Dominion Trust Series - Vol.1 (98 page)

As he walked by, the tinted rear passenger window rolled down.

“Bad day to forget your coat. Better than snow, I suppose.”

Keihl stopped, turning toward the deep, somehow familiar voice.

“What’s that?”

A big hand beckoned him, the raindrops gleaming as they struck the cuff of the black suitcoat. “Get in — unless you like it out there in that crap.”

The door cracked open, the muffled tone of a chime sounding from inside the car. Thunder clapped again, louder this time, echoes rolling over the expanse of the parking lot.

What the hell do you think you’re doing?

Keihl looked back at the office building. He’d slipped out early, most everyone else still working. The blinds on the windows were mostly drawn though.

He dropped his laptop case on the seat, and climbed in, pulling the door shut behind him. Sitting across from him was not one, but two people — the man and his companion, a woman. His long black coat seemed to absorb what little light the tinted windows allowed in, his blue black hair neat, cut short, a streak of gray at each temple. The woman seemed to be all legs, dressed in white, a mini skirt and a tight, fitted vest accentuating her buxom figure. Decidedly
not
dressed for winter. Her auburn hair was coiled atop her head, revealing the long lines of a pale, vulnerable throat. Rings gleamed at her interlaced fingers, her legs crossed, hands clasped over one knee. She gazed out her window, not even acknowledging Keihl’s presence.

Behind them, through the darkened glass of rolled-up partition, Keihl could just make out the hulking outline of the driver.

“Are you Keihl Warren?”

“That’s me.” Keihl held out a hand.

The big hand shook it. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

Keihl shrugged, picking at the shirt plastered to his chest. “I’ve heard your voice before. You wouldn’t happen to be Stanton Broughton, would you?”

The man inclined his head. “I am.”

“I, uh, wasn’t expecting you, Stan. But it’s nice to finally meet you.” Keihl pointed to the office. “Be glad to take you inside, give you the tour if you’re up for it.”

What the hell was Stan doing here? Last time he’d talked to him, the man was supposed to be in London, for God’s sake. Said he’d be stuck there for months.

“How’s Coal Creek going?”

The woman glanced at Stan, her frank gaze alighting on Keihl for a moment, looking him over. Her eyes were the pale blue of a glacial crevasse. She turned her head toward her window again, her lips a glossy pink line.

“Is that why you came to see me? Come all the way from — London, right?”

“No.” The partition behind them lowered with a low hum. Stanton craned his head back, murmuring something to his driver that Keihl couldn’t make out, then turned back to Keihl, giving him a show of straight white teeth that fell short of the warmth of a smile. “Do you know Tom Forster?”

Oh. Shit.

“I do.”

Keihl glanced out the window toward the front entrance where Lewis the security guard sat behind clean, understated, yet very much bullet-proof, glass.

“That’s what I’m here to talk about.”

“I… didn’t realize you knew him.”

“I know everyone in our organization, Keihl.”

Stanton’s keen gaze slid over to his companion for a moment, his hand clasping her thigh. She gave away only a slight stiffening of her body.

“How do you know him?”

“Mr. Forster is in charge of… let’s say,
medical matters
, related to our organization.”

Keihl sat forward, elbows on his knees, looking Broughton in the eye. If Stan thought he was going to intimidate him, he needed to be disabused of that bullshit notion. And quick.

“And what is your organization, Stan? Do you work ven-cap? Or are you guys running dark pools? Hedge funds are so 2008, right?”

Stanton’s gaze grew cool, his square jaw tightening.

“Maybe it’s one of those dozen or so non-profit foundations? Which one is it, Stan?”

He knew this could cost him his job, but he needed to know. No time like the present. He had to press on this, because his instincts were telling him to get the fuck out. As in yesterday.

The soft laugh from Stan’s companion startled Keihl.

“There goes your whipped dog theory, Stan.” Her pink lips curved in a wry smile. “I’d say your lawyer rather resembles a tiger, don’t you?”

Broughton’s head turned slowly, as if on a swivel, a muscle clenching in his strong jaw.

“Quiet.”

She shrugged, raising a dismissive hand.

“My apologies.” She tugged at the skirt hem riding high on her pale thighs. “Sir.”

“What’s going on here, Stan?” Keihl sighed, glancing out the window. “I can’t be involved in a project like this, if we aren’t straight with one another.”

Stan’s glittering gaze settled back on Keihl. “What sort of project is that,
Mr.
Warren
?”

Keihl took a deep breath, meeting Stan’s gaze. “I can work…
complicated
.”

Lord knew, he’d been asked to look the other way before, but he’d still found a way to make things happen — and legally. He wasn’t about to change his ways. Not now that he had a lot more important things in his life. Like his wife — and his child.

Looking the other way wasn’t who he was. And never would be.

“Define complicated.”

Stan’s fingers twirled around the rim of a crystal glass that sat in the console between he and his companion.

“I’ll find you the most obscure law, I’ll make novel arguments — I’ll find loopholes. Christ knows, there’s plenty to be found.” Keihl inclined his head. “But I don’t do dirty. You go there, and I’m done. I won’t do it.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about, Mr. Warren.”

“You still haven’t said why you’re here.” He looked to the woman, extending his hand. “I’m Keihl, by the way. You are… ?”

“The silent partner,” she said, making a ‘lips zipped’ gesture, blue eyes full of mirth, her hand soft and smooth in his.

“I need something from you.” Stan cleared his throat, leaning back in his seat. “Let’s talk straight with one another.”

“I’m listening,
Mr. Broughton
.”

Stan’s lips quirked at that, but he went on, his voice quieter, the steel in it no less evident.

