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Bryn frowned. “What does she want from me?”
“My guess? She’s going to try to shut all this down. And you. ” He didn’t say it, but Bryn understood the subtext instantly—shut down was code for death. “McCallister had to make a situation report, and apparently Ms. Harte didn’t take it too well. So you get a personal inspection. We need you to be on your toes, Bryn. She’s got the power to destroy a lot more than just you. ”
“You mean McCallister. ”
Fideli nodded. “Patrick put his neck on the line when he brought you back, on my say-so,” he said. “And it’s still on the line, because he didn’t terminate your revival as soon as he knew you weren’t going to be an instant gusher of information. Harte likes results, fast, while McCallister prefers to invest time and get things right. It doesn’t make them buddies. ” He glanced at the red indicator on his device, which was flashing a fast warning. “Time to wrap up. Be ready for her, and don’t let her intimidate you. ”
Bryn nodded, and he tapped the top of the pyramid and shut off the surveillance jammer. It went back in his pocket, and he resumed talking about funeral arrangements for their new client as if they’d never stopped.
It set Bryn on edge. She was feeling a little odd anyway; maybe it was her imagination (and it probably was), but she felt jittery and warm, and she wanted nothing but to go home and sink into a hot bath with a glass o
f wine. Spend the evening curled up with Mr. French watching a shamelessly romantic movie. That kind of thing. She forced herself to cut down on the coffee, but that didn’t seem to help.
She thought they’d actually make it to the end of the day without the mysterious Ms. Harte making an appearance, but at ten to five, a whole entourage pulled into the parking lot—a sleek black limousine, flanked by two Pharmadene-issue black sedans. McCallister was driving one of those, and he was the one to open the limo’s back door and offer a hand to the woman getting out.
Even from the perspective of Bryn’s office window, Irene Harte seemed formidable—tall, attractive, with clothes that Bryn could never hope to afford (or pull off) and the body language of someone who went through life absolutely confident of her place in the universe. Which was almost certainly at the center.
Her bodyguards hustled to get ahead of her, open doors, check hallways. She didn’t slow down for them. McCallister trailed her, and Bryn had the impression he was doing the rearguard work. Either that, or he just didn’t care to be too close to Irene Harte.
Her phone rang, making her jump; it was Lucy, announcing—in a doubtful tone of voice—that Bryn had visitors. Bryn was actually pretty proud that her reply sounded calm and steady as she told Lucy to send them in.
She wished Joe Fideli were here, maybe just sitting quietly in the corner, but he was a no-show, probably for good and sensible reasons of self-interest. And I hope our mysterious supplier doesn’t freak out about this. He might, if he were watching; she couldn’t do anything about that.
The first man to open her door—without knocking— was the Fideli type: big, well muscled, with a shaved head. The difference came in the eyes; Fideli’s always seemed to hide a sense that he knew how ridiculous the world was and was secretly amused by it, but this man was deadly serious as he looked around the office, nodded to Bryn, and then stepped out of the way to assume some kind of guard position in the corner. A second guard, identical assessments, parade rest in the opposite corner.
And then Irene Harte strode in.
Bryn’s immediate first impression was that she was in the presence of someone whose face she ought to recognize—a high-powered politician, actress, royalty. Someone who was important. The smile Irene bestowed on her confirmed it—it was warm and professional, but somehow also definitely superior.
Bryn came around the desk as Ms. Harte held out her very well-manicured hand and said, “Miss Davis? Irene Harte, Pharmadene Pharmaceuticals. Very pleased to meet you. ”
The handshake that followed was brief and impersonal, and Bryn managed a polite smile and indicated the chair opposite her desk. Ms. Harte ignored the offer to sit, and instead stood there in her six-hundred-dollar pumps and studied Bryn with the impersonal intensity of an accountant reading a spreadsheet. “I understand that you’ve been briefed on the trouble we had with Mr. Fairview and his operations,” Harte said, “and that you are unable to provide us with the identity of the person from whom he was obtaining his … supplies. Is that correct?”
Behind her, Patrick McCallister quietly entered the room, closed the door, and took up a post with his back to it—at parade rest, like the other security men. But as Bryn met his eyes, he gave her a slight nod and what was almost a smile.
Bryn cleared her throat. “No, ma’am, that’s not correct. ”
“No?” Harte’s eyebrows climbed in astonished, perfectly shaped arcs. “Please enlighten me. ”
“I’m not unable to provide you with that information. I just don’t yet have all the facts. ”
“Excuse me?” Harte’s smile was gone now, and her strong, beautiful face had gone still and expressionless. “Either you know or you don’t, Miss Davis. ”
“I’m in a position to get that information for you. It will just take some time. I’m in contact with the supplier. ”
“Time is something that I don’t like to spend, not on something as volatile and sensitive as this. Pharmadene has a significant intellectual capital risk at stake, and I can’t afford to fund your fact-finding expedition. Nor can I afford to spend valuable supplies of Returné in hopes that you can one day provide some small return on my investment. ” Harte’s eyes were ice-cold, so cold that Bryn didn’t actually register them as being any particular kind of color. “I’m afraid that Mr. McCallister overstepped his authority in green-lighting this project. I’ll have to terminate the funding. ”
“Why don’t you say what you mean?” Bryn asked, feeling her fists clench at her sides. “You’re not terminating money. You’re terminating me. Personally. ”
“All right. You’re in a very unfortunate position, Miss Davis, there’s no doubt about that, but this is a business decision. Your life ended in a brutal and unnatural way, but Pharmadene is not a charity, and even if it were, extending your life support indefinitely is something even charities are reluctant to do when no hope exists for recovery. You won’t recover, you know. Ever. ”
There was, Bryn realized, no reaching her on any human level. Irene Harte had no emotional buttons to press; her control and the smooth, untroubled way she said these things made it clear that Bryn’s play was over.
So change the game, Bryn thought. “How much is your leak inside the company costing you?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re losing product. I’ll bet it’s costing you plenty, but that’s not the real problem, is it? If your competitors get their hands on it, they can do some reverse engineering and come out with a cheaper version, undermining your patent opportunities before you really get the drug out there. Right? That’s worth millions. Billions. Bill Gates money. ”
