Читать книгу Keeping Her Close - Carol Ross - Страница 12

PROLOGUE

“SAVE THE SALMON! Don’t dam our dams! Don’t dam our salmon! Dam the salmon! Dam you, Bellaire!”

Clearly, the dam was a hot-button issue, Kyle Frasier thought with not a small dose of amusement. He found the chants funny partly because it was so difficult to distinguish the protesters from the supporters and partly because he knew the man they were shouting at, Dr. David Bellaire. He also knew that Dr. Bellaire tolerated the attention because it was good for business and the environment, the two things, after his daughter, Harper, that he was most passionate about. The fact that he’d successfully merged the two seemingly incompatible aspects into one highly profitable business was considered genius to some and unforgivable to others.

There’d been a group of reporters already milling around the Bellaire Building when Kyle had arrived an hour ago and headed upstairs to Dahlia International for his interview. On the way inside, he’d dodged people holding signs bearing similar slogans to the ones they were shouting. Through the tall windows fronting the lobby, he could see that the crowd had swelled exponentially since then, and now that the controversial scientist and billionaire businessman himself had entered the building a frenzied tension electrified the air.

Dr. Bellaire was the owner and CEO of Bellaire Environmental Solutions & Technology, or BEST, as it was more commonly called. Bellaire owned the entire Seattle skyscraper with the company’s headquarters comprising the top seven floors right above Dahlia International. The doctor’s recent provocative statements about hydroelectricity and the health of native salmon runs had managed to rile both sides of the environmental debate. He insisted dams and salmon could successfully coexist. BEST was working on a solution, some details of which they would be revealing soon. As far as Kyle could tell, neither faction could grasp the concept of a harmonious coexistence, both sides perhaps too distracted by their well-meaning devotion to their respective causes to truly consider the possibility.

Under different, less chaotic circumstances Kyle would approach the doctor and say hello, but it was going to be enough of a challenge to navigate through the mass of people and get to the exit as it was. Last year, Kyle’s best friend and former navy SEAL teammate, Owen, had introduced Kyle to Dr. Bellaire. Kyle would never have believed that four months later Owen would be dead.

The memories of Owen were still impossibly sharp and painful, like a knife slicing at his heart. At the time, Owen had been alive and well and so full of life and optimism that Kyle had been a little envious, even wondering if he’d made the right call by remaining in the military while Owen returned to civilian life. His friend had spent nearly three years working for Dahlia, one of the most respected military contractors in the world, where he enjoyed an exciting, high-paying job. He’d been walking on air after meeting Harper, the “love of his life,” who also happened to be the daughter of Dr. Bellaire.

At Dr. Bellaire’s invitation, Owen had brought Kyle here for a visit to BEST where the doctor had taken them on a tour of his labs and then treated them to lunch. Not long after, the three men had met again in Amsterdam while Kyle was on leave. Dr. Bellaire had been in the Netherlands on business and Owen between assignments. They’d had dinner together and then spent the evening touring the city. Kyle had found the brilliant scientist charismatic, witty and refreshingly down-to-earth. He understood why people were so fascinated with the man.

In his pocket, Kyle felt his phone vibrate. A glance at the display showed it was his friend Josh Avery. Another former SEAL and close friend, Josh now worked for Dahlia, too. Kyle had texted Josh after the interview to let him know they’d offered him a job. Stepping away from the elevators, Kyle moved toward an adjacent window out of the traffic flow. In the middle of the lobby, near a life-size metal-and-glass sculpture—ironically of a school of salmon leaping a waterfall—he watched Dr. Bellaire turn and face the crowd. A man in a suit announced that Dr. Bellaire would accept a few questions from the press.

Reporters started shouting as Kyle answered the call, “Hey, Josh.”

“Congratulations, man! I’m so… Wait. What’s that noise? Are you out celebrating without me?”

Kyle grinned. “Thanks, buddy. Not celebrating. I’m still in the lobby of the Bellaire Building. Dr. Bellaire just walked in.”

“Ah, protesters.”

“And supporters and newspeople and a fair share of civilians getting in out of the rain, too, I think.”

Josh chuckled. “The man knows how to fan flames, that’s for sure. This dam stuff is crazy. But back to the point—I’m so stoked we’re going to be working together again!”

“Me, too,” Kyle said. The crowd had quieted with some semblance of order established as Dr. Bellaire began answering questions.

“Not quite like the old days, but as close as we can get without Owen, huh?”

“Yeah,” Kyle said because that was all he could manage at that moment with the grief twisting hard in his chest and clogging his throat. Being here in the Bellaire Building, interviewing with Dahlia, he should have been better prepared for these reminders of Owen.

After a pause where Kyle imagined that Josh was also paying a silent tribute to their fallen friend, Josh asked, “When do you start?”

“Not until next month. Travis said he wants me on the Tri-Star job with you.” Travis was Dahlia’s operations chief and Kyle’s future boss. “Not sure what that is, but I’ll be ready. Just need to sign my contract.”

“That’s awesome. What are you going to do until then?”

“More of the same. Hang out with my family on the Oregon coast. I’ve been bunking at my sister Mia’s house in Pacific Cove. My brother-in-law, Jay, has a construction business and I’ve been working for him. I suppose I should find my own place now that I know I’ll be based here in the west.” Even though he’d be working overseas for weeks at a time, at least he’d be able to establish a home base near his family.

