Читать книгу Snowed in with the Boss - Jessica Andersen - Страница 5

“We’ll reach the estate soon,” Griffin Vaughn said to his executive assistant, Sophie LaRue, as their rented SUV thundered down the Colorado highway, headed into the mountains.

He was driving; he preferred to drive himself rather than hire limos because he disliked putting his safety in someone else’s hands, professional or not. Sophie sat in the passenger seat, her entire attention focused on the breathtaking Colorado scenery. The sweeping vista was shadowed by the distant Rocky Mountains, and the entire scene was overhung by an ominous gray winter sky.

At Griffin’s words, she glanced over at him. “I hope so. We need to be done at Lonesome Lake and back down off the mountain before the weather hits.”

In her mid-twenties, with wavy, dark blond hair and light brown eyes almost the same color, Sophie was a knockout, hands down. The cinnamon-colored sweater she wore beneath a stylish wool coat accented her undeniable curves, and her neatly tailored pants managed to be simultaneously professional and sexy. Even a cynical, “been there, done that, got the scars to prove it” businessman like Griffin could appreciate the aesthetics. However, that didn’t change the fact that she was a dozen years younger than his thirty-nine, and she was his employee, both of which meant she was way off-limits, even if he was looking. Which he wasn’t.

Yet he kept feeling the need to fill the silence that stretched between them as the highway unwound beneath the rental’s wheels. The fact that he bothered trying to make small talk, which he wouldn’t have done with Sophie’s middle-aged, über-experienced predecessor, Kathleen, just went to prove what Griffin already knew: he was badly off his game.

He was tired, hungry and irritable. His meeting in New York City had started off bad and had gotten worse the longer he and Sophie stayed, forcing him to pull the plug after only two days of negotiations. He’d decided to return home to San Francisco and see if things went better long-distance, only to have his private jet delayed several hours on the tarmac while air traffic control tried to reroute them around a series of major snowstorms that were blanketing the Midwest.

The frustrations and delays had all added up to Griffin being in an admittedly foul mood by the time they’d finally taken off. That was why, when he’d gotten the voice-mail message that renovations to his Rocky Mountain retreat in the Four Corners region of Colorado had been delayed yet again by another “accident,” he’d ordered his private plane to set down near Kenner County. Griffin had suspected for some time that his contractor, Perry Long, was taking him for a ride, and it was past time to deal with it.

The pilot, Hal Jessup, had warned him that there was some serious weather on the way, but Griffin had been adamant. He might not have sewn up VaughnTec’s acquisition of the HiTek memory module he was jonesing to get his hands on, but he was going to get something done on this trip, damn it. He was going to deal with Perry Long, once and for all. The swindling contractor wasn’t going to know what hit him.

Besides, according to the weather forecast, they had a few more hours before the blizzard hit. That should be plenty of time for him and Sophie to drive out to the estate, get a look at the renovations, and then drive back down into Kenner City, where Sophie had already booked them into a decent B and B. She had also arranged for them to meet with Perry the following day, weather permitting. And it damn well better permit as far as Griffin was concerned. He was done with the contractor and his excuses.

“Looks like someone’s getting a jump on being stranded in the snow,” Sophie said as they rounded a corner and an accident came into view up ahead. Behind a row of cherry-red flares, a battered pickup truck was stuck partway in a ditch off to the side of the road. A police cruiser and tow truck were on-scene, their lights flashing brightly in the gloom. Several men were huddled around the rear of the entrapped vehicle, working on securing a winch to the rear axle.

“Don’t let the weathermen talk you into blizzard-induced hysteria,” Griffin said. “They’re in cahoots with the grocery stores, trying to sell out all the bread, eggs and milk.”

She grinned a little and lifted a shoulder. “I’m a California girl. I’ve never been in a snowstorm before. Until three days ago, I’d never even been on a plane.”

Griffin stifled a wince at the reminder of just how green his new executive assistant was. He’d told the retiring Kathleen to find her own replacement—someone efficient with no social life to speak of, who wouldn’t mind working the crazy-long hours required by his position as head of VaughnTec. He hadn’t bothered reminding Kathleen that his new assistant should be middle-aged and highly experienced, because he’d figured that would’ve been a given.

