Ruthless. HelenKay Dimon
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space, with its soaring windows and plush carpet, telegraphed the business image he wanted. The granite lobby and bank of security monitors, all designed by him with a team of high-priced architects, created the desired public impression of safety and wealth. He didn’t have a fancy water view or the prime location near the Kennedy Center, but he had the end of the cul-de-sac spot in a business park within a reasonable drive of the airport.
Then there was the real-estate advantage in terms of the clients, and that’s all that mattered to him as the founder of Kingston Inc. One division provided high-speed communication services to the government, ensuring continuous service and functioning networks.
But the new division would be the key to the company’s future. He was sure of it. The high-tech division dealt with top-secret electronic surveillance and assisted the intelligence community and military in collecting and relaying information.
Not bad for a guy who spent most of his youth getting beat up on the school bus for spending so much time in computer class.
After a few years of leaner times and financial insecurities, the business plan was back on track. Well, not all of it. Sean Moore proved to be a wild card. Bryce never expected a low-level computer programmer to sit at the heart of potential corporate-ruining disaster.
“Sir?” Bryce’s assistant, Glenn Harber, stuck his head in the small space he made when he opened the door.
Bryce didn’t hear the knock, but he knew Glenn didn’t skip that requirement. Tall and lean and still an expert rower and member of a team of young businessmen who met on the Potomac River well before dawn twice per week, Glenn knew about structure. He was not a man who shortcut the rules or invaded privacy without a care.
Four years out of business school and loaded down with two master’s degrees and a host of other useless academic information, Glenn had demonstrated his commitment to the company. He came in early and left late. He often flew on the corporate jet for meetings and visits to military bases for demonstrations. And right now he looked as if he’d eaten a heaping plate of rotten conference food.
“Come in.” Bryce pushed away from the window and sat down in his overstuffed desk chair.
The wife had chosen the décor. To Bryce, the dark furniture, set off with patriotic photos and framed flags, bordered on too much. He didn’t think he needed to wear his commitment to country with such obvious fervor, but Selene disagreed.
It was part of her campaign to remind him just how much of her family’s Old South money she’d invested in Kingston and how significant her personal stake really was. From the boys in their private high school to the family’s sprawling three-story Georgian-style home in nearby Great Falls, she played the role.
He despised the personal part. Let him stay at the office, away from the ridiculous chatter and incessant arguing over things like limits on the boys’ television watching and picking the “right” school activities, and his satisfaction level remained high.
Except for Sean Moore.
Glenn stepped up to the opposite side of the oversized desk. “We were unable to reach Sean’s sister in Annapolis as hoped. She wasn’t at her shop.”
Bryce glanced at his watch a second time, even though he was very aware of the hour. “This should be the one time of the day she’s there.”
The businessman in him balked at the idea of an owner walking away at the busiest part of the workday. Summer in Annapolis meant tourists and profits. She ran a small business. She’d have to be insane to leave her shop during peak hours.
Glenn nodded. “I agree.”
Bryce turned his pen end over end, tapping it against the desktop with each pass. “Then tell me why her shop is closed.”
“The police surrounded the place.”
His pen hung there, stopped in midair, when he heard the exact comment he dreaded. “Someone called the police?”
“Yes.”
The last thing he needed was outside interference. “Find out who and while you’re at it, find her.”
Glenn swallowed hard enough for his throat to bobble. “Right.”
“We find her, we find her idiot brother.”
“And then?”
Bryce knew the next step. He didn’t have the benefit of growing up in an expensive neighborhood lined with trees and home to rounds of nannies, which in this case would have been a detriment anyway. The Baltimore docks had taught him a thing or two about life.
“I’ll handle Sean Moore.”
Chapter Four
Fifteen minutes later, Pax created a false trail. He doubled back and looped around, using skills he learned long before reaching adulthood, when he’d been trying to hide from Davis after curfew and downing more beer than his dimwitted teen brain could handle. With the road behind him clear except for the usual summer traffic, Pax eased his death grip on the steering wheel and let his shoulders slump back into the seat.
He eyed up Joel and Kelsey in the backseat of the SUV. They sat on opposite sides of the vehicle, with Kelsey pressed tight against the door, her head resting on the glass.
Pax, usually comfortable with silence, felt the need to say something. “I’m hoping this next part of the plan goes better.”
Joel smiled but his attention never wavered from his scan outside the window. “We have a plan?”
“Not exactly what I wanted to hear,” she mumbled.
Pax eased his foot off the gas and tapped the brakes so he could make the steep turn into the driveway behind the Corcoran Team property. The bounce under the wheels had his leg shifting and his back teeth grinding together.
The ride through slim streets, historical and perfect for the charming look of the tourist town, made the trip bumpy. The constant lookout for following cars kept his focus off the road just long enough for him to hit every stupid pothole between Kelsey’s shop and the team headquarters.
She rested a hand against the window. “This looks like a house, not a workplace.”
Pax understood the confusion. On top of the emotional roller coaster, he drove her deeper into the heart of the historic section of Annapolis and straight up to a house sitting amid tall trees. It was a federal-style standalone and a bit imposing the way it soared three stories into the air, except for a small portion, about a third, of the top floor that functioned as an open porch area—which they never used because the site would leave them too exposed.
“Don’t worry,” Joel said. “It’s a home on the top and office on the bottom.”
Pax was done talking and ready to find a bottle of painkillers. “Let’s go.”
He slammed the car into Park the second he pulled into one of the open garage bays at the back of the office property. He had the door open and jumped down, hoping to walk off the big band thumping in his thigh.
The small white stones that paved the space between the separate garage and the redbrick building crunched under his shoes and further threw off his balance. Much more of this and he’d be back on crutches, and he vowed to burn those as soon as he found out where Lara had hidden them.
Lara Bart Weeks, his brand-new sister-in-law and the absolute best thing ever to happen to his big brother, Davis. He was two years older and even now off enjoying the end of his honeymoon while Pax handled the coffeehouse mess.
Not that this job was supposed to blow.
Pax had been ordered to desk duty until his leg healed. The only reason the boss let Pax handle the assignment was he threatened to shoot out the surveillance screens in the office if he had to sit there and do paperwork for one more minute. That led to a low-risk operation, a stakeout of the coffee shop. Just sitting and eating doughnuts.