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“Ralph.” John stepped back with smooth grace as the other man laid his hand on Bailey’s hip. She almost felt her skin crawl.
“We could skip the dance.” She smiled tightly as he began to lead her around the room. “Why not get a drink and have a seat?”
He chuckled at the suggestion. “And miss a chance to rub against you as Vincent was doing? For shame, Bailey, knocking the rest of us off the playing field so easily isn’t exactly sportsmanlike.”
“I never claimed to be a sportsman, Ralph,” she drawled, well aware of the fact that John was watching the other man closely.
Tall, almost gangly, with rather long brown hair and fierce hazel eyes, Ralph Stanford could have been handsome if he didn’t work so hard at being the bastard he was. The corrupt soul of the man seemed to darken his expression, his eyes, even his smile.
“I would have thought you’d at least
be required to be impartial,” he stated with no small amount of malice. “Fucking one of the competitors just seems a bit like foul play to me.”
“I didn’t see a rule book with the job,” she murmured. “I’m well aware of all your reputations. I’ll make certain the best man gets the job.” She’d already made her choice as far as she was concerned. Warbucks was wasting his time with this little game.
“We were assured of impartiality,” he stated, a glimmer of anger showing in his eyes.
“And I’m being very impartial,” she promised. “If you don’t like how I do things, then perhaps you should take it up with your potential client. I only make the suggestion, I’m sure he’ll make the final choice.”
Personally she would have preferred to have been asked to take the position, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. The past year had been spent trying to convince Warbucks that she wanted her chance to get back at the government that had betrayed her. He was giving her the chance. Now, she had to play the hand she was dealt until the time came to cash in on her own vengeance.
Ralph’s thin lips nearly disappeared into his face as he pressed them together in irritation. “I’ll be certain to do that,” he informed her coldly. “Until then, Ms. Serborne, I’d watch my back if I were you. You could acquire several very dangerous enemies with this job.”
He walked away from her, leaving her in the middle of the dance floor as though he had cast her aside. Bailey let a rueful smile tip her lips at the curious glances from the other dancers.
“Were you deserted, darling?” John’s arm wrapped around her as he pulled her against the strength and heat of his body once again. “For shame. Some men just have no manners.”
Delight spread through her body at the feel of herself against him. She hadn’t realized just how good his body felt against her own. Even clothed in the finely cut evening suit, the hard muscle hidden from view, she could sense the strength and the heat of him.
“I considered it a favor,” she laughed lightly as he led her from the dance floor.
“I’m certain you did,” John agreed. “But while you were away, I received a very interesting message.”
He slipped the paper into her hand. Turning against his body to use it as a shield, she opened the folded note and read it quickly.
Ms. Serborne’s choice is noted. Not that it had been approved, simply that it had been noted.
Refolding it, she tucked it into her purse, noting the narrowing of his gaze as she did so.
“Well, it seems we are indeed being watched,” she murmured.
“Did you doubt it?” he asked her.
“I never doubt it, I simply hoped to figure out who it was rather quickly,” she sighed, though she knew she should have known better.
“Several other brokers are here as well as Stanford,” he noted. “Abbas and his former mistress are here.”
Former mistress, her ass. She knew exactly who Catalina Lamont truly was. The same redhead posing as John’s handler. A few cosmetic alterations to her face, a lighter rinse on her hair, and perhaps some padding at her breasts, but it was definitely the woman she had met as “Tehya” the morning before.
Catalina Lamont had been caught in the explosion with the real Jerric Abbas. They had literally died in each other’s arms. After the explosion, and the revelation that they had survived, the two had very publicly, and vocally, broken off the affair. They were now rumored to be mere business associates, nothing more.
It seemed Tehya was playing a variety of roles and ones she appeared to be well adept at playing.
“We also have a European arms broker in the mix, Terrance Dupuis,” she pointed out. “And a Saudi sheik who often brokers deals with the various terrorist groups. A Russian mafia figure arrived in Aspen earlier today as well.” She shot him a sidelong glance. “Ivan Olav. He’s gaining a name for himself with his negotiations on stolen Russian military weapons to terrorists.”
It all came down to terrorism. The various factions and cells in an age of terror and political and religious factions vying for supremacy however they could acquire it.
“We have quite a little mix,” John murmured. “And we’re about to add to it. Greer is coming up to us.”
