At the Brink Page 3

“Boswell?” I recalled again Thomas’s report. They’d been having a tough financial time. I remembered something else, something that hadn’t been in the report. “It’s portraits. Am I correct? You showed a painting at the benefit for the Contemporary Museum of Art last spring. Captured Orchid, wasn’t it?”

  Surprise brightened her eyes. “You saw it?”

  “A grand old lady,” I said. “Her hand rested on a glass dome enclosing an orchid. I liked the way the light beamed through the window and the orchid reflected in the dome.”

  Her smile was like a round of applause. “You did see it.”

  “You seem surprised,” I said.

  “Well, um, I didn’t expect...” She got all tongue-tied. “I... I didn’t expect someone like you to notice me—I mean, my art, you know, art in general.”

  Ah. The old stereotype. At least she was honest about it.

  “They did teach us a thing or two at the Naval Academy,” I said. “That is, in addition to shooting guns and blowing things up.”

  The blush ignited her face again, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. “You misunderstand me,” she said. “I didn’t mean to imply that you—”

  “Darling?” Martin Poe cut her off. “Mr. Lane is just making polite conversation.”

  “Oh, sorry.” Her eyes went to the floor.

  I didn’t like the way Poe killed the light in her gaze.

  “Lily, dear.” Poe fidgeted under my glare. “Why don’t you go fetch us some drinks? What will it be, Mr. Lane?”

  “I’m not fond of drink or pleasantries.” I scowled. “I’m not patient either. I read your proposal. I found nothing new or interesting in it.”

  “Scotch, honey, make it a double.” Martin Poe gave his wife a little pat on the rump. “And hurry up, dear.”

  It was a bad sign that the man needed his scotch to talk to me. I watched the woman go, noting her jaw’s stubborn set. She didn’t want to do what her husband said and yet she managed the short trek to the nearest bar, balancing carefully on a pair of six-inch, red-soled shoes that the imposter in me recognized as Louboutins.

  “Isn’t she something?” Martin Poe said.

  I gave Poe another look before returning my stare to the woman. To Lily. She was something all right, defending Chavez when no one else would. The high heels didn’t break her svelte body’s fine stride. Neither did they hinder her hips’ subtle grace. On the contrary, the heels added perspective to her movements and dimension to my imagination. I couldn’t help but notice there was a lot of quality to that body and plenty of give to those hips.

  Something else intrigued me about her, the way she stole little looks at me as she waited in line at the bar, a gentle but curious probing. I was pretty sure she’d felt that jolt too.

  “Lily is a joy,” Martin Poe said. “She’s bright, kind, and she has a sweet disposition.”

  Wearing her dark, glossy hair in a chignon, she looked classy and refined, even if she wasn’t one of the stunning beauties crowding the place or made up to look like one. She was different—modest, shy, uncomfortable with attention and self-promotion, determined but somehow vulnerable. She stuck out, like a Sprite in a case of Cokes, or better yet, like a chick in a cage full of raptors.

  Her husband was nothing like her. Martin Poe talked too fast and used his hands as he rambled. A nettle in my shoe would’ve been less irritating. I could tell in the first ten seconds he knew nothing about running a business. As to his technological expertise, the jury was out, but the outcome wasn’t promising.

  According to Thomas’s briefing, Martin Poe had come to the States to teach at MIT, from where he’d been recently fired. He’d ditched his classes and invested everything he had in an experimental wind harnessing facility located in central Ohio. He faced three fundamental problems at the moment. One, his research grant had run out and would not be renewed. Two, the bulk of his hefty debt was due. Three, his prototypes had failed to produce results.

  “The prototypes will work,” he assured me, fiddling with his tux. “I just need to make a few adjustments before the project comes online.”

  “How long?” I said.

  “Three months.” He buckled under my glare. “Perhaps three-to-six months is a more realistic timetable, but I guarantee that the prototypes will work.”

