Taking Flight (A Devereux Novel) (4 page)

“Why hello there,” Derek said. “I don’t believe
we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before, have we?”

He held his hand out to the
blonde, who wore a surprised look that softened into a brilliant smile.

Her hand was warm and soft
in his own
. Firm, but inviting.

“I’m Sara, it’s nice to meet
you. Up close, anyway.”

He smiled, “It took some
effort to track you down, I thought I would have to keep settling for looks
traded across the room all night. I’m Derek.”

Sara’s face grew pensive.
“Derek…? Do you have a last name, Derek?”

He didn’t know if she was
being serious or not, but either way he was surprised. Most women were more
than happy to pretend like they were old friends and knew each other
intimately. “Devereux.”

“Derek Devereux.” He loved
the way the name sounded from her silken lips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.
Are you friends with someone here?”

Does she really not know me?
He hadn’t thought fame had gone to his
head—maybe it had been getting a little too swollen.
Two can play at this game.

“You could say that,” he said.
“I like to show up to these things now and then. It’s fun to see the
self-important people squawk to each other about why they deserve to be more
famous than the other.”

The surprised chuckle he
earned from her was music to his ears. “Do you not like famous people, then?”

“Oh, they can be just fine.
Just not at events like this where they are on display, like exotic animals for
the masses to poke and prod and watch. It messes with your head. Or so I’ve
observed.”

She put her hand on his arm
for a moment—a spark of heat traveled up his arm in a delightful crawl of
electricity. He’d never felt anything like it. “It sounds like you shouldn’t
even be here. Maybe a coffee shop is more your speed?”

He smiled. “Is that a
suggestion?”

A pretty blush
colored
Sara’s cheeks. “Oh, I don’t know, I like it here.
So many pretty people, delicious food, free drinks—what’s not to like?”

There was a flood of
organized movement out of the corner of Derek’s vision. Rex, surrounded by
people, marched toward them.

“Ugh. You had to say it.”
Derek readied himself for the confrontation. A scene like this played itself
out almost every year, and it wasn’t something Derek had intended to let happen
this time. It didn’t look like he would be given much choice.

“Hey, Derek!” Rex shouted as
he got within range. “You ran away before I could finish earlier!”

The surrounding space grew
quieter and deserted as guests noticed the impending confrontation and cleared
room. Soon most of the eyes in the building were trained on the two of them,
and the DJ even turned down the music so everyone would be able to hear better.
It was like being inside a scripted play.

Derek looked at Sara,
sighed, and turned to face Rex. “What is it, Rex? Do you really want to go
through this whole song and dance again?”

The other pilot stopped just
out of arm’s reach.

“What song and dance? I’m
just here to tell you to stop saying things behind my back, making grand claims
about how things will go this season. If you think you can beat me this year,
then say it to my face.”

Seriously?

“Rex. Do I look like I need
to go around boasting about my abilities?” Derek spread his arms to either
side. “That’s the mark of an incompetent coward. Anyone secure enough in their
abilities doesn’t need to go spouting off at the mouth about their skills.”

There were a few guffaws and
“oohs” from the crowd, but they quieted so everyone could hear Rex’s response.

The other man beat his fists
against his chest. “You’re calling me a coward? Me? Do you even know who you’re
dealing with?”

Eyes swung back toward
Derek. “I know exactly who I’m dealing with. I’ve beaten you more times than
not over the past year, remember? You talk a huge game, and I can’t help
wondering if you were starved of attention as a child.”

It wasn’t a jab Derek liked
using, since it hit uncomfortably close to home for himself, but he knew
exactly how effective it could be.

Rex stepped close, invading
Derek’s personal space. “How dare you, you asshole.” His nostrils
flared
as he got even more visibly angered. The stench of
alcohol on his breath was overpowering. “You want to go?”

The audience was breathless,
caught in the drama Derek had hoped to avoid.

“Step away, Rex.” Derek kept
his voice calm, easy. It goaded Rex even harder that his adversary was
seemingly unaffected by his antics.

He got even closer, the two
men’s face mere inches apart. “Why don’t you make me?”

Something snapped inside of
Derek. He’d had enough of this bullshit.