“There have been inquiries — and your profile has… raised.” He tilted his head, a finger tapping the rim of that glass. “Sometimes a high profile can lead to things. Positive things. Lucrative things.”

Keihl still didn’t have a handle on it. This was too neat for organized crime. He remembered the forensic accounting courses he’d taken. The Mob case studies. In every one of them, the Mob had a nice, seemingly solid veneer. But it was always thin,
very
thin. Dig down just a little, and that veneer cracked into a million tiny pieces. A complete mess.

This Trust was… something else.

He’d just read the latest e-mail from Ella, and it was equal parts fascinating and chilling. The deeper she dug, the more layers she found: more companies, foundations, groups. It was as if they just randomly populated as she dug deeper and deeper. He’d never seen anything like it. But there was one thing about it, the very thing that galled him the most, what woke him up at night because his brain wouldn’t turn off, wouldn’t stop turning it over.

He still knew
nothing
about the Dominion Trust. Not a thing. How was such a thing even possible in today’s world?

“Do you understand what I’m telling you, Keihl?”

“I think so.”

“Perhaps you don’t.” Stan straightened the cuffs of his coat. “Send your girl on another errand. She’s already so deep she’d drown, if her boss let her.”

The hair on the back of Keihl’s neck stood up.

“But he won’t. For two reasons.” Stan fixed Keihl with a gaze so cold it almost made him shiver. “One: because a
partner
is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? And two: there’s nothing left for her to find. Nothing that matters. We understand one another, don’t we?”

Keihl sat back in his seat, glancing from Stan to the woman and back again. She watched him intently, the bright interest there something a mouse, in the last moments of its life, might see in a cat’s eyes.

“Yep, I think we do.” Keihl grabbed his laptop case, his sodden shirt suddenly feeling icy. “I think I’d better go, Mr. Broughton.”

Stan grinned, extending a hand. “You’re a good man, Mr. Warren. I predict good things in your future.”

Keihl took the offered hand, wanting to be anywhere but there at that moment. He gave the woman a nod, her big blue eyes tracking his every movement. “We’ll see you again sometime?”

“That depends on Mr. Broughton, doesn’t it?”

She leaned forward, her eyes following as Keihl stepped out, looking up at him from the open door. “Oh, in that case then we’ll
definitely
be seeing you again.”

She nodded to Stan, who leaned forward, his arm extended through the open door, holding up a small card, glinting with gold filigree. “Take this. My thanks for your understanding. And your discretion.”

“What’s this?”

Keihl plucked it from Stan’s fingers, scanning it, but not reading it.

Stan sighed. “There’s an address on the back of that card. Present it at that address — at any time. And you’ll be granted admittance.”

Keihl flipped it over, the address not one he was familiar with. Another one for the Ella files.

“I don’t… admittance to what?”

But Stan didn’t reply, instead sitting back in his seat, addressing his driver again, his voice a muffled rumble.

The woman’s eyes glinted, a sly, toothy smile lighting up her face. “Just do it. You won’t regret it.”

Then she was gone, pulling the door closed behind her, the car already moving.

Keihl stood in the parking lot, watching the limousine drive away.

The rain had finally stopped.

Chapter Twenty Four

“H
ow is it we’ve never been here before?” Kirsten sipped water from her glass, the glistening condensation sparkling in the spring sunshine.

“I’ve wanted to get you out here for a while, but only on a day like this.” Joely slid her dark sunglasses down her graceful nose raising her eyebrows at Kirsten.

Something was very different — and very good — with her friend. The way she smiled more, a new sexy hairstyle, the sadness gone from her eyes.

Kirsten hadn’t seen Joely looking this good in months.

The restaurant they’d picked was in the northwest part of the city; trendy, and crowded, yes, but vibrant, and exciting too. And the food, a fusion of French and Northwest cuisine, was off the charts delicious.

They’d taken one of the tables clustered along the sidewalk, the uncharacteristically warm spring day, the press of people all around them, the light breeze carrying the incredible smell of freshly baked bread and savory garlic. It evoked the feel of an afternoon at a Parisian cafe. All that was missing were the horny, refreshingly forward French men.

And we’re already back to thinking about cock. Made it a whole five minutes, horn dog.

She hadn’t seen Jolie looking this good in months.

“So how’s the baby?” Joely asked, her grin as bright as the sunshine. “How far along are you now, anyway?”

“Almost twenty-four weeks.” Kirsten sighed, stroking her belly, the baby kicking as if on cue. “Can’t believe it. And this kid is already beating up on me!”

The first time she’d felt it, weeks ago, she’d been in a meeting, her boss droning up at the screen, another PowerPoint of high-octane boredom. The kid might be a future soccer star, because the kick the baby gave her that day had her almost jumping. She’d thought she’d been ready for it — she’d been feeling smaller movements for weeks, but
that
shot — well, that was something else entirely. She remembered sitting there, no doubt a goofy grin on her face, as she smoothed a hand over her belly, hoping to feel another foot or fist or elbow. The feel of that little person — inside her! It hadn’t come home quite like that — even more visceral than the 3D ultrasound she’d had at 5 months — until that moment. It was really happening!

“Just wait,” Joely said with a giggle. “Little Tiger’s gonna be waking you up at night soon. Might be a little less fun then.”

“You kidding? I’d love that! You should see me. I sit there like a stupid kid, watching every time baby starts up the gymnastics. Nothing like it.”

“There really isn’t, is there?” Joely sat back, taking off her glasses and gazing across the car-choked street. “God, it makes me want to have another. I always forget the bad parts afterward.”

“Thank God, right? The Earth would’ve never populated without our collective amnesia!”