  “That’s a hell of a money stream you’re asking for.”

  “The technology will more than pay for itself.”

  “If that were the case, you’d have all the energy sharks following you around.” I made a show of looking behind him and shrugged. “I don’t see anyone standing in line.”

  “WindTech is undervalued at the moment.”

  “Mr. Poe?”

  “Please,” he said. “Call me Martin.”

  “Okay, fine, Martin, let’s cut to the chase. I get that you need a lot of support to save your company. But what is it that you’re willing to give up in order to get it?”

  “Control, management, stocks, majority stakes.”

  “That’s all a given.”

  “My independence,” he said. “My work, life and dreams.”

  “Spare me the dramatics.”

  “You don’t understand,” Martin Poe said. “I’m willing to give up anything I’ve got to ensure that WindTech will succeed. Anything you want.” He looked elsewhere. “For as long as you support my venture, you can have it.”

  I trailed Martin Poe’s gaze to where Lily stood at the bar. His eyes landed squarely on his wife, or more specifically, on the very spot where the gown’s glossy satin stretched over her shapely ass. Son of a bitch.

  Poe inclined his head and nodded. “Anything,” he repeated.

  Jesus Christ. He’d just paraded his wife before me like a breeder showing off his prized thoroughbred. Who the hell did he think I was? A pervert who had to buy women to bed them? A playboy with a taste for other men’s wives? A fool?

  Sure, I had my preferences in bed and maybe they were unorthodox to some, but they didn’t involve paying for sex, victimizing women or dealing with lowlife scum like Poe. Lights flashed and alarms blared. My internal traffic control gate slammed shut. For a man in my position, Poe’s offer entailed a con, a scam or a combination of the same. Blackmail. Extortion. Bribery. If Poe thought he could screw with me, he was in for a nasty surprise.

  My eyes fell on Lily, placing her order with the bartender. Did she know? Did she realize what her husband was doing? And if she was a party to his plan, how far was she willing to go? Would she be willing to go all the way to my bed?

  Don’t even think about it, Lane.

  I stared at the woman coming toward me, drink in hand. She flashed her shy, crooked smile. I had to hand it to Martin. At least he’d chosen his bait well. What if she didn’t know? My gut went cold. What would happen to her if I declined Poe’s offer? What if she was a pawn in her husband’s game, someone who stood to lose no matter the outcome?

  “What does she think of your plan?”

  The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down his throat, betraying his poker face. “Lily will do what I tell her to do,” he said. “She’s an obedient little thing.”

  Obedient?

  I reminded myself of the basics. Stick to the mission. Keep the focus intact and the perimeter clear. Don’t compromise your cover. These principles had kept me alive in Iraq, Afghanistan and beyond.

  The woman rejoined us and, avoiding my gaze, handed the drink over to Martin. He downed half the glass in one gulp. But I wasn’t really tracking Martin. All my senses were intent on Lily. Stick to your guns, Lane.

  I was about to send Poe to hell when his tumbler went flying, spilling Scotch mostly all over himself, although a few ice cubes bounced off my shoes.

  “I’m sorry.” Poe tried to wipe off his jacket with a soggy napkin. “Oh, this won’
t work. Excuse me for a moment. Lily, take care of Mr. Lane, will you? I’ll be right back.”

  She glanced at me, flushing with equal measures of embarrassment and incredulity as Poe scrambled for the restroom. I was done talking with her husband and she was smart enough to know it.

  I pulled out my cell and called my driver. “Bring the car around, Amman.”

  Clearly flustered, Lily drew a delicate handkerchief from her clutch and, kneeling at my feet, wiped the water off my shoes. The swell of her breasts strained against her gown’s bodice. Her anxious looks—intermittent flashes of violet—beamed up at me like a beacon leading me astray.

  Inadvertently, the crown of her head brushed against my groin. My cock hardened instantly. Damn, I hadn’t reacted like that to anyone in a long time. I had a vision of her, crouching as she was, only she wasn’t wearing a dress. She wasn’t wearing anything, except the red-soled Louboutins.

