Читать книгу The Medusa Proposition - Cindy Dees - Страница 8

Tom watched his assistant impassively as she set down the tray on the coffee table in the living room. “That will be all, Gretchen.”

She nodded and turned silently to leave. Good assistant. Didn’t need or want pleasantries from him. Plus, she was the soul of discretion and scary efficient. He made a mental note to give her a raise. The door shut behind Gretchen and he turned to face the imminently less predictable woman still in the room with him. She’d moved again by the window and stood facing him, her posture defensive. Good. He liked reporters back on their heels. This one in particular after she’d shocked the hell out of him.

“You’re Paige Ellis?” he demanded. “How in the hell do you know Vanessa Blake?”

“Gee, I was just about to ask you the same thing,” she snapped.

He answered evasively, “We’re old friends. You?”

“Ditto.”

Riigghhtt. The obvious answer was that the woman in front of him was part of Vanessa’s secret team—

He discarded the idea out of hand. No way was a well-known journalist like Paige Ellis part of the Medusa Project. It was laughable to even think about. Except she’d answered to the code name Fire Ant on the beach. A biting insect … hadn’t Vanessa’s husband said something a while back about the new Medusa team going for dangerous bugs instead of snakes for their names?

Surely not. She was a civilian for God’s sake. A pampered media princess. No way did she have the stamina, the fortitude, the sheer guts to be a Medusa.

“So, tell me, Mr. Rowe. What is an important guy like you doing out at the crack of dawn surfing alone?”

“I like to surf. And I like my privacy.”

“But it’s dangerous. Too dangerous for a man of your stature.”

He raised an amused brow. “What’s wrong with my stature? Aren’t I tall enough to surf?” She rolled her eyes at him.

He studied her as she moved from the window to stand across the coffee table from him. Tension vibrated through her entire body, and something deep in his gut responded in kind. Damn her. He didn’t like being off balance like this.

Although she was an attractive woman overall, the first thing a person noticed when they looked at her were those incredible electric blue eyes of hers. Bright and inquisitive, they looked right through a guy and made him feel a little naked in front of her. He jumped in before she could ask the next question burning in her glorious gaze. “And what were you doing on the beach at the crack of dawn, Miss Ellis?”

“Hauling dead men out of the surf, of course.”

“Do you do that on a regular basis?” he asked dryly.

“At least twice a week. It’s great aerobic exercise,” she snapped.

Touchy, touchy. He asked more seriously, “What do you know about Takashi-san’s death? His family will be devastated.”

“You know the family?” she asked softly. Careful to keep his expression smooth and give nothing away, he nodded. “His first wife died of cancer years ago. Wife number two is a former high-fashion model and quite the wild child. But he seems—seemed—happy with her. He’s got a couple of grown kids from the first marriage.”

“Any idea who’d want to kill him and then dispose of his body in such a fashion?”

“You’re the reporter. You tell me.” She shrugged. “The North Koreans and the Russians have every reason to sabotage this summit and properly provoked, they’re both capable of murder. Of course, it could be some business or personal enemy of Ando’s, maybe the Yakuza—the Japanese mob is still pretty powerful. And then there’s always the ubiquitous child who wants to collect an inheritance sooner rather than later.”

Tom jerked, offended. “Not Ando’s sons. They’re both honorable men.”

Paige shrugged. “Then we’re left with enemies or politics.”

“Who’s coming to collect the body?” Paige pursed her lips and looked prepared to be stubborn about answering. He added gently, “I can always call the local police and tip them off to check out your house. In this part of the world, they’d throw you in jail first and maybe get around to investigating the murder later. Or maybe they’d just lock you up and throw away the key.”

She did an odd thing. Her eyes became preternaturally intense, and she became very still. Like she was readying herself to do violence. It was something he’d expect to see in a soldier, not a girly-girl TV journalist. For make no mistake about it, Paige Ellis was all girl. She wasn’t a big thing, maybe five-foot-five. And slender. Not skinny, by any stretch, though. She looked fit. But feminine. And those eyes of hers … he was having trouble looking away from them. They were even brighter and bluer in person than on television.

She spoke quietly. “I don’t take well to being threatened, Mr. Rowe.”

That was more like it. Now she was the one on the defensive. He grinned and picked up a plate of croissants. “Snack, Miss Ellis?”

“No, thank you,” she bit out.

He sat down on the couch facing the magnificent ocean view and poured himself a cup of coffee. Since he never took anything but coffee and croissants before noon, he assumed the water on the tray was for her. He poured some into a crystal glass already filled with ice. He set it on the low table in front of her without bothering to ask. She struck him as the kind of woman who’d answer no to anything he asked of her just to be obstinate.

