Cade snorted. “I’ll bear that in mind,” he said.
Chapter Ten
THERE WERE Adozen angry messages and missed calls on Cade’s phone from clients and stockholders in Cold Winds. The sad truth about owning your own company—that no one had told young Cade, who hated to be told what to do—was that once it was big enough to be worthwhile, you were back to answeringtopeople. Mental health days were for people who didn’t have ranch land to pay off.
Back in his office, Cade stood in front of the long window, sun warm as it seeped through the glass, and watched the gulls hang lazily in the afternoon sky over the marina. In the background, one of the Reserve’s board rattled angrily about oversight and communication on speakerphone.
“…and what do you have to say for yourself?”
It wouldn’t be anything good if he spoke his mind.
Cade finished the Bovril in the cup he’d nursed through two calls so far. It had gotten cold, the meaty taste gone malty on his tongue. He wiped his thumb over his lower lip and turned back to the computer to hit the unmute button.
“That under the circumstances, and in respect for the dead girl, I won’t expect the Reserve to pay the full penalty for Macroy’s breach of contract.”
Acton—transport millionaire, Treasurer of the Board, and generally irritating man—choked on the other end of the call. “What? Macroyassuredme that Cold Winds had given him express permission to have a keycard for his office, rather than a named guest.”
Cade grimaced to loosen his lips from the irritated snarl that pulled at them. Every time he thought he was done fixing Justin’s messes, he found some more his ex-partner had squirreled away.
“He was. We did,” Cade said, no sign of his annoyance in his smooth, calm voice. “The contractual expectation remained to keep those cards in his, or his proxies’, physical possession. He didn’t, and as a result, it appears that his employee used his access to commit unlawful acts on the premises. Which, as you know, would allow us to apply the penalty clause… if it didn’t seem in poor taste. I wouldn’t want Cold Winds to look like it was profiting from this young woman’s death. Not once everything comes to light.”
Silence. Cade tilted his head. No background noise. It was his turn to be muted while Acton swore at him, he assumed. He took the second to flip through the mail on his desk—one for Justin. On a better day, he’d give it to his secretary to forward it. Today he tossed it into the bin. It had been months. There was no reason for Justin’s stuff to still be sent to him.
“We appreciate your restraint,” Acton said, his voice ripe with sarcasm. “But nulls who are where they don’t belong get eaten. It’s unfortunate, but it happens.”
“A wolf didn’t kill her,” Cade said. “Not directly, at least.”
This time the silence was just frustration, broken with a heavy sigh. “And you’re managing the situation?”
“I’m giving it my all,” Cade said. “I have an in with one of the detectives on the case, and he’s keeping me on top… of things.”
At least, Cade smirked to himself despite the annoyance of the last few hours, that was one way to describe it. He absently reached up to finger the bruises on his neck, still raised and hot under his fingers. They would be gone by tomorrow, but for now, the tender spots conjured the memory of Marlow’s mouth on him, and his hands… elsewhere.
“We’ll see how this plays out,” Acton agreed finally. “We’ll speak about it again once the case is closed, and I’ve spoken to Macroy to see how he wants to go forward.”
“Let me know.”
Cade hung up. Sometimes he wondered if this job was worth it. It probably wasn’t, but the benefits were. He liked money. He liked security. That was why he was good at this job. He knew what the very rich people who hired them wanted: to feel that they’d be safe even if they didn’t pay for it. They wouldn’t be, of course, but the illusion was important.
He glanced at the clock to check the time. Habit. It was hours until he was likely to change, late enough to break open the whiskey and early enough to enjoy the buzz before it was burned off. His next appointment wouldn’t care.
In fact, he’d expect his own tumbler.
Cade set a neat whiskey out on the coffee table and poured one for himself. Two sips in, and his secretary tapped on the door and showed in Benjamin Cooper, the ex-chief operating officer of Bear Arms Security. He’d lost his job recently—after the higher-ups had recruited Justin into the role.
He didn’t need a job. Unlike Cold Winds, which was strictly civilian, Bear Arms Protection was a subdivision of the Institute, a private military company that had branches in every global hot spot and war zone in the world. There were plenty of positions to transfer Cooper into.
Of course, that didn’t mean Cooper’s position wouldn’t be strengthened if the Institute thought he might entertain other offers. And job security or not, he probably enjoyed the idea he could make some people sweat.
“Deacon,” Cooper said. “I see the shit’s hit the fan at the Reserve?”
One of those people being Cade, since he had stolen the lucrative contract for the Reserve security from under Cooper.
Cade pulled a cold smile from somewhere to acknowledge the jab and waved his hand at the whiskey.
“Help yourself,” he said.
Cooper snorted and took the seat. He was a big man, solid through the chest and gut despite being closer to fifty than not. His hair had faded from fiery red to a dull gilt shot through with blond streaks, and he had a few wrinkles around his eyes. He looked more comfortable in jeans and a sweater than the suit he’d worn the last time they’d spoken.
