Formula for Danger, page 11
part #6 of The Phoenix Agency Series
Damon Horner stood looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows in his office.
“Give it one more shot,” he told Leo Guerra. “Pull out all that charm you’re supposed to be famous for. Invite her to lunch. Dinner. Whatever. If she still turns you down, I might take a run at her myself.”
“And if she still says no?” Guerra asked.
Horner shrugged. “There’re a lot of ways to convince people to do something if money won’t buy them.”
Damon Horner had climbed over a lot of bodies to build his empire. He wouldn’t balk at adding a few more, if necessary, especially to save what he had. He’d never been particularly overburdened with scruples.
“You don’t even know how close she is to making the formula work,” the other man pointed out.
“I’m hoping that’s something you can weasel out of her.”
“And you aren’t worried about the guy she’s hanging out with? Cole Martin?”
Horner dropped into his desk chair. “Penny ante compared with me. He’s got a small ranch, about the same size the woman’s father has. He may have roots in the community, but money always talks the loudest.”
Guerra snorted. “It doesn’t seem to be working with the woman.”
“I told you, I have other options. Meanwhile, just to keep our asses covered, why don’t you dig up anything else you can find on this Martin guy. You said he’s a former marine, but what else do we know about him, except that he’s running that ranch now? And scope out the lab.”
“I’ll get on it right away.”
“And find out how tight his relationship is with the woman.”
Cole stood in the center of the massive steel building, looked around, and nodded in satisfaction. With the work nearly completed, there was more than enough room for the helicopter to be headquartered there, the smaller of the two Phoenix planes when necessary, and three SUVs. Those vehicles currently sat at Texas Armoring Corporation—TAC—in San Antonio, where they were being made as bulletproof as humanly possible.
TAC had an international reputation for doing it better than anyone in the world. Cole knew Mark Halloran had turned the agency on to them; now every vehicle Phoenix owned, including the personal ones the wives drove, was thoroughly armored and bulletproof. Phoenix dealt with some nasty people, and even the women could be targets. What better company to use than one whose client portfolio included prominent heads of state, politicians, religious leaders, business executives, diplomats, celebrities, athletes, and royal families. As soon as Cole could wrestle JL’s car away from her, he planned to have them do their thing with it.
A storage shed outfitted with biometric locks sat at one end of the new building and held a full array of weapons and ammunition as well as other equipment that might be needed, like night-vision goggles. Next to it was a small bathroom and the office Abe Ludwig would use. The longtime foreman on the ranch was turning sixty-five and had eagerly accepted Cole’s offer to step into a less strenuous situation.
As they walked through the facility today, the man sounded as proud as a new father. It was a win-win situation for Cole: he was able to give a productive job to a man who had been with the Martin family for years, while putting someone still sharp and alert, and who was a crack shot when necessary, in place.
The crew from the security company arrived while Cole was there, and he went over the specs with them before they started to work on a state-of-the-art system. Then, after checking in with the new foreman at the ranch, a ranch hand who had been with them since before Cole deployed the first time, he took off to scope out locations for JL to hold her face-to-face meetings.
What he wanted, he thought as he drove around, was someplace with plenty of people around yet an air of privacy.
Yeah, right, he snorted to himself. Like an enclosed booth on the Riverwalk?
Should he keep the meeting in Clayton or move it into San Antonio? Big crowds, or more contained space?
Drive yourself crazy, why don’t you?
He didn’t trust any of them. But then he’d naturally become suspicious of a large part of the population. Two tours of duty with the marines in Afghanistan had taught him exactly how untrustworthy human beings were. He had wished from the beginning this whole project had been kept under wraps. Someone could have come up with a good cover story for why she worked in a privately funded lab. Hell, he’d have come up with one himself if push had come to shove. But because funding came in from other statewide associations across the country, they hadn’t tried to hide what she was doing. The Texas association was determined to share the miracle grain if the formula worked.
He certainly had no idea how long something like this could take to develop. Some projects took years. He hoped that wasn’t the case here. He wanted JL done and finished with it. Then, maybe he could find out what kept circling in the back of her mind and how to get her to move forward with the rest of their lives.
He had no idea what that could possibly be. All he knew was she’d lived in Seattle for a few years, working for a lab there, then suddenly quit her job and come home. He had done as much research on her time there as he could with what he had immediately available, but no matter what search engines he used, nothing out of the ordinary popped up. He sensed something had happened, something she would not talk about.
He could, of course, put Andy on it. The Dragonslayer, as he liked to call himself, could find out how many freckles a man had on his ass. He didn’t feel comfortable, though, using Phoenix Agency resources for his personal projects. Maybe he’d try digging a little deeper. He was aware the risk he was taking, If she found out she’d be furious. But if it was something screwing up her life and he could help her with it, he wanted to know.
He finally stopped for lunch in the early afternoon and discovered what he thought would be a perfect place. Sandino’s was located on the northwest side of San Antonio, a stand-alone building in an open-air shopping center. Busy outside, very quiet inside, and with booths that were constructed for maximum privacy but easy egress.