He enjoyed watching her struggle to corral her temper as she sat down stiffly across from him. Slowly, she pulled out a notepad and a pen. And when she finally looked up at him, her face was calm. Pleasant even.

Impressive.

“So, Mr. Rowe. How did you get involved with this summit? Were you approached by our government, or did you approach them?”

Ah. Retreating into her reporter persona, was she? Surely she was aware of his reputation with journalists. He was known as the worst interview in America. He made no secret of the fact that he despised anyone poking into his personal life. He was even known for finding questions about his business matters offensive. But suddenly, he was finding it damned hard to be offended when he could hardly tear his gaze away from Paige’s tanned and toned legs.

She asked him the usual questions about the global business climate, the outlook for the future, what recommendations he was planning to make at this summit of world business and political leaders. In return, he fed her his usual dodges. He was the master of answering a question with a question, sidetracking the conversation into clarifications of exactly what questions meant and, when she finally nailed him down with a direct question, blatantly not answering it and straying into vague politician-speak about hope for the future.

After about ten minutes of cat and mouse, she sighed and laid down her pad and pen. “Mr. Rowe. If you’re not going to cooperate at all with this interview, why did you agree to it in the first place?”

He leaned back, grinning openly. “I give an uncooperative interview every few years just to make the point that I still don’t talk to reporters. And when I heard you were coming back to television, I thought you’d enjoy the welcome back gift.”

Chagrin flitted across her face. Uh-huh. She thought she’d landed the big catch that would launch her comeback. Sorry. He was nobody’s trophy fish.

A cute little frown wrinkled her brow as she pressed. “Seriously. Why me?”

Now there was a loaded question. With more loaded answers to it than he cared to examine closely. His gaze narrowed. Two could play that game. “I wanted to see if your eyes were as blue in person as they are on TV.”

Only the barest flutter of her eyelashes gave away that she was flustered by the innuendo in his voice. She was really very good at what she did. It was just that he knew her reporter’s game all too well and had no intention of playing along. Women tried to use sex as a weapon against him all the time. He was rich, single, reasonably good looking and still in his thirties, which was to say, he was the Holy Grail to women like her.

“And are they?”

“Are they what, Miss Ellis?”

“As blue in person?”

It was his turn to hide his surprise. He got the distinct impression that was a personal question. Purely off the record. Was she flirting with him?

He studied her, letting his gaze range from head to toe and back until she squirmed once, ever so slightly. Then he answered casually, “Actually, I was more curious whether they’re that blue in bed.”

“In your bed?” she asked shortly.

He shrugged, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“That is something you’ll never find out, Mr. Rowe. This interview is over. I shall, of course, be happy to make it known to my colleagues that you are still as stubborn and arrogant and obnoxious as ever.”

His grin broke free. She was magnificent with her eyes snapping cobalt fire like that and her cheeks bright with color. She leaped to her feet in agitation as he rose casually to his. So. She’d turned down his fairly unusual offer to bed her, had she? A fascinating first.

“Give me a call the next time you find a dead guy on a beach and need help,” he drawled at her ramrod stiff back.

She paused deliberately at the door and looked slowly over her shoulder. She said pleasantly, “Good Lord willing, Mr. Rowe, the next dead body I find on a beach will be yours.”

He laughed heartily as the door slammed shut behind her. He was still chuckling a few minutes later when Gretchen stepped into the room, frowning.

“What’s up, Gretch?”

She handed him a sheet of paper with an e-mail printed on it. “We received another threat against you, Mr. Rowe.”

He sighed. “I get death threats all the time. Tell Nils. He knows what to do.” Nils Olson was his chief of security and a former Swedish Special Forces commando. They’d met when they got caught in a blizzard, helicopter skiing on a mountain in Austria. The big Swede had found him snow-blind and half-frozen. They’d made it down that mountain together and been fast friends ever since.

“Here’s your schedule for today, Mr. Rowe.”

He’d tried for years to get Gretchen to call him Tom, but she’d never budged. He was the boss, and would forever remain Mr. Rowe to her. He knew everyone thought they were sleeping together. But he also knew that she was hopelessly in love with Nils, and Nils was hopelessly focused on his job, completely unaware of her feelings. Tom tried to respect her privacy as much as she respected his, however, and stayed out of the whole thing. And in the meantime, he had a great security chief and an equally great assistant.

He sighed and took the typed schedule. His day was packed with meeting various members of the sixty delegations at this summit, then he had an hour to work out, an hour to rest and shower, and last on the list, the opening ball this evening.

“Have my tuxedo steamed and my black dress shoes shined, will you, Gretchen?”

