sebastian's office. "Wait till Maryan finds out you've bought that house in— What's the place called?"
"Medina."
"Yes, Medina. We all thought you only intended to come out here for the opening."
"You presumed. I may move my headquarters here."
Stunned summed up Zoya's expression nicely.
"New York's great," Sebastian said. "It'll be a great place to visit frequently."
"You aren't telling me you intend to live in— Medina permanently."
"More successful men than I am do." Sebastian stuck his hands in his trouser pockets. "The suburbs are good places for families."
"You don't have a family," she pointed out.
"At my age it's time to think about settling down."
Zoya laughed her deep, smoky-toned laugh. "Thirty-five? Just. True, you are approaching dotage, my love. But you are joking, aren't you? You don't really plan to be here longer than it takes to make sure we overcome the current little unpleasantness, do you?"
He ignored the question.
"This is me. Zoya. I'm on your side forever, remember? I don't know much about your pre-Raptor days, but aren't you the man who left Seattle right out of high school, the man who said he was never, coming back?"
"Things change." And some things didn't change nearly enough—or soon enough.
"How many years ago was that? Sixteen? Seventeen?"
"Fifteen. I sat out a year."
Zoya turned sharply. "Sat out of high school? Were you sick?"
He didn't owe her explanations, but what the hell. "Sick of trying to live up to expectations. I thought I was showing my old man I was master of my own fate. It's history."
A buzzer sounded on his intercom. Sebastian pressed a button and said, "Plato."
"Is there even the vaguest possibility that you told a Mr. Nose he could come to see you, Mr. Plato? Surely not."
"Wait." Sebastian cut off the line to his secretary's office. "Where did you find that guy, Zoya?"
"Hmm?" She raised her perfectly arched brows.
"My secretary. Mr. Tight-ass himself, William whatever his name is?"
"Namsuk," Zoya told him. "William Namsuk. He's very
qualified. Secretaries aren't all thirty-six double D's with panty allergies."
Sebastian knew when to grin. He grinned at Zoya now. "Not nice, my love. And I haven't earned that kind of reputation."
She shrugged and went back to watching a jet traverse a transparently blue July sky. "William's Bellevue to the eyeballs. Born here. Grew up here. Went to grade school here. He did go to the University of Washington, so he has been out of town, at least as far as Seattle."
"As I said, Mr. Tight-ass himself. Only answers to William— don't call him Bill. Is it even vaguely possible I told a Mr. Nose he could come to see me? Surely not."
"Did you?"
Sebastian flipped the intercom switch again. "Hey, Bill. Send in Mr. Nose."
" Shame on you," Zoya said when Sebastian cut the connection again. "Still a mean little boy inside that handsome hulk, hm?"
He couldn't refute the jibe. And right now he didn't care.
The door opened to admit a rumpled little man in khaki. Lean, blond and good-looking, William Namsuk paused long enough to aim a disdainful glance at Sebastian, then closed the door behind the newcomer.
Patting his numerous pockets, Nose shambled across the room. "That guy out there's gonna hurt hisself," he said. "He's so uptight he's gonna choke t'death."
Sebastian avoided Zoya's eyes. "I wasn't expecting you, Mr.—"
"Nose. Just call me, Nose." A guffaw revealed tobacco-stained teeth. "My old lady reckons that with a moniker like mine I should 'ave been one of them wine sniffers. I tell 'er I'm very good at what I do sniff, thank you very much."
"Sit down," Sebastian said. "Don't let me keep you, Zoya. I'll get back to you on this." He tapped the press release.
"Oh, I can wait, darling." Her voice dripped with amused curiosity. "I'll just look out the window until you're finished with, er, Nose."
He had to get her out of the room before Nose said something Sebastian didn't want to share with anyone—yet.
"Ashtray?" Nose asked. He located a mangled pack of Camels in a sagging pocket over his left thigh, extracted a bent cigarette, and clamped it between his teeth.
"Sebastian?" Zoya made as if to rush at Nose. Smoking wasn't part of her regimen for perfect bodies.
"Leave this to me." Sebastian caught her arm and ushered her gently, but firmly from the room. He gave her his best attempt at a conspiratorial grimace, murmured, "Boyhood acquaintance. Good heart, but always a bit disturbed," and closed the door on her, "Oh!"
Nose had lowered his scrawny frame into a black lacquer chair shaped like a tall, springy Z, with an apparently unsupported burgundy leather seat. With a grimy thumb, he produced a flame from his lighter and set fire to shreds of tobacco drizzling from his cigarette.
Sebastian stuck his hands in his pockets and strolled to lean against the edge of his desk. "From now on you're someone I knew when I was a kid."
Nose took a deep drag, exhaled slowly and squinted at Sebastian through the smoke. "Sure. Old buddies, right?"
"Someone I knew when I was a kid. Vaguely. You heard I was back in the area and came looking for some sort of job."
"Anything you say." The cigarette bobbed. "In other words, you don't want anyone to know about our business?"
"Right."
"Always fancied a nice office in a ritzy building like this."
"Yeah. How—"
"What're you offerin'? Need someone to take the place of that nancy boy out there?"
Rolling in his lips, Sebastian contained a chuckle. "Sure. You'd fit right in. How are your keyboard skills?"
Nose waggled his fingers. "Just turned down the Seattle Symphony." He removed the cigarette, flicked ash into the zen garden on the desk, and unbuttoned a big pocket on his right thigh. "Fve got most of what you're looking for." A brown envelope, bent in half, came into view.