And good food, he was happy to note. Although he didn’t think that would make much difference to JL. She’d be focused on something else entirely.
He took out his cell to call her and see how things were going today. He tried not to interrupt, knowing how much concentration the work required, but all this outside pressure made him edgy. He’d also feel a lot better if he could convince her to move in with him. He wanted to be able to protect her at all times, even if she still held back on making the commitment permanent.
Leo Guerra sat at a window table in Feed Me, sipping his coffee and pretending to eat a wedge of pie and read the newspaper. His third time eating at the place, he figured he was about at the end of his visits. Clayton was such a small town. Strangers like him stood out like a sore thumb. The middle-aged waitress had done her best to engage him in conversation the first time, and he’d had to come up with a good cover story, fast. And not be rude to her. Rudeness always lodged in someone’s mind. As far as the town knew, he was looking for some land in the county. He’d even visited a real estate agent—once—to keep up his cover.
But he couldn’t be too active about that, either. Too much familiarity, and if—no, when—something happened, the first face people would remember was that of a stranger nosing around. He was only glad in the meetings he’d attended for Horner he’d found out where they’d decided to set up the lab.
The small restaurant was near the end of the block, a convenient location for him. Across the street on the corner stood the limestone-and-stucco building housing the lab where the grain Horner was hot after was being developed. No sign marked the outside of the building, and the windows had been painted black.
Three cars were parked in the lot adjacent to the building, the ones he’d checked out before lunchtime. Probably belonged to the same three people he’d seen the morning he first came to the lab. One of them was the woman, the other was probably her lab assistant, and the third looked like a security guard changing shifts.
In the hour or so he’d been sitting there, he hadn’t seen one other person enter or leave.
He really wanted to check out the area more, from all angles. He couldn’t exactly ask questions, but nosing around an unmarked building presented a sure way to put him on everyone’s radar.
And that damn Cole Martin had showed up again. Didn’t he ever stay at his ranch, for the love of God? Leo didn’t like having him thrown into the mix.
He could only stretch out reading the paper for so long. When the waitress came to refill his cup yet again, he shook his head and asked for the bill. Time to hit the road and figure out when to try again.
But as he approached his car at the curb, he saw an SUV turn in at the building containing the lab. The one the guy in the Stetson drove. How lucky could he get? Maybe today he could find the man’s involvement.
He strolled down the street, casual in his gait yet moving fast enough to catch sight of his prey. Sure enough, the man climbed out of the vehicle and walked to the front of the building. And he wasn’t wearing his Stetson, although he had it in his hand. Before he could clap it on his head, Leo managed to snap a quick series of shots. Sticking his cell in his pocket, he climbed into his car, cranked the engine, and pulled slowly out into the street.
Although he hadn’t gathered any additional information, he did have a picture of the wildcard, and maybe he could identify him. When he got back to the office, he’d run them through some of the software programs Horner had invested in. A man as paranoid as his boss used every electronic and technical means available to identify and keep track of his enemies, the number of whom seemed to multiply regularly. Maybe this guy could help them get access to the lab.
He knew Horner would take any edge he could get.
Cassandra Grigsby stared out the window of the company SUV she’d borrowed. The coffee she’d picked up at Starbucks after she exited the interstate was long gone, along with the brownie she’d bought as a spur-of-the-moment indulgence. Still she sat, studying the building on the corner.
She certainly had come a long way since the day her father had died and left the reins of a small company to his daughter. A lot of the years since then had been filled with struggles, first establishing her knowledge and legitimacy to run the business, and then expanding in the face of skepticism. But she’d done it. Made it pay off big-time.
Of course, she’d sacrificed anything resembling a personal life to do it. The corporation had been her mate, her lover, her everything. When she had the occasional sexual itch, she scratched it with discreet strangers. And then, just when she was convinced she could relax and concentrate on herself for a change, the economy had shifted, forcing her again to fight for what was hers. Not merely to grow it but also to save it.
Well, she’d done it once. She could do it again. And she wasn’t about to be thwarted in this, a project that could put her company in a select circle. She’d rule the industry, expand internationally, finally be the one calling all the shots. Nothing would stop her. People who thought her soft made a huge mistake. She wasn’t above destroying anyone to get what she wanted. She might look like a lady on the outside, but inside she was a cold, hard bitch, and she enjoyed every minute of it.
She still couldn’t believe they’d set the lab up right here in the middle of this little town. If this had been her project, she’d have everything hidden away in a secure location. The damn fools even had a phone listed in the name of the association chairman, Grant Summerfield.
Idiots.
But, of course, none of them seemed to think either the woman or the lab needed secrecy of any kind. The project had been discussed openly at meetings, probably because of the votes needed to allocate funds to a project of this magnitude. This was a good thing they funded, they told each other, anxious for all the ranchers who constantly fought drought to be aware of it.
