The Final Secret. Cassie Miles
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“Maybe not.” Though she remained curious about his beef with Slocum, she let it go. “Will you inform the general about the flowers?”
“Yes, and I’ll also ask about Warrick.” He frowned. “I think Haymarket is expecting trouble. Why else would he ask for a metal scanner and extra security outside the house?”
She’d wondered the same thing. The sniper on the roof seemed way too excessive for a fancy political fund-raiser. “He didn’t explain to you?”
“He did not.”
“Typical,” she said. “He plays his cards close to the vest.”
“Sounds like you know him better than I do.”
Her friendship with General Haymarket developed during her first tour of duty in faraway Afghanistan after he’d discovered that she grew up in his home state of Colorado. They’d known some of the same people, skied at the same resorts and fished in the same creeks. After her injury, he’d been too protective, but she never doubted that he had her best interests at heart. When Noah told her about this assignment, she’d been looking forward to seeing her former commanding officer. Someday, she hoped they could mend fences.
Friendship with the general was a mostly good memory from her military service. Kenneth Warrick was the opposite. The only way she wanted to see him was through the crosshairs of a rifle scope. After she’d been discharged from the hospital—where he never once visited—she’d done her best to erase him from her mind. Through the grapevine, she’d heard that his legitimate business as a private contractor and weapons dealer had taken a nefarious turn, and he’d dropped off the grid.
“Warrick used his real name when he talked to the florist.” She looked up at Noah. “I had the impression that he didn’t want to advertise his whereabouts.”
“Could be trying to tell us something,” Noah said. “Is he aware of your knowledge of plants and flowers?”
“I’m sure he is. One time, he gave me a bouquet of irises as a symbol for intelligence and courage. Quite a compliment.” At that point in their relationship, she would have preferred brilliant red roses meaning passionate love, but there were worse things than being smart and brave. “Why do you ask?”
“The poisonous flowers are a warning that most people wouldn’t understand. But he knew you would. He might have used his name to attract your attention.”
She shuddered at the idea of Warrick sending her a message. “If he wanted to contact me, I’m not hard to find. He could pick up the phone and call. Or drop by the house.”
“Does he have your address?”
“It’s not hard to figure out.” She lived in her parents’ house in north Denver. They’d made a permanent move to Phoenix and were glad to have her taking care of the place. “We’re getting off track. Our main concern is security for this event.”
Wryly, he said, “I’m the boss. That’s supposed to be my line.”
“It shows we’re on the same page.” And she was proud of herself for not straying off track. When Noah flashed one of his infrequent grins and hiked up his right eyebrow in a question mark, he could be incredibly distracting. She squashed a crazy urge to trace the line of his lips with the nearly black rose. Instead, she tucked the flower behind her ear.
To her surprise, he reached up and brushed his fingers through her hair. “You make me think of Carmen. It’s pretty.”
“But not practical.” She wanted to look like a security guard not an opera singer or tango dancer. She removed the flower and slipped it into the pocket of his gray sports jacket.
“Here’s a thought,” Noah said. “The threat might be aimed at Mitch Murano.”
Apart from a general outline of Murano’s accomplishments, her only information came from one of the other ARC employees. Gennie looked across the dining hall toward the redhead with the great physique. “Zoey Potter took a three-week course with Murano. She said he turned her life around.”
Noah checked his G-SHOCK wristwatch. “The guests will be here soon. In light of Warrick’s involvement, I’d understand if you wanted to take the rest of the day off.”
“Not a chance.”
“Very well,” he said. “Talk to Zoey and see if there’s a link between Murano and Warrick.”
She stifled the instinct to salute. “Thanks for trusting me.”
His grin blossomed again. “Trust goes both ways.”
“Yes, it does.”
She watched him walk away. Though he hadn’t set out to be disarming, he couldn’t help the charm that radiated from him. In a few short minutes, she’d gone from anxious and irritated to nearly trusting the man. She wanted to believe that Noah was one of the good guys. He’d taken a chance by hiring her, and she didn’t intend to let him down no matter what kind of trouble Warrick was brewing.
NOAH STRODE ACROSS the polished floor in the impressive entryway to General Haymarket’s mansion. A crystal chandelier shimmered overhead, the side tables were polished antiques from an era he couldn’t name, but he knew the sculptures resting upon them were original Remington cowboys. Noah thought of the foyer as an example of the general’s rugged outlook mixed with Ruby’s taste for sparkle. Haymarket was the sort of man who braved the wilderness to pan for gold, and she was the lady who made his nuggets into a necklace. Despite their age difference—he was in his sixties and she in her forties—they seemed happy. In a weird way, they complemented each other.
Noah paused to issue a quick instruction to Tony Vega, telling him to hold off on the metal detector. Then he ascended the curving staircase, taking two steps at a time, hoping that a talk with the general would clear up his questions about Warrick.
Outside the general’s bedroom, he came to a halt with his fist raised to knock. From inside, he heard an argument. General Haymarket’s voice was gruff and monosyllabic. The woman sounded like a soprano singing an aria. It had to be Ruby. She’d already made it clear that she didn’t like this fund-raiser, and now she was telling him that she had no intention of making an appearance.
Noah’s unfortunate marriage had ended in divorce five years ago, and he had plenty of experience with domestic tirades—enough that he knew better than to interrupt. Stepping back, he leaned against the wall in the wide hallway and put through another call to Anna Rose. Her face popped up on the screen of his cell phone.
With her index finger, she pushed her polka-dot glasses up on her nose and said, “There’s a suspicious person working as a security agent for Mitch Murano.”
“Why suspicious?”
“A series of cyber indicators lead me to believe that he’s using a fake identity.”
As she rattled off an impressive number of clues that led to her conclusion, he tried not to eavesdrop on the general and Ruby. The word liar was being bandied about, also cheating, scum-sucking creep. On both sides, it was harsh.
He stepped away from the door. “Anna Rose, I think you’re onto something.”
“Thank you, dear. There are times when this old computer broad hits the mark. Call me Super Cyber Anna Banana.”
“Another comic book character?”
“Actually, it’s what my grandson Flip calls me. Anna Banana is sparkly and does shape-shifting, usually turning into fruit.”
“In the meantime...”
“I ran facial recognition on this guy and came up with a match.”
“Kenneth Warrick?”
“Bingo!”