  Shake it off, Lane.

  I pitched the images out of my mind, but something had clicked in me, something had engaged. The lust in my body seeped into my soul. I was recharged, operational and in high gear.

  The woman fussing over my shoes was nothing less than an IED in my life. If I were smart, I’d skirt around her, ignore my body’s signals, play it cool and move on. But Christ, she was a rare creature. She had such a pull on me, even if she didn’t know it.

  Maybe she was as innocent as she appeared. Maybe she needed help. Maybe she, who was so quick to defend a wounded warrior, needed protection herself.

  Why not go for it, run with it, embrace the keen attraction, defy convention and wade into the thicket of my obsessions? I could engage her, ignite her, contain her. I could dissect her, dismantle her ticking parts and discover her mechanisms in a bid to understand how she worked. I could detonate her if only to defuse the effect she had on me.

  My mind ticked off a long list of rational warnings: Inappropriate behavior, unnecessary complications, high elements of risk, poor odds, dismal returns, dire consequences. With a wink and a word, I could’ve seduced any other woman in the room. But what about her?

  No way. My instincts had to be right. She wasn’t that kind of person. It’d never fly.

  I slammed the door on the impulse and offered my hand. “This is not necessary.” I helped her up. “My shoes don’t deserve your attention.”

  She tottered as she tried to stand on the high heels, but I caught her, bracing her body against mine. Wham. There it was again, that jolt, only this time it didn’t produce a flashback but rather a flash forward to a future where she lay naked on my bed. Christ. The image felt like a done deal.

  Her body was soft and pliable between my hands, delicate but fit, vital and responsive. I caught a whiff of her scent and reeled. It was as if she’d been baked of my favorite essences, as if her pores were wafting raw need and sexual heat.

  I retrieved my thoughts from the gutter and let her go. She turned to face me with a flustered frown. She didn’t understand what was happening any more than I did. I spotted the questions forming in her eyes and acted quickly to preempt her.

  “Do you think your husband’s project will succeed?”

  “I...well... I sure hope so.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “We’ll be ruined.”

  I liked people who stuck to the truth even when they had much to lose from admitting it. My gut told me Lily was truthful, but the trained operator in me set out to make sure my readings were accurate. Truth or dare. True or false. I excelled at those games. My life and the lives of my men had often depended on my instincts and skills. I started with the obvious.

  “Is Martin running a scam?”

  Her spine straightened. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me,” I said. “Answer the question.”

  “But—”

  “Answer the damn question.”

  “I... I don’t know. I suppose, knowing Martin, maybe...it’s possible.” Her answer struck me as real. “But MIT was interested. There’s got to be some substance to his project.”

  Wishful thinking or shrewd assessment? It was hard to tell.

  “Why did you come here tonight?” I asked.

  “I don’t have to answer your questions.”

  “I know,” I said, “but you will.”

  Her chin came up. “Are you always this blunt?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Why did you agree to come?”

  The indigo eyes scoured my face then looked away. “My husband insisted that I come.”

  “Did you want to?”

  “Not really.”

  “Why not?” I pressed her hard.

  Like most people, she buckled under my glare. “I... I don’t really like this sort of thing and, well, I couldn’t figure out what was the use of me coming anyway.”

  “How long have you been married?”

  “A little more than two years,” she said, tentatively. “Why do you ask?”

  “And in those two years, you’ve seen your car repossessed, your credit wrecked and your student loans gone into arrears.”

  Her plump lips formed the word. “How...?”

  “We’ve done our homework,” I said. “It’s called due diligence.”

  “Due diligence?”

  “Why him?” I demanded.

  Her small nose wrinkled. “Pardon me?”

  “Why did you marry him?”