Yet Kathleen had hired green, gorgeous Sophie LaRue and disappeared on her retirement cruise. Worse, she had either left her cell phone behind, or she was ignoring his calls, in a blatant signal of “Don’t call me, I’ll call you.” Griffin should know; he was a master with that line. But he’d given up after a while anyway, because what good would it do him now to bark at Kathleen? She’d retired. What happened next was up to him.

He’d been tempted to un-hire Sophie the moment she’d walked through his office door, introduced herself, knocked him for a loop with an instant blast of sexual chemistry, and five minutes later spilled most of a pot of coffee on a stack of important papers. But Kathleen had already shown the new executive assistant the basics of the job, and Griffin was in the middle of delicate negotiations to acquire a memory module that was vital to his newest handheld computer PDA. All of which meant he didn’t have the time to interview or train another assistant. Besides, he trusted Kathleen, and figured she must’ve seen something in Sophie, some reason she thought the two of them would click. Kathleen had always had a knack for reading people, and predicting which employees would work well together. Trusting that even if he didn’t see it right off the bat, he’d let his new assistant stay on the job, and they’d both done their best to make it work.

He’d overlooked her occasional bouts of inexperience and nerves, and the clumsiness those nerves seemed to bring out. For her part, she’d worked the long hours without protest, and often took paperwork home with her when she left for the night. And if he’d caught a hint or two that Sophie reciprocated the raw physical attraction he felt for her, they were both doing a fine job of gritting their teeth and ignoring it. They’d been working together nearly a month now, and they’d achieved a functional, if tenuous, boss-and-assistant relationship.

“The cop’s waving for us to pull over,” she said now as they rolled up to the accident. “I hope your license is good.”

“If it’s not, I’m blaming it on you,” Griffin said, only halfway joking as he stopped the rental and lowered the window.

“Afternoon, folks,” the cop said, taking a not-very-casual look from Griffin to Sophie and back. “If you’re planning on spending the night in the hotel, you missed the turn by about a mile. Nothing much up this way except pines, rocks and ice.” The officer looked to be in his late thirties. He was tall and dark-haired, with vivid blue eyes that were cool and assessing, and didn’t look like they missed much.

Griffin saw the edge of a pointed star on the cop’s uniform shirt beneath his heavy parka, and made the connection. “Sheriff Martinez?”

The cop’s eyes narrowed. “Do I know you?”

“We spoke on the phone when your people needed access to my estate. I’m Griffin Vaughan.” Griffin nodded in Sophie’s direction. “My assistant, Sophie LaRue.” When there was no immediate response from the sheriff of Kenner County, a flutter of long-unused instinct stirred the fine hairs at Griffin’s nape. “Do you want to see our IDs?”

Martinez shook his head, and finally relaxed a degree. “No. It’s fine. Sorry. Things have been…complicated around here lately. We’re giving everyone a second and third look.” The sheriff paused. “Are you two headed up to Lonesome Lake?”

Griffin’s new estate had been named for the large, spring-fed lake on the property, one of only a few open bodies of water in the immediate area. The lake was located near the main entrance to the sprawling grounds; the driveway cut straight across the middle, running over a sturdy cement-pylon bridge. The promise of summer-time fishing, along with a hell of a mountain view, had sold Griffin on the place. The lowball price hadn’t hurt, either, though in retrospect it should’ve been a red flag. Since he’d taken possession of Lonesome Lake, the property had been one long-distance headache after another.

Griffin nodded in answer to the sheriff’s question. “Just a quick in-and-out. I gave the live-in couple the month off because of the reno, and the construction crew has undoubtedly gone home to wait out the weather, but I wanted to get a look at the place before we sit down for a meeting with Perry tomorrow.”

“You picked a hell of a time to visit.” Martinez glanced at the sky. “They’re saying this storm could take a couple of days to blow through, maybe more.”

“We’ll be back down in the city before it starts,” Griffin said. “I don’t have any desire to be snowed in up there until after the reno is complete.” And certainly not with his executive secretary. Lonesome Lake was intended for family, not business.

Griffin had bought the estate to be a getaway for him and his three-year-old son, Luke, and Luke’s male nanny, Darryn, both of whom were waiting for him back in San Francisco. The estate was intended to be a luxurious “just the guys” cabin, a place that would let him retreat from the hoopla that came with being a multi-millionaire under the age of forty who made regular appearances on the Steele Most Wealthy list and almost all of San Fran’s “Most Eligible Bachelor” roundups.