“I’ve got a spare room…” Josh went on, urging him to move to San Diego where he lived. Kyle listened, but he’d made up his mind to settle near his mom and sister. He knew he couldn’t make up for lost time, but he needed to try to mend the relationships he’d damaged through the sheer force of his neglect. Not that his relationship with his sister had ever been great.

Kyle glanced up to see that Dr. Bellaire had finished his impromptu press conference. The crowd was beginning to thin, due in large part to the two uniformed security guards now herding people toward the exit. Dr. Bellaire and his entourage briefly congregated to one side before heading in his direction en masse for the elevators, presumably on their way upstairs to BEST.

A clean-cut stocky blond man in a nice suit slipped away from the larger crowd and followed them. He wore a badge around his neck that suggested he was with the press. Kyle wouldn’t have cause to take another look except the guy’s dress did not match his demeanor. Too fidgety, his body tense and twitchy, his gaze bounced around but always paused on Dr. Bellaire. Squirrelly. That’s how he and Owen used to describe this type of nervous, jittery, shifty-eyed manner.

Warning bells pinged loudly in his brain. Of course, there were a lot of causes for this kind of behavior: drugs, alcohol withdrawal, PTSD, chronic insomnia, schizophrenia or a myriad of other mental disorders. Maybe he was new to his job and nervous about approaching Dr. Bellaire. Even too many energy drinks could make a person anxious and wired. And yet, Kyle couldn’t talk himself out of the trepidation he felt.

A woman kept pace at Dr. Bellaire’s side. A quick once-over told him she wasn’t Bellaire’s daughter, Harper, but that made Kyle wonder how Harper was doing. Many times in the months since Owen’s death, he’d thought about reaching out to her. Kyle had never met her in person, but he’d seen plenty of photos via Owen. For most of Owen and Harper’s relationship, the couple had been in Africa where Owen was working. Kyle had still been on active duty himself at the time, stationed at various overseas locales. Guilt and regret weighed like a stone in Kyle’s gut. He made a vow to contact Harper soon and see how she was doing.

Dr. Bellaire drew closer, his focus zeroing in on Kyle. Recognition transformed his scowl into an expression of cheerful surprise.

Kyle returned the smile and added a wave. “Gotta head out, Josh. I’ll call you later.” Kyle ended the call and slipped his phone into his pocket.

Dr. Bellaire approached, reaching out a hand. “Kyle! How are you?” Ten feet behind him, the blond man halted, too. He removed a phone from his jacket pocket and stared down at the display. Kyle kept him in his line of sight, taking note of his accelerated respiration, sweaty brow and the way he kept swallowing repeatedly. He could almost smell the guy’s fear.

“Hi, David. Better than you, looks like.” Kyle tipped his head in the direction of the lobby. Odd, Kyle noticed, that the guy was still staring at his phone but had yet to touch the screen. He glanced up, noticed Kyle and quickly refocused on the phone.

David’s smile was cheerful, his tone appreciative as he remarked, “Passionate, aren’t they?”

Kyle chuckled. “Quite.” The man had such a unique view of the world.

“I thought you were still overseas. What are you doing here in Seattle?”

“I was discharged a couple of months ago.” He didn’t add that Owen’s death had hit him hard, prompting him to evaluate his life and his relationships, including the desire to reconnect with his family. “I’m here interviewing for a job with your downstairs neighbor.”

“Ah, Dahlia, of course. You’ll be a great fit there. Such a tragedy about Owen. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Kyle wanted to ask about Harper but was distracted by the lurker again who’d tucked his phone into his left pocket and was now slinking closer, a determined expression on his face. Kyle went into high alert. Nearly a decade in Special Forces had taught him to trust his instincts.

“Are you living here in Seattle now?”

“No, I’m staying in Pacific Cove, Oregon, for the time being. Spending time with my family.”

Dr. Bellaire said, “Did you—”

The lurking guy’s right hand slipped into his pocket and came out holding a short cylindrical object. In one smooth movement, his arm lifted up and back like a major-league pitcher gripping a baseball. His target was obviously Dr. Bellaire, but Kyle was already in motion. David was shoved aside as Kyle went airborne, crashing into the attacker, his left hand seizing the guy’s wrist. As they went down, Kyle twisted his arm back and up, subduing him completely. Shattered glass lay on the floor, accompanied by balls of a pink jellylike substance. Kyle recognized the distinctive odor of cured salmon eggs.

For a few beats, the entire lobby went quiet before erupting with renewed chaos, screams and cheers. The crowd surged toward them, but Bellaire’s security detail was already escorting the doctor away. Kyle handed the guy off to one of the security guards. “Those are salmon eggs on the floor, I think.”

The police were called. Dr. Bellaire was fine. Kyle was fine. Everyone was fine. With the exception of the would-be attacker, who’d landed hard on the marble floor and was whining about an injured wrist.

It was all over in a matter of seconds. Just another day at the office for Kyle. It should have ended there. And it would have. Except for the fact that an eager reporter from Channel 11 had filmed the whole thing. That, and then Kyle received his second job offer of the day.