He shoved Rex hard in the
chest. The other man was shorter but also more solidly built, and while he
stumbled backward a few feet, it wasn’t as effective as Derek planned.

The two men came together
with blinding speed. Rex had superior strength, but Derek had a background in
self-defense
and used it to his advantage, trying not to
strike and injure Rex but merely subdue him. It quickly became a moot point as
event security rushed in to separate the two men moments after they began.

As Derek stood there,
staring at the other man, his blood boiled and the crowd cheered and shouted. A
small part of him even noted that the DJ had put on fast-paced music as a
soundtrack to the fight.
What the hell?
He grew suspicious. It was as though he were taking part in an orchestrated
event, designed to titillate and entertain. He caught sight of Frederick at the
side of the podium, watching with narrowed eyes and a slight smile.

“You’re a pussy!” Rex
shouted. “If you’re so sure of yourself, why not put your money where your
mouth is? Fifty million dollars says I’ll beat you in the first race of the
season, Devereux.”

The guests muttered amongst
themselves. Even for this crowd, fifty million dollars was no chump change.
Even Derek, with a wallet as fat as his, would feel the effect of that much
money disappearing. Not much of one, but it was a tangible amount.

Derek’s mind, sharp and
calculating, worked the numbers. Weighed the odds against the satisfaction of
taking that money from the insufferable prick staring him down.

“You’re on, asshole.”

Derek turned on his heel and
swept through the press of people, a corridor through the bodies opening as
though the Red Sea parting for Moses. The flash of cameras and grumbling of
spectators was like a constant thunderstorm.

The fresh air outside the
venue was calming. Derek’s rage cooled from its frenzied peak.

“Wow, that was intense.”

He swung around, nearly
knocking over the intriguing blonde. He hadn’t noticed her follow him out.

“You must really hate him,
to let him draw you into an argument like that.”

“I…” Derek trailed off as he
thought about it. Then he laughed. “To be honest, I’m not sure why I let him
rile me up like that. He’s nothing, insignificant. This night went the opposite
way I intended. I just thought about how much I would enjoy separating him from
his money and giving it to a charity that needs it. The look on his face will
be priceless.”

Sara chuckled. “Well, I’m
sure this will thrill the tabloids, anyway. They’ll plaster this across the
supermarkets in the morning.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And
why would they do that? You’d never even heard of me before, now you’re certain
the paparazzi will be all over what just happened in there?”

She shrugged, a twinkle in
her eye. “Busted. I’ve obviously heard of Derek Devereux, the dapper man of
mystery who appeared on the scene out of nowhere with a pocket full of cash and
proclivity for dangerous activities. I have to say though, I’m not entirely
convinced that’s the real you.”

A low sports car pulled up
and a red-vested valet jumped out. “Mr. Devereux? Your vehicle is ready, sir.”

Derek looked at her and hesitated.
“I would love to talk longer, Sara, but I have to go.”

Her face fell a little, but
she nodded. “I understand
,
I’m sure we will see each
other again.”

“I don’t want to leave that
up to chance. What are you doing Friday night?”

“I’m free.”

“I’m having a get-together
at my place. How would you like to come? We can have more time and space to
talk, away from all this.” He gestured toward the building where the loud music
and busy throngs of people spilled across the lawn.

Sara beamed. He loved the sight.
“I would like that, Derek. Why don’t you give me your phone and I’ll put my
information in?”

The exchange made, she
stepped closer as though to give him a hug, but then paused. “I guess we don’t
know each other well enough for a hug, do we?”

Derek smiled and pulled her
to him, her head tucking under his chin. The light floral scent of her hair was
just enough to be noticed this close up, but no further. He didn’t let his
hands stray from her back even though he longed to. Her own hands settled full on
his broad shoulders, pulling him into her. After slightly too long, he let her
go.

“I’ll see you Friday night,”
he said, his voice deeper and rougher than it had been a moment before.

“You better count on it.”

Sara checked her hair in her makeup mirror one last
time. The taxi ride to Derek’s place might as well have been a tour of
Hollywood mansions, the houses growing larger and larger. They had reached the
point of incredulity some time ago, palatial estates that must need their own
full teams of gardeners to keep watered, trimmed and taken care of.