Those lists invariably included personal tidbits such as his divorce from songwriter Monique Claire, his single father status, and the fact that he’d been a decorated marine technical specialist before taking over struggling VaughnTec and making it into a megacorporation.

Back when Griffin had been in the military, he’d built weapons and tracking tools out of whatever he’d been able to scrounge from the field. As a civilian, he focused more on handheld computers, but the gadget-building theory was the same, and the self-discipline and ruthless logic he’d learned in the battle zones had served him well in the business world.

Unfortunately, his military service only added to his dossier as far as the San Fran socialites were concerned. That, combined with his net worth and dark good looks, had made him the target of too many gold diggers to count. In fact, he’d stopped counting the wannabe Mrs. Vaughns around a year ago, right around the time he’d stopped dating. His lack of interest had only increased the pressure from the gold diggers, which was why he’d bought Lonesome Lake. He needed to get the hell away from his work and the city he’d grown up in, and he wanted someplace comfortable to do it.

Which was great in theory, but so far had been seriously lacking in practice, due to the construction glitches.

Griffin had hired Perry as his general contractor based on the Realtor’s recommendation and a handful of local references, and had signed off on a basic updating of the forty year-old structure. At first, the contractor’s reports of things needing immediate repair or replacement had seemed reasonable enough. As the months had dragged on, though, and the schedule had doubled, and then tripled, Griffin’s patience had decreased in direct proportion to the budget’s increase. Now he just wanted to put an end to whatever the hell was going on up at the estate, regardless of whether that meant a sit-down with Perry…or lining up a new contractor.

“We should get moving if we’re going to beat the storm,” he said pointedly to the sheriff.

Martinez glanced up the road, though Lonesome Lake was a good ten miles further along the two-lane track leading into the foothills. “Do me a favor and call me when you get back to Kenner City, so I know you made it down off the mountain safely, okay?” The sheriff rattled off a number. “Got that?”

Sophie nodded and entered the number in her sleek, sophisticated PDA, which was one of VaughnTec’s newer designs. “Got it.” Once she had the number keyed in, she tucked the handheld into the pocket of her stylish wool coat, keeping it close at hand.

Still, Martinez didn’t look satisfied.

Getting the distinct impression that the sheriff wasn’t at all happy with their plan, Griffin lowered his voice and said, “What aren’t you telling us?”

Martinez grimaced, and for a moment, Griffin didn’t think he was going to answer. But then the sheriff said, “Look, there have been some…incidents in this area lately. First, there was that body that turned up, the dead FBI agent?” At Griffin’s nod of remembrance, he continued, “Well, after that, we found an abandoned car with a baby in it. A baby, for God’s sake. And then one of our crime scene analysts was attacked the other day not far from here, further on toward Lonesome Lake. The weather’s been playing hell with our ability to process the scenes, which is logjamming the investigations…and to top it all off, the Feds think there’s a chance that Vincent Del Gardo might still be in the area.” The sheriff shook his head. “Logically, those incidents probably aren’t all connected, but…Just be careful up there, okay?”

Griffin muttered a curse under his breath, but nodded. “Will do.”

“Call me if you need anything.” The sheriff stepped back and waved them on their way, but his eyes remained dark as he watched them pass.

His figure had barely begun to recede in the distance before Sophie said, “Who is Vincent Del Gardo?”

Griffin knew he probably should have told her about the recent problems near Lonesome Lake, but to be honest, he’d all but forgotten about them. Between the HiTek negotiations, Kathleen’s retirement and various other business matters he’d been juggling against his responsibility as Luke’s father and his desire to be involved in as many pieces of his son’s life as he possibly could be, he simply hadn’t given much thought to the issues in Kenner County. He’d assumed the matter would be settled by the time the estate was completely renovated and he brought Luke and Darryn out for a visit. So he hadn’t bothered updating Sophie on the situation.

Besides, it wasn’t like he’d planned to bring her out to Lonesome Lake. Between the stalled negotiations, the air traffic delays and the continued problems up at the estate, it’d just been the most practical solution under the circumstances.