“Of course.” She moved to the coffee table to collect the tray. “How did your interview with Miss Ellis go?”

“Actually, it went fantastic.”

That made Gretchen look up. She knew as well as anyone how much he despised reporters.

He grinned. “She only lasted ten minutes before she stomped out in a huff.”

“The last one made it nearly a half hour before she gave up.”

“The last one was hoping to get me in the sack.”

Gretchen tsked. “Still. Only ten minutes? You must have been particularly unpleasant today. Either that or this one wasn’t the least bit patient.”

“You’re right. She’s not the least bit patient, our Miss Ellis. Not patient at all.”

* * *

Paige looked around the grand ballroom, scoping out who was present and if her light blue satin gown was too horribly out of fashion. It felt weird to be wearing high heels and jewelry and have her hair piled on top of her head like this. She’d spent so long crawling around in mud, wearing fatigues and toting an assault rifle that she’d almost forgotten what it felt like to get dolled up.

The crowd ranged in more or less concentric circles around the room, with the people growing progressively more financially important as she walked toward the heart of the party. Her gaze swept the innermost circles of power here tonight—a who’s who of the world’s most influential business leaders. Her stomach leaped at the sight of a familiar silhouette, a tall, athletic form she’d recognize whether dressed in surfing trunks or a designer tuxedo.

Of course, he had to choose that exact moment to look up. Their gazes locked. Damn him! He would have to catch her ogling him in a fancy tux that made him look like a cover model. He smirked at her and her palm got a sudden itch to swipe the expression off his face. But rather than give him the satisfaction of getting a rise out of her, she instead pasted on a pleasant smile as she veered away from him and his companions.

Paige snagged a flute of champagne from a strolling waiter and downed the thing in a single gulp. When the next waiter passed, she exchanged the empty glass for a full one and sipped this one a little more temperately. Although she’d been gone for two years, the faces were mostly the same. She had interviewed many of the dignitaries in the room and made polite small talk with them as she cruised the ball.

A number of her fellow journalists were clustered around a bar at the far end of the huge room, but she avoided them. They had an alarming tendency to reminisce about Jerry with her, and frankly, she avoided those memories whenever possible. She might have come to terms with her role in Jerry’s death, but it didn’t mean she wanted to wallow in her lingering guilt.

She felt eyes on her and glanced up, her gaze colliding with the dark, amused one of Thomas Rowe halfway across the room. Jerk. She looked away pointedly. But she couldn’t resist peeking his direction a minute later. Dammit! He was still staring at her!

She yanked her gaze away, vowing to herself not to look at him again tonight. But then the darnedest thing started happening. She’d glance innocently at something or someone, and there he’d be, smack-dab in her line of sight. It was like he was trying to make her look at him. Surely he wasn’t that juvenile.

And then he started moving in on her. Oh, it was a gradual thing, and to the innocent observer would undoubtedly be completely undetectable. But she was aware of every foot closer to her that he came. Was he stalking her? She actually had to curb an impulse to sidle away from him. Double jerk.

The annoying game was interrupted when she overheard his name mentioned among a group of women clustered just to her right. Paige recognized one of them as the wife of the American ambassador to China, a woman she’d interviewed before.

Paige moved in smoothly. “Mrs. Carrillo. You look fabulous! Tell me, are you still working with that international women’s rights group?”

“Why, hello, Paige. Yes, I am. You’re looking lovely yourself.”

“You’re too kind. I didn’t mean to interrupt you ladies … please, don’t stop on my account.”

A woman Paige didn’t know but who sported a thick European accent—French, maybe—laughed. “I was just telling them about Mimi Ando’s rather sordid past.”

Paige said winningly, “I’m sorry. I thought I overheard you mentioning Thomas Rowe.”

The Frenchwoman replied, “You did. He and Mimi were quite an item a few years back. They had a scandalous relationship, even by Parisian standards.”

Curbing her eyebrows, which seemed to want to sail upward, Paige encouraged the woman. “Do tell.”

“Well, they partied their way across Europe and had spectacular fights in the most inappropriate places. And then she met Takashi and dumped Rowe cold. He hasn’t dated another woman seriously since. Rumor has it that she broke his heart.”

Indeed? A jilted lover, was he? Funny he hadn’t shown more reaction to Ando’s body this morning, then, even if to show a certain satisfaction at a rival’s death. But he’d acted entirely unaffected. Not even surprised, come to think of it. Had he known what was in that bag? Was it possible? Had Thomas Rowe murdered Takashi Ando? Over a woman? Her instinct was to reject the notion as absurd. But her training, both in journalism and things military, demanded that she consider every possibility, no matter how outrageous.

