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“How did you get on this floor?”
He pointed at the frosted-glass doors. “I have an appointment with Mr. Gillen.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Don’t you need to consult your computer? A datebook?”
“No.”
He didn’t want to lay it on thick, but she wasn’t budging, and time was of the essence. He glanced at the nameplate on her desk, then said, “Ashley, I wish everyone in this organization was as efficient as you. My name is Chase Weldon with the FIRST Group. Mr. Gillen has hired us to manage risk.”
It was a bit of an overstatement—he had only been hired to assess Avalon Park. Not a lieper se, just rounding up. “I have important information regarding the Echelon incident at Avalon Park as well as the explosion yesterday. Mr. Gillen needs to hear it. Immediately.”
It was a little like pulling rank in the army. Using position power over personal power. If you had to rely on it, you’d failed as a leader.
Ashley sat back in her chair, eyes wide. “That’s… a big deal.”
“It is.”
“Then you really should have made an appointment.”
He rearranged his facial expression from friendly to hardened, suspicious glare.
“Maybe you didn’t hear what I said. People are dead. More people might die.”
“Sir, Avalon Headquarters is Mr. Gillen’s castle. As his executive assistant, I’m his royal guard. I don’t know how you made it this far, but you’re going to have to leave.”
Chase was impressed. The young receptionist was the best security feature he’d encountered so far here—a dedicated employee who was paying attention. He’d tried both personal power and position power. Neither had worked. Only one thing left.
The meg.
“Fine,” he said. He feinted for the elevators, then sprinted for the frosted-glass doors. As tough as she was, the receptionist was moving from a seated, stationary position. He slipped through the doors, Ashley fast on his heels and yelling. Once inside her boss’s office, the receptionist stopped screaming, and Chase stopped short.
Miles Gillen was sprawled on the floor, unconscious.
CHAPTER 12
“CALL 911,” CHASE instructed Ashley, bounding for Miles Gillen’s body.
The CEO lay in the center of his vast office, in the expanse between his large desk and the frosted-glass doors. It was a spare, clean space, as streamlined and functional as Avalon’s smartphones. Chase’s eyes swept the office suite’s floor-to-ceiling windows, looking for bullet holes. In the second it took him to cross the distance to Gillen’s body, he saw neither blood nor evidence of an attacker.
Possible cardiac event or stroke, thought Chase, his brain shifting into medic mode. The CEO had a wiry muscularity with minimal body fat. Still, heart attacks happened to fit people, too.
Gillen opened one eye. “Savasana,” he said.
Does he recognize me?Chase thought.Is he remembering our conversation from the holiday ball or slurring his words?
“Savasana,” repeated Gillen. “Corpse pose. I take it you’re too busyprepping the battlefieldto practice much yoga.”
So he does remember. Chase had to keep sharp.
Gillen raised an open hand. Chase clasped it and pulled the CEO to his feet.
“I’m visiting the DC plant this afternoon and I was taking a moment to get centered. It’s going to be a long, sad day and I owe it to my people to be calm. No one wants to see a stressed CEO.” Gillen walked to his desk to retrieve a hand towel and patted his brow. “If you don’t mind my saying, you seem pretty stressed yourself, Mr. Weldon.”
“Do you know this man, Mr. Gillen?” asked the receptionist, who Chase just realized was gripping his elbow. Hard.
“It’s okay, Ashley. He did just try to save my life. He’s earned five minutes.”