More or less, he thought, glancing at the ominous sky overhead and considering just how much of his decision to drive out had been motivated by practicality, and how much had been the bloody-minded stubbornness Kathleen had accused him of more than once. He could feel the storm gathering, and a piece of him wondered if they might not be better off turning around and heading back down to the city without doing a walk-through of the lake house. But he was bound and determined to get something done today, and besides, the best Doppler money could buy said they had a few hours’ leeway.

So instead of calling it off, he answered her question, saying, “Vincent Del Gardo is—or was—head of the Del Gardo crime family in Las Vegas.” Griffin recalled what Martinez had told him a few weeks earlier, when the sheriff had called to ask for permission for the county’s newly assembled crime scene unit, the Kenner County CSU, to search the estate and surrounding property. “About three years ago, Del Gardo was put on trial for ordering a hit on Nicky Wayne, head of the rival Wayne crime family. Del Gardo was convicted, but he escaped from the courthouse jail and disappeared. A few months ago, the body of Special Agent Julie Grainger, who’d been working the Del Gardo case, was found on a Ute reservation near here. Since then, Sheriff Martinez’s people, the KCCU, the Feds and the reservation police have been investigating the murder. About a month ago, they figured out that Del Gardo used to own Lonesome Lake, and came to suspect that he might’ve been hiding out in the area.”

“You bought your getaway from the Mob?” Sophie asked. She had a faint wrinkle between her eyebrows, which he’d learned signaled that she’d just made a mistake, or thought he had. He’d actually learned to pay attention to the tiny frown, because when she wasn’t dumping coffee on him, she had pretty good instincts.

“No way.” He shook his head in adamant denial. “Del Gardo owned the property through a shell company. It was well-hidden, and not something that even the best due diligence would’ve turned up. The Del Gardo family went into a financial skid after Vincent disappeared, so they liquidated a bunch of assets, including Lonesome Lake. My purchasing the place was totally on the up-and-up. Once the Feds figured out the connection between Del Gardo and Lonesome Lake, though, and given that Agent Grainger’s body was found in Kenner County, they wanted the KCCU to go through the house, just to be sure Del Gardo wasn’t hiding there. They searched the mansion backward and forward and didn’t find anything. I think they even did a few flyovers of the mountainside, looking for infrared signatures and such. Nothing. Del Gardo is long gone.”

Sophie pursed her lips. “Sheriff Martinez seems to think otherwise.”

Griffin glanced over at her, but beyond her faint frown, he couldn’t read her mood from her face. He’d noticed before that for a young woman who by her own admission hadn’t seen much of the world, she had an unusual ability to hide her feelings.

“The place is clean, but if you’re worried about Del Gardo, you can stay in the car while I look around,” he offered. “I just want to see what’s finished and what’s not, and check whether the problems that Perry has been reporting are actually as bad as he says, or if there’s something else going on up at the estate. It shouldn’t take more than an hour, and then we’ll head back into Kenner City.”

But she shook her head. “You wanted me to come along to take notes and pictures, and that’s what I’m going to do. It’s my job.” She said the last with a hint of defiance.

Griffin nodded and slowed as the road curved and a set of pillars came into view, flanking a crushed stone driveway. “Here we are.” He turned the SUV between the pillars and followed the gravel drive, which quickly gave way to the lake-spanning bridge. He eased up on the gas and let the rental roll to a stop at the edge of the bridge. “Welcome to Lonesome Lake.”

Even in the gray light of the approaching storm, it was just as gorgeous as he remembered from the one time he’d visited prior to buying the property. On that day, several months earlier, the lake had been clear and blue beneath a perfect sky. Now, it was a flat expanse of white, wearing a dusting of snow over the frozen surface. The bridge, which arrowed straight across a narrow point of the lake, was a wide expanse of brick-inset concrete, with knee-high brushed-steel railings on either side to prevent cars from swerving into the water. On the far shore of the lake, the driveway went back to crushed stone and continued up through the tree line, where the lowlands merged with the foothills of the Rocky Mountains.

Partway up, rising above the level of the trees surrounding it, the large estate house looked as though it was built into the side of the mountain itself. The structure, which followed the angle of the earth beneath it, was a blend of rustic logs and modern glass. It ascended the mountain, level by level, and was topped with a partially finished solar-paneled roof. When the roof was completed, the solar panels would catch the sun and help power the massive home. For now, the estate relied on two huge diesel generators, which ran everything except the propane stoves and the well water and filtration system, which used battery-powered pumps. Off to the left of the main house, the roofs of the detached guesthouse and large barn were just visible, as well. Several smaller structure, including the lean-to that housed the generators, as well as a woodshed where the firewood was kept, were below the level of the trees, hidden among the pines.