She risked glancing around the room in an attempt to spot Rowe. There he was, speaking to a very tall brunette with the kind of body that made other women feel completely inadequate. “Who’s that Rowe’s talking with over there?” Paige asked.

The other women looked around and the Frenchwoman burst out laughing. “Speak of the devil. That’s Mimi Ando.”

Another woman murmured, “While the Takashi cat’s away, the Mimi mouse will play….”

The Frenchwoman shrugged. “Maybe their romance isn’t as dead as it seemed.”

Paige flinched at the reference to death. Ando’s body was still in her refrigerator, awaiting the American forensics team due in later tonight. A gruesome image of his remains flitted through her head. Surely Tom wouldn’t say anything to Mimi about her husband’s death before the American team had a chance to examine Takashi’s remains. And even he wouldn’t be so callous as to tell a woman in a public venue like this that her husband had died.

“If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I could use another glass of champagne. Enjoy your evening.”

“Look me up the next time you’re in Beijing, dear,” Mrs. Carillo called as Paige drifted away.

Paige stepped into the hotel lobby and paced the length of the cavernous space, troubled. Why would Vanessa Blake send a possible murderer to help her this morning? If Rowe was some sort of agent of the U.S. government, had he gone rogue? She opened her cell phone and dialed Vanessa’s private line as she stepped outside into a lush garden in search of privacy.

“Hey, Viper.”

“What’s up?”

“Who was that you sent me this morning? I mean I know who he is. What capacity do you know him in?” “A professional one. Why?”

Paige frowned. “Could you be a little more specific than that?”

“Mind me asking why?”

“Were you aware he had a torrid relationship with Mimi Ando that she broke off so she could marry Ando?”

A long silence greeted that announcement. Finally, Vanessa said heavily, “I’m forced to acknowledge the relevance of that, but I’m having a hard time believing what you’re suggesting. I’ve known Tom for years. He was on Jack’s team.”

Paige’s jaw dropped. Vanessa’s husband was Colonel Jack Scatalone, a longtime Special Forces officer and team leader. He was still one of the Medusas’ primary instructors. And Rowe had worked for him?

“Are you telling me Thomas Rowe is … was … one of us?”

“He was. He’s not an active operator anymore.”

Paige asked grimly, “So, if he wanted to go off the reservation, he’d know how to do it?”

Vanessa sounded surprised. “You seriously think he’s turned? That he killed Ando?”

“I think we can’t rule it out.”

“Jack’s going to have a cow at the idea. He thinks the world of Tom.”

“So don’t tell him about it just yet. Let me poke around a little and see what I can find out.”

Vanessa sighed. “That’s not how Jack and I do business, but thanks for the offer. Call me if you learn anything new.”

“Right, boss.”

She lifted the phone away from her ear thoughtfully.

“And what are you poking into now?” a male voice asked from directly behind her.

Paige whirled, startled, and almost dropped her phone in her shock. Thomas Rowe. “That’s none of your business, Mr.

Rowe.”

“Ah. So the journalist likes her secrets, too, does she? Are we being a hypocrite, perhaps?”

She scowled at him. “You wish. I’m just doing my job. What’s your excuse?”

He laughed, a low masculine sound that scraped across her skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake. “You’re missing all the fun, Miss Ellis. Come inside.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to dance with you.” That made her stare. “What on earth for?”

“To start rumors and wreck your credibility should you attempt to do some sort of negative report on me.”

“I thought you don’t give a damn what the press says about you.”

“I don’t want them to say anything about me at all. That’s entirely different.”

“Dancing with me isn’t going to shut me up.”

He grinned. “I doubt much of anything could do that.”

“And on that insulting note, Mr. Rowe, you can take your invitation to dance and shove it.”

She turned and strode away from him with as much aplomb as she could muster. But she didn’t count on him following her inside. Furthermore, she didn’t count on him reaching out fast to wrap his arm around her waist tightly enough that it would take violence on her part to shake it off. Heads were already turning their way, and if she wasn’t mistaken, eyebrows—and tongues—were wagging.

“Don’t be a spoilsport,” he murmured. “Dance with me. It’s a waltz.”

“And your point?”

Of course he ignored her question entirely and instead commented, “Did you know the waltz was declared scandalous when it was introduced? It was thought to be too sensual for proper ladies. So. Are you a proper lady or not, Miss Ellis?”

She opened her mouth to suggest as politely as she could that he remove his hand from her waist before she broke his fingers, but before she could, he spun her around him and onto the dance floor. Despite his dashingly lean appearance, the guy was shockingly strong.

And she was waltzing.

With Thomas Rowe.

Playboy. Billionaire. Bastard.

And all she could think about was how incredible sex with him would be.