  Anger sparked in her eyes. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

  “I disagree,” I said. “Your husband is asking for a lot of money. In exchange, he’s offering some dubious concessions. Were you pregnant when you got married?”

  “No!”

  “Then why did someone like you marry someone like him?”

  “I had reasons,” she said fiercely, “and I don’t understand why they’re of any consequence to you.”

  God, she was brave. How I craved her intensity. How I wanted to consume all her strength. She was so unlike the women I usually took to my bed. She was honest, raw and earnest. She didn’t belong with Poe. She didn’t deserve to suffer the indignities that the man had in store for her. If I walked away now, what would happen to Lily Boswell?

  “Do you always do what your husband says?”

  Her knuckles whitened around her purse. “No.”

  “And yet you’re here.”

  “I told you, I had to come.”

  He had something on her. I could feel it in my bones. She wasn’t dumb. She wasn’t lamb material either. She was trapped. I went for the jugular.

  “Why haven’t you divorced Martin Poe?”

  Her head whipped up. “You think I’m stupid, don’t you?” She glared like a tigress about to tear out my throat. “Well, I’m not, so back off, Mr. Lane. I came here to help with Martin’s proposal, not to amuse you. With all due respect, you have no right to treat me like this.”

  “Have you tried asking for help?”

  “Help?” She scoffed. “Is there really such a thing? It’s never something for nothing. It’s tit for tat, isn’t it? Or perhaps every man for himself?”

  There was no bitterness to her tone, only honesty and perhaps sadness. I knew people like her, people who wouldn’t accept help from anyone, people who had a chip on their shoulders, little faith in the human race, and something to prove to themselves. People like me.

  “I better go,” she said faintly. “Thanks for your time.”

  “Wait.” My hand closed around her wrist.

  Her eyes widened and I knew for sure that the contact had rattled her too.

  I made a pragmatic decision in the field, combining a set of high-minded objectives, my gut feelings, my dark cravings, and the barrage of inexplicable emotions buzzing in my brain. Emotions felt like white noi
se to my mind so I set them aside, but designing an operational mission plan to tackle a defined set of objectives? Now that I could do. My strategy had to meet my basic parameters, which meant that, ultimately, the outcome had to be Lily’s choice.

  This wasn’t going to be easy for her. Or for me. I had to be careful, stay true to my long-term mission and protect my investors from Poe’s schemes. Strategically, there was a chance I could pull this off. Realistically, Lily was the odd variable.

  “Mr. Lane?” Her eyes shifted between my face and her wrist where, beneath my fingers, her pulse thumped like an MP5 in a firefight.

  I forced myself to lift one finger after the other until I let go of her wrist. She’d stepped into the center of my scope’s crosshairs. The sniper in me inhaled the disciplined, stabilizing breath usually paired with a finger to the trigger.

  “Allow me to explain,” I said in my trained operator’s voice. “I thought if someone like you—someone smart, talented and brave—had a good reason to bet on Poe, then maybe I would too. But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, Lily. We can leave it up to chance. Or fate. Whichever you like best.”

  “I... I don’t understand.”

  “I think you’re an honest person,” I said. “I’m going to leave this up to you. If you want, you can tell your husband to come see me at the office on Monday at eleven.”

  “I can?” She stared at me with those extraordinary eyes.

  “That’s what he wanted, right?” That’s why he’d brought her along. “You don’t have to tell him if you don’t want to. You can say I wasn’t interested and we’ll be done. On the other hand, if you decide to tell him and he decides to come, I’ll see him only if you come with him. Be prepared. Tell him to come only if he’s willing to put everything he’s got on the table. Will you remember all that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” I said. “You’re a remarkable person, Lily, a brave one. There aren’t too many of you left in the world.”

  “Um, Mr. Lane?” she said, twisting the little purse between her hands. “Perhaps I’ve given you the wrong impression. You don’t know any of that about me.”

  I took my shot. “I’ll see you on Monday, Lily. Maybe, and only if you want.”