Griffin was proud that he was able to offer his son such a cool getaway, and a place where they could be just a family, away from the pressures and posturing of San Fran society. He glanced at Sophie. “What do you think?”

“It’s lovely,” she breathed.

“Yeah,” he agreed, the view reminding him why he’d bought Lonesome Lake rather than one of the other half dozen places he’d considered. He’d liked the isolation, yes, and he’d been able to picture himself fishing in the lake with Luke, year after year. But he’d also been drawn to the wildness of the location, the grandeur of the views and the sheer presence of the architecture.

It was a hell of a place, that was for sure.

Suddenly anxious to get inside the buildings and take a look around at what had—or hadn’t—been done, he hit the gas and sent the SUV thundering across the bridge.

They were halfway across when he heard a banging noise, as though the SUV had backfired.

Moments later, the concrete surface ahead of them cracked, then sagged. Adrenaline jolted through Griffin as the SUV dropped a few inches, tilting. The damned bridge was giving way!

“Hang on!” he shouted as he hit the gas hard, flooring it. The SUV’s tires screeched and the vehicle lunged forward, but it was too late. They were already sinking. Falling.

Sophie screamed as the steel railing gave way with a screech and groan. The nose of the SUV yawed downward. Griffin locked up the brakes, but that didn’t help. Nothing did.

The vehicle slid ten or fifteen feet, then dropped straight down and smashed into the frozen surface of Lonesome Lake.

The crash noise roared inside the vehicle, counter-pointed by Sophie’s choked-off scream. Ice chunks flew up on either side of them and the airbags detonated with a whumpf, cushioning the force of the impact, but also pinning Griffin back against the driver’s seat as the SUV nosed beneath the lake surface. Cursing, he fought the springy airbag, fought his seat belt, trying to get free.

The spiderwebbed windshield crumbled inward under the water pressure and frigid water poured in over the dashboard, dousing him. Freezing him. A clock started up in his head, timing how long they’d been in the water, and how long they could stay there, which wasn’t long at all.

The SUV paused for a moment, hung up on a chunk of pylon, then slewed to the side and started to sink once again.

Griffin didn’t know how deep the lake was at that location, didn’t want to wait around and find out. They had to get out of the vehicle, had to reach the mansion and get themselves dried off and warm, or else hypothermia would set in quickly. He didn’t know why or how the bridge had given way just as they were crossing it—maybe the passage of the construction trucks had weakened it, or the last freeze-thaw cycle had done irreparable damage. But that didn’t matter just then. What mattered was getting him and Sophie to safety.

Knowing they’d gone from a business drive to a life-or-death situation in an instant, Griffin shoved his business persona aside and drew on the man he’d once been, the soldier who’d saved lives, and taken them. Fighting past the airbag, he kicked the windshield all the way out, letting in a new gush of water but clearing the way for escape. “Come on,” he said. “We can—” He broke off, cursing bitterly as he got a good look at Sophie.

She was out cold. And the water was rising fast.

ON THE OTHER SIDE of the lake, the bald man leaned up against a tree and watched the SUV sink into the frozen lake.

He would’ve liked a cigarette to congratulate himself for a job well done, but his wife had nagged him to quit a few years back. So instead, he stood there and watched as the ice-laden water rose up around the heavily tinted rear windows of the four-by-four.

He couldn’t see in through the tint, but there was no sign of the vehicle’s occupants trying to escape. If Vaughn and his secretary were in a position to get out, there would’ve been doors flying open, and occupants scrambling out to safety. Which meant they were already dead, or close enough to it that the distinction was academic.

It was for the best, really, he thought, feeling no grief or guilt for the dead, but rather the sense of another box checked off on his to-do list. He didn’t have anything against Vaughn and the woman. They had simply been in the way of more important things.

Satisfied, the man pantomimed flicking an imaginary cigarette butt to the ground and pretended to grind it into the frozen soil. Then he settled his loaded knapsack more comfortably on his back and turned away, headed back uphill toward the barn at the rear of the house.

He had a job to do. It was as simple as that. And anyone who got in his way was going to become a statistic, real quick.