The Final Secret. Cassie Miles
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“The threats were neutralized.”
Noah didn’t like the sound of that. Slocum was talking like an evil James Bond villain. “Neutralized how?”
“His people took care of it. Talk to them.”
The entourage for Mitch Murano included bodyguards and advisors. “How many of them are there?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Slocum tore the sheet of paper off his clipboard. “This note instructs you to take down the metal detectors. I signed it, dated it and will take responsibility.”
“I intend to inform the general of the change in contract.”
“You do that.” He pivoted and made a quick exit.
Gladly, Noah returned to Gennie. He didn’t understand her problem with the flowers, but when she had mentioned hemlock, it caught his attention.
She ended her phone call and frowned at him. “You didn’t tell me everything about this assignment.”
His patience was running thin after the snippy conversation with Slocum, and he didn’t like her insinuation that he was somehow trying to trick her. “You know everything you need to know.”
“I wasn’t aware that information was on a need-to-know basis.”
He was not going to get into an argument. The guests would be arriving soon. “Tell me what you learned from the florist.”
“The flowers used in these arrangements include yellow oleander, pink rhododendron, white azaleas, sprigs of hemlock and roses that are such a dark red that they appear to be black. Does that suggest anything to you?”
Though he could see that she was fighting to keep her anger under control, her flushed cheeks and clenched jaw betrayed the hostility raging just below the surface. And he was feeling much the same. “I don’t get it.”
“Even if you don’t know anything about the language of flowers—which clearly you do not—I’d expect you to recognize common poisons. If you had to survive in nature, what would you eat?”
“I could do without the sarcasm.”
“All these plants are toxic, except for the roses, and black roses symbolize death.”
His gaze darted around the room, noticing the large display at the podium and six smaller versions on surrounding tables. “How dangerous are they?”
“There’s no problem unless the guests start eating the flowers or rubbing them on their bodies. I’m surprised that the florist agreed to handle these plants.”
She crossed the marble floor to one of the tables with a tall spreading display of flowers, and he followed. “They don’t look dangerous.”
“Anyone who knows about plants will recognize the threat. They’re a warning. And that’s why I talked to the florist about why they used these flowers. They said they were fulfilling a request, and here’s where this story gets interesting.”
“How so?”
She plucked one of the dark velvety roses from the display. “Guess who made the request for all these poisonous flowers?”
He didn’t have time to play games. “Tell me.”
“The name the florist gave me was... Kenneth Warrick.”
Gennie was good at reading people, not that it took any particular sensitivity to deduce that Noah was furious. His brow furrowed like a grumpy—but still handsome—troll, and she could almost see steam shooting out of his ears, which was pretty much the reaction she’d expected. If there was one thing she’d learned about her boss during the past four days, it was that he hated when any situation got out of his control.
Though equally outraged, Gennie tamped down her anger. She twirled the dark rose between her fingers. “Did Warrick send these flowers as a warning? Or as a threat?”
“Hell if I know.”
His dark brown eyes returned her gaze with an intensity that made her feel like he was peering inside her skull. Looking for what? She had no hidden agenda. Her attitude toward Warrick was unambiguous hatred. As far as she was concerned, Noah was the wild card. He had mentioned Warrick at their first meeting, but he didn’t give context. Were they connected? Was Warrick a friend or an enemy? A muscle in Noah’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing. If that was the way he wanted to play it, fine.
She squared off with him and went silent.
They were both stubborn enough to continue this stare down for a very long time. She took the opportunity to study his face, which was definitely masculine in spite of the dimples that tweaked the corners of his mouth when he grinned. He was saved from being too classically handsome by his square jaw, sharp cheekbones and the tension that deepened the wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. She wondered what he’d look like with longer hair and maybe a beard.
Speculation on Noah’s grooming was none of her business. Whether he shaved or not, she didn’t give a hoot. Gennie had never been the type of giggly girl who got all jacked up over a good-looking male. She needed to figure out why Warrick requested those flowers. Warning or threat, which was it?
She cleared her throat. “Is Kenneth Warrick coming to this event?”
“He’s not on the guest list.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I have no reason to expect he’ll be here.”
“In our first interview, you mentioned Warrick. Is he an associate of yours?”
“Hell, no.”
Could she trust Noah? If she was going to work with him, she had to know that he had her back. “How did you meet Warrick?”
“We’ve never come face-to-face.”
She could tell that he was rationing his words but had no idea why. They were on the same team, weren’t they? Motioning for him to walk beside her, she strolled across the marble floor of the ballroom toward the kitchen where the caterers and the waitstaff bustled. Some carried trays of canapés. Others made final preparations by slicing, dicing and arranging. Two hours ago when she’d arrived at this massive three-story red brick Colonial house with six pillars across the front, she’d been excited about her assignment and anxious to do a good job—similar to how she used to feel with her team of army engineers. In Afghanistan, she’d been aware of the ever-present danger, but she hadn’t been fearful. And she wasn’t scared now, just apprehensive. She’d peeked under a stone and uncovered a scorpion.
She stopped a caterer in a chef’s jacket and asked him to clip the stem on her rose. Using his knife, he did so and handed the bloom back to her with a flourish. She rewarded him with a smile, passed on a bit of advice about steering clear of the poisonous flowers in the arrangements and then turned back to Noah. “I know Warrick is acquainted with the general.”
“He’s on a list of people to watch for. That’s why I mentioned him to you. By the way, Slocum hates him.”
She scanned the room until she spotted the overly tidy blond captain with his clipboard. “He hates everybody.”
“You have issues with Slocum?”
“Maybe.” She glimpsed a slight reaction from Noah, a narrowing of his eyes and a twitch of his mouth. “Do you have your own grudge against Slocum?”
“First, you tell me.”
While she’d been recovering from her injuries, Haymarket had offered her a job as his aide, taking over many of Slocum’s