“Well, I guess one thing I
know about him is that he must employ at least a dozen people to keep his house
in shape,” Sara muttered.

The taxi rolled up to the
gate outside of an impressive mansion. It was less over the top than Sara
expected—it was huge and high quality, but lacked the opulence she’d
expected. There wasn’t too much about it that screamed
waste of money
, except for being way more space than one man should
need.

She paid the cabbie and
walked up to the gate. Derek had messaged her the details for the party,
including the gate code. It was surprising he was so trusting of someone he
just met; for all he knew, she could have sold the code to a thief or even the
paparazzi.

He’d been sparse on the
details, and she didn’t know what to expect. He’d said a get-together, but that
could mean anything from a couple people to a few hundred. You never knew in
this city.

There were only a few cars
in the driveway. All of them were expensive, but most weren’t outrageous.
Cadillacs
, BMWs.
An Aston Martin.
No way to tell if the cars belonged to the guests, or if they were all Derek’s.
Again, you never knew in this town. Phenomenal wealth made it tough to judge
things by ordinary standards.

The walk to the front door
had been tastefully landscaped with rock gardens and small, hardy plants with
tiny blooms—a sharp contrast to the emerald lawns of most of the homes
she’d passed on the way, and much less water-intensive. The sweetly perfumed
air reminded Sara of her own balcony garden back in Chicago.
Oh, wait, who will take care of the plants
while Beck and I are here?
They’d left so suddenly it hadn’t even occurred
to her.
So much for
those.
I’ll have to try to
salvage them when I get back.

She didn’t have to wait long
at the door until Derek opened it. He was dressed down from the full tuxedo he
wore to the gala the other night, but still looked more dapper than the typical
man at home, with a buttoned shirt and slacks that fit his body a little
too
well. It wasn’t even fair, and Sara
struggled to draw her eyes back up to an appropriate height.

“Sara!” He leaned in to give
her a hug. “I’m glad you could make it. Please come in.”

His arms wrapped around her
felt incomparable. She had experienced nothing like it in over two years.
Ever since Michael…
She squashed that
train of thought like she’d trained herself. When she crossed the threshold,
she held out the token bottle of wine she’d brought. “This is for you,” she
said. “Thank you for hosting me. I’m excited to see your place!”

She’d decided that given how
the gala night went, it made the most sense to pretend to be romantically
interested in Derek. He’d expect it, and she might get him to drop his guard.
The primary danger was if he lost interest in her, then her ability to discover
any more information from him grew limited. The other potential trip-up was she
had been out of the dating game for so long she might screw things up.

Or fall for him.

“Thank you,” he said. “Let
me show you in and introduce you to everyone else. I’m sure you’ll love
them,
I find them to be the most interesting group of people
around Hollywood. True artists who haven’t let the atmosphere of the city get
to their head and turn them into caricatures of themselves.”

His manner of speech
fascinated her. She would expect it in someone brought up in money, taught by
strict housekeepers and nannies.
You’d
think if he had been raised like that, there would be record of it somewhere?
If there was, she hadn’t been able to find it.

They progressed through
bright and airy hallways to an enormous living room in the back of the house.
It must have taken up at least half the space of a regular house and reached to
the roof three stories above. Balconies from the upper two floors opened onto
the room and the magnificent view out the back. It was a spectacular room, and
one Sara could see herself spending all her time in. There was even a perfect
desk off to the side where she could conduct research and a couple seating
areas with comfortable couches that looked perfect for curling up and reading a
book.

“Wow,” she said. “This is
incredible, Derek!”

“I know.” He nodded, looking
around with pride. “The house is way too big for me. I don’t even have anything
in half the rooms upstairs. But it’s good for when I want to entertain a lot of
guests, and when I saw this room overlooking the grounds and that view, I
couldn’t say no.”

She took back the judgment
she’d made when she arrived. If she had the money to afford this place, she
wasn’t sure she would have been able to pass it up, either.

There were a few groups of
people scattered throughout the room here and there; a handful played a game at
a wide table, and two other groups talked over drinks.