"Did you verify the answer to the big question?"
" 'Course. That was the simple part. You already had it right."
"I thought I did." And he'd made some giant decisions based on being almost sure he was right. "I wanted absolute verification." He couldn't go forward without being certain—and even now, even being certain, he still had to question why he was rushing toward the craziest, most impulsive move he'd ever made.
Nose studied him impassively. "Your verification is here." He tapped the envelope, then held it out. "D'you know what you're messing around with here?"
Did he? "Maybe. Maybe not. Why don't you tell me?" He took the envelope.
"Powerful people."
Mildly confused, Sebastian frowned. "I'm powerful people, too." Not that he saw the connection between powerful people and his business in Washington State.
"These powerful people don't let anything get in their way." Nose sniffed, and ground the Camel out among the precisely placed rocks in the formerly perfectly raked sand in the zen garden. "Nothing ever proved, you understand. But from where I'm lookin' it begins to look like anyone who gets in their way takes a long hike."
Sebastian crossed his feet and leaned toward the other man. "What are you talking about? What does ... Sorry, Nose, I think of myself as sharp, but you're leaving me in the dark here."
"Ain't so difficult to understand. The person you're interested in has connections to people in high places. Those people in high places always get what they want. Maybe it don't matter, but seems to me that if you was to get in their way, or mess with
something—or someone—of theirs, you might end up like some others have."
"And how is that?" Sebastian asked softly.
Nose's sad, brown eyes shifted beneath shaggy, dun-colored brows. "I dunno for sure. But I haven't been able to verify their recent whereabouts. Or any whereabouts at all."
Small hairs rose along the length of Sebastian's spine. "I'm not paying you to have an imagination."
"Imagination? Not me, old buddy—old vague acquaintance, that is. Not a shred of imagination in this body. Ask anyone. They'll tell you. Nose ain't got no imagination. Anyway, I'll leave you to look over that little lot."
"Okay. Okay, yeah, do that." The envelope was bulky.
"You want me to keep digging?"
A metal butterfly clasp held the envelope shut, but the flap wasn't stuck closed. "Is there anything else to dig for?"
"Oh, sure. Always is. But it's up to you. Say the word and we'll call this a done job."
"No." He had no right to be digging up other people's business. But he would dig anyway. "No, if there's more, find it. Stay on top of it. Okay?"
"You've got it. I'll be in touch." Nose opened the door.
Maryan came in as the private investigator went out. She said nothing while she watched Nose leave.
"Who was that?" She wrinkled her straight nose. "He looks like a bum."
"Some sort of computer type." He'd have to be careful or he'd be telling lies he didn't have to tell. "You know what slick dressers those guys are."
Maryan glared. She let her well-worn briefcase slip from her fingers and thump on the carpet. "That dog of yours makes an ugly front office statement."
"Beater likes watching people come and go."
"He's an ugly mutt."
Sebastian smirked. "You're right. That's part of his charm."
"He doesn't like me."
Time to change the subject. Sebastian jutted his chin in what he hoped was a playful way and waved. "Hi, Sis. Good flight?"
"Lousy flight. Lousy town. When I saw Mt. Rainier, I thought I was going to throw up. Everything's so goddamn clean here it makes me want to spit on the sidewalks."
"You don't like it here."
"And you've got a goddamn lousy sense of humor."
Sebastian smiled thinly. "I do try. And I didn't ask you to come to Seattle."
"Someone's got to see what the fuck you're up to." She marched around his desk and threw her tall, thin body into his chair. Her badly crushed, red linen suit might as well be burned. Her short brown hair with its silver streak at one temple was gelled back and did nothing
to soften the unhappy lines around her eyes and mouth.
Sebastian knew a twinge of guilt. "You worry too much, Sis. And you look beat. Kick your shoes off. How about a—"
"Gin. Over ice. No vermouth."
He made the decision that this was one time not to mention that she drank too much. "Coming up." A freestanding, cylindrical pillar of steel contained the bar. A single finger's pressure, and it spread open, jawlike, from an invisible seam.
"When I finally realized how far you were taking things here I knew I'd better find a way to get us out, and quickly. What d'you think you're playing at?"
Maryan had always been there for him. "Knock it off, Sis, there's a good girl." She'd come through when he'd been a lost kid of not even twenty and there'd been no one else to turn to. Without her he'd have had a harder time making it through college and through more rough times than he wanted to remember.
"Is it true?" Her voice assumed the brittle quality she rarely used on Sebastian.
Slowly, he poured gin into an etched crystal glass.
"Is it?" She coughed. "Hurry with that, will you?"
Sebastian brought her the gin. "Sounds like you picked up a bug on the plane."
"We ought to be expanding the airline."
Sometimes his adoptive sister's propensity for subject-hopping irritated Sebastian. "The airline's on target and in good hands." He believed in as much autonomy as possible for the men and women who ran the essentially separate divisions of Raptor.
Maryan closed her eyes and drank.
"I'm going to have a car brought around for you. It'll take you to my place. Sleep till tomorrow. You look as if you need it."
Her dark gray eyes snapped open again. "I asked you a question."
"You're pushing, Maryan. I don't like it when you push, you know that."
She bared her small teeth. "I want this place closed down. I want it closed and I want us out of this town—out of this state— now."
He tolerated a great deal for the sake of a lot of old times. "If you want to turn right around and fly out, be my guest. Don't try to tell me what to do." Willing his temper under control, he tossed ice cubes in a glass and covered them with water from a pitcher. "You don't even sound rational."
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