She was surprised there hadn’t been a horde of people trying to do exactly what she was. Although, she thought, if others chased after the prize, they wouldn’t discuss it any more than she would. Or make their efforts obvious. She had cautioned everyone on her team to be completely circumspect in attempting to set up a meeting with JL Mitchell, so why should she expect less from anyone else?
Unfortunately for her, they’d all hit a wall. Each one had taken a turn calling, adhering to her low-key mandate. But with no results, Gene had finally come out here and tried to see her. Cass had tapped him to make the meeting because of his high success record in situations like this, but he hadn’t even gotten past the guard. Maybe this took a woman’s approach, as sexist as that sounded even to her own ears.
So, today, she’d decided to check things out for herself. On the drive from San Antonio, she had turned a lot of ideas over in her mind. Call first and let the woman know she’d made a special trip to see her for a few minutes of her time? She wasn’t sure anyone would even be at the lab on a Saturday, but Gene had been there twice on a weekend day and seen activity. So, better to scope out the situation first. Check for any activity in and out of the building. Plan her strategy. She spotted two vehicles parked at the back, visible in the wide space between the building and the adjacent strip of shops. So yes, someone was there.
Finding a parking spot in the street, she locked her car and took a leisurely stroll past the shops. Dressed down in jeans, sandals, and a pastel T-shirt, she wandered up and down the sidewalk for a two-block stretch.
She’d been in plenty of towns like Clayton—small, friendly to tourists who helped fill their cash registers. When people smiled at her, Cassandra smiled back. Casual. Moving past them. Window-shopping like any other tourist on a warm day. But she stayed out of the shops, keeping her eye on the building standing by itself at the end of the block.
She thought about strolling down to the building and on the chance they’d let her in. According to her people, they had one guard who looked bored sitting behind his desk and didn’t seem to be too much of a threat. Maybe he was only there for show, to scare off people who wanted access. She’d even stopped in for iced tea and a pastry at Feed Me—and what a dreadful name for a restaurant—and managed to score a window booth so she could keep an eye on the building. Sometimes you could pick up tidbits overheard in conversation. If she got a chatty waitress, that was easy. She never pushed, though. Never said anything to make herself stand out. But today the place had been so busy the waitress was hustling her butt to keep up, so Cassandra got nothing there.
She had just taken a bite of the pie when a stranger pulled into the parking lot next to the building, driving an SUV much like hers. Dropping some cash on the table to pay for her snack, she hurried out to her vehicle. Taking out her cell phone, she managed to snap a few quick shots before he entered the building. She watched him open the door and waited for the guard to send him back out. But five minutes passed, and he remained inside.
Interesting.
He had a familiar look about him, but when she tried to place him, nothing came to mind. Maybe when she had time to study the pictures, she’d figure out his identity. She certainly wanted to know who had such easy access to the inner sanctum. It wasn’t Grant Summerfield, so who the hell could it be? She wanted to get a shot of his license plate, too, but she couldn’t do it without pulling into the lot, and someone would certainly spot her if she tried.
She was back in her vehicle, getting ready to send her photos to the office when a car pulled into the parking space ahead of her. Yet another SUV. Well, why be surprised? Pickups and SUVs were the vehicles of choice in cattle country. The car stopped, but for a long moment no one got out. Then a dark, lanky man eased himself out and moved casually down the sidewalk, trying his best to blend in with the shoppers. Although he made every effort to be unobtrusive about it, she could tell he snapped pictures. What bothered her was the subject of his photography: the building housing J. L. Mitchell’s lab and the man heading into it from the parking lot.
He took shots at first of some of the stores, the picturesque benches and flowerpots lining the sidewalks, and the clever display in the clothing store window. Then he shifted so he could focus on the building getting a lot of interest today. Cass believed no one but her would realize he was taking a bunch of photos of that place. Leaning back in her seat, Cass lifted her cell phone, brought up the camera, and captured the stranger and his license plate.
Damn, damn, damn. So someone else was trying to poach the territory, validating her belief that however silently, the wolves howled at the door. The man she’d seen enter the lab building earlier stepped outside, got something from his truck, and jogged back inside. The stranger photographed him as well as the building, so Cass took a few shots of her own. She sent the pictures to Gene, asking him to try for identification on both, and settled back in her seat.
She kept her cell phone in her hand, and when she rolled past the building in question, she managed to capture the other stranger’s license plate. As soon as she was far enough down Main Street, she pulled over, put the car in Park, and pressed a speed-dial number on her cell to connect with Gene.
“Any luck?” he asked.
“Not in getting to see her. But I spotted what might be some competition and another man who piques my interest.”
“Someone we know?”
“We will,” she told him. “Did you get the pictures I sent you a few minutes ago? I’m heading back to the office, and I want the identifications and all information you can find by the time I get back.”
“I’ll do my best,” he assured her.
“You always do. By the way, have you dug up any more information about why on earth JL suddenly decided to come home to Texas?”
“Working on it. The lab where she worked had only the highest praise for her and hated to see her leave. My source told me they even offered her a substantial hike in pay if she stayed.”
“Hmmm. And her private life? That’s got to be where the catch is.”