“Everyone!” Derek announced.
“This is Sara, and this is her first time here, so please be sure to introduce
yourselves and be nice to her!”

A veritable chorus of hellos
came back, and Sara felt her cheeks warm a little as she gave an awkward wave
to the room and the dozen pairs of eyes looking in their direction. The faces
looked friendly and interested on the whole, and Sara relaxed a little. She
even recognized a few of the faces as famous musicians and actresses, and she
was a little shocked at the mix of people there. Derek, it seemed, kept a
diverse set of friends.

“Come,” he said, with a hand
light on the small of her back. It was an innocuous touch, or at least it
seemed like it, but a shiver ran through her body. “Let’s check who’s winning
the game.”

It wasn’t anything she had
seen before; there was a board made of hexagonal pieces arranged in a specific
pattern, and many carved wooden bits placed in a strategic manner. Five
participants sat in tense silence, each holding a hand of cards with more wooden
pieces in
colored
piles on the table in front of
them.

“What is it?” Sara
whispered, not wanted to ruin anyone’s concentration. “I’ve never seen anything
like it before.”

“Jeff there,” Derek pointed
at a man at the table, “calls it
Roego
. He invented
it—you should play it sometime. It’s difficult to grasp, but as fun as
you could imagine once you know what’s going on.”

Jeff had long, scraggly
brown hair and a beard to match. A plaid shirt completed the lumberjack look,
incongruously paired with thick-rimmed black glasses. His look screamed
“artist” to Sara.

They looked on as each of
the players took it in turns to place pieces or play cards in a sequence Sara
couldn’t follow. It looked intense.

She looked back up at Derek.
His eyes were intent on the game, brow furrowed a little. He noticed her
looking and winked.

“Where’s the bathroom?”

He pointed down a hallway
off the enormous living room and she left to go seek it. Luckily for her, the
hallway took an immediate turn, so the bathroom door wasn’t visible from the
living room. She found it easily enough, but hesitated. This was the perfect
chance to see what else she could discover in this mammoth house.

She opened the next door
along the hallway to reveal a big library. It called to her heart, the impressive
wood and leather decor suitable for the shelves of books. There was even a
rolling ladder to enable access to the tallest shelves, something she had
always wanted in the personal dream library that lived in her mind—one
she intended to make a reality someday. Sara wandered down the shelves, letting
her finger tap the backs of the books as she walked on by.

Many of the classics lived
there, most of them bound in leather.

I wonder if he bought and stocked all these himself, or if they came
with the house.
It was tough to imagine someone
either owning and
transporting all of these books when they moved, or else buying that many when
taking ownership of the house, but she supposed it was possible. It didn’t seem
as though Derek would be above reading, and there was no hint of dust anywhere
to be found.
Although
that is likely the work of the maid.

To one side of the room
stood a desk and a reading chair. There were a few papers and books strewn
across the desk, and Sara moved to see what the mysterious man was currently
reading. To her surprise, it was a book by Neil
deGrasse
Tyson, the astrophysicist.
Wow. Not the
type of thing I would have expected a wealthy socialite to read.

The book sat on top of a few
papers. The wording on one caught her eye.

Dear Mr. Devereux,

As requested, the Onyx
Company would like to enclose the following quarterly results to you as one of
the primary shareholders. Please let us know if you have questions. A more
detailed breakout is available in the appendices attached.

Sara’s eyebrows nearly
entered her hairline as she read the paper.
Four
billion dollars profit in the most recent quarter?

Here was what she had
searched for.
A clue, a direction to look.
She felt
elated. There was only one problem.

I’ve never heard of the Onyx Company before.

She read through the paper
again, but there was no sign where the money came from. It only referenced
appendices that were conspicuously absent. She flipped through the rest of the
papers underneath
the
deGrasse
Tyson book, but everything else looked like regular correspondence—bills,
letters, invitations to events. She tried the drawers in the desk, but they
were locked.

I haven’t had to pick a lock in a long time.
Being prepared paid off once
again as she slipped a few tools out of her pocket. By the time she knelt down
in front of the desk to examine the lock, she heard footsteps in the hallway.

Crap!