The Final Secret

“I hope he’s not losing it. He sends a lot of business our way.”

“Send me a revised guest list,” she said. “I’ll check backgrounds and look for clues.”

“Consider it done.”

Noah ended the call and stepped back to watch as Gennie and other ARC field agents performed the pre-event security check at this palatial home southwest of Denver. The guest list that Anna Rose wanted would include the names of billionaires, high-ranking military personnel and influential executives. They’d allocated a good chunk of change for the privilege of attending this political event and were scheduled to start arriving in about an hour. During the silent auction, they’d drink artisan beer and whiskey from a local distillery. In keeping with the “Buy Colorado” theme, this elite group would chow down on stuffed mushrooms, venison, rattlesnake canapés and other regionally sourced delicacies arrayed on buffet tables.

Noah would have preferred a sit-down dinner where his team could easily keep an eye on the two hundred or so attendees. Instead, ARC needed to prepare for a roomful of Type-A personalities, accompanied by their equally aggressive spouses, all of whom would be competing in the auction, stating political views and matching wits. Even if there was no gunplay or exploding bombs, so much could go wrong.

For a moment, the red-and-gold glow of sunset flashed outside the west windows and distracted him. Beautiful and dangerous, the brilliant April skies were an omen that hinted at the onset of fire season. Instead of considering the potential for disaster, he focused on Gennie, noting her confident manner as she glided among the small circular tables in the center of the high-ceilinged, marble-floored ballroom. Her injured ankle didn’t seem to bother her, and he figured she was wearing a compression wrap under her ankle-high boots that were low-heeled but classy. She looked like a million bucks in a form-hugging black jumpsuit and a patterned black-and-beige cashmere vest that was long enough to cover her holstered weapon.

She paused in her inspection of the tables. With a toss of her head that sent a ripple through her curly blond hair, she glanced over her shoulder and met his gaze. He nodded in her direction and reminded himself to keep a careful distance from this woman who was as beautiful as a Rocky Mountain sunset. Another harbinger of danger! Getting involved with an employee would be a seriously dumb decision, but there was no harm in scrutinizing her every move. That was his job.

From over his shoulder, he heard a gruff voice. “I never expected to see Captain Genevieve Fox in my home.”

“General Haymarket.” Noah shook hands with the vigorous older gentleman who was hosting this event. Haymarket was dressed in slacks and a striped golf shirt that stretched tightly across his barrel chest. He looked comfortable. The casual outfit suited him better than the dress uniform he’d be changing into before the event. Whether or not he was paranoid, this four-star general had paid his dues and put in his time. He was due for retirement.

“Did Gennie use me for a reference?” he asked.

“No, sir, she didn’t.”

“Are you aware that I have a history with her?”

She’d spoken to him about her complicated relationship with her former commanding officer. “I hope that’s not a problem.”

“Not on my end, but she’s not real fond of me. The last time we spoke, she called me a bald-headed male chauvinist baboon. With all due respect, of course.”

“Of course.”

“I hate baboons.” The general scowled. “She was mad because I wouldn’t approve her return to active duty. After the bomb, she looked like hell. I couldn’t allow her to put herself in harm’s way, couldn’t stand to see her hurt again.”

“She’s made a successful recovery,” Noah said. A remarkable woman.

“You don’t have a problem with her special condition?”

He didn’t intend to say too much about Gennie’s insensitivity to pain and her nerve damage. If she wanted to talk about her two years of operations, hard work and physical therapy with the general, that was her business. “The ARC doctor gave her a complete physical and rated her above average.”

At the opposite end of the room, Gennie was paying particular attention to the floral arrangement beside the podium where the guest of honor, Mitch Murano, would be speaking. She leaned close to the thick green foliage, yellow flowers and dark red roses. Pulling back, she scowled at the posies as though they’d done something wrong. From there, she went to the silent auction tables where a variety of items were lined up side by side. Again, she inspected the flowers. She straightened her shoulders and made a beeline for him and the general.

The burly general who had commanded thousands of troops in Iraq and Afghanistan gave a shudder. “Do you think she’s still angry?”

“You’re not scared of her, are you, General?”

“Don’t let those big blue eyes fool you. Pretty little Gennie is lethal. A few years ago, I saw her take down a trained combatant twice her size using only a broom handle for a weapon.”

“I’m aware,” Noah said. “Four days ago, she kicked my ass.”

When she came to a halt in front of them, she raised her right hand so quickly that he thought for a moment that she was going to salute, even though the general wasn’t in uniform and she was no longer a soldier. Or maybe she was going for a karate chop. Instead, she opted for a civilized handshake and a tentative smile.

“A pleasure to see you, sir.”

“Likewise,” he said. “Noah tells me that you’re working for him.”

“I am. And I have a security question about the floral displays. Should I speak to you about my concerns?”

“Not me. I don’t know a damn thing about the decorations.”

“Your wife?”

“Ruby didn’t have anything to do with tonight. She’s not even going to be here.”

His wife’s absence seemed odd to Noah. The spectacularly beautiful Ruby Haymarket usually grabbed any chance to break out the tiara and be the belle of the ball.

“I’ll miss her,” Gennie said. “I hope she’s not ill.”

“Fit as a fiddle and feisty, too. Her problem is that she doesn’t share my political views. I believe Mitch Murano will make a damn fine senator. Ruby thinks he’s a con man.”

The general’s wife had a point. In Noah’s opinion, Murano had perfected the art of playing both sides against each other. While vigorously supporting gun rights, Murano ran a worldwide institute encouraging peaceful meditation and enlightenment. His detractors referred to his seesaw policies as NRA Namaste.

The general signaled to a man with a clipboard. “You remember Captain Dean Slocum, don’t you? He handled the food and decorations for this fund-raiser.”

Slocum strutted toward them. His uniform was crisp. His grooming was perfect with his close-cropped pale blond hair as smooth as a platinum skull cap. He was so white that he was nearly albino. In the midst of bustling caterers and waiters making last minute preparations, Slocum appeared to be in control. He’d been the general’s right-hand man for a long time and had grown smug in his job.

His sneering attitude wasn’t the only reason Noah disliked the captain. After he shook Slocum’s hand, he started to introduce Gennie.

“We’re acquainted,” she said coldly.

“I’ve known her for years.” Slocum matched her coolness with an ice storm of his own. “Gennie’s a hero and has the Purple Heart to prove it.”

She flinched. Though she didn’t feel pain in a third of her body, Noah could see that her memories of combat and working in a war zone still hurt. The nightmares and the guilt were harder to cure than physical impairments.

The general spoke to the captain. “Gennie has questions about the flowers, and I told her to ask you about them.”

“No problem.”

“I’ll leave you to it. Gennie, I hope we can talk later.” He backed out of the conversation. “Right now, I’d better run upstairs and get changed.”

“Give Ruby my regards,” she said with a smile that faded as she turned back to Slocum. “When you ordered the arrangements, did you specify colors or types of flowers?”

“No.” With the general gone, Slocum didn’t bother to hide his hostility. His blue eyes narrowed to slits in his colorless face. “I told them that the flowers were for a fund-raiser and gave them the size and number of the arrangements. When I mentioned Mitch Murano, the flower people were thrilled. He’s a celebrity. I hope he brings his supermodel girlfriend. Have you ever seen her?”

“I don’t know who she is or what she looks like,” Gennie said.

“Of course not. It’s obvious that you aren’t interested in fashion. My question is, why the hell are you making trouble?”

“About the flowers,” she said, “you didn’t request yellow oleander, pink rhododendron and hemlock branches. Is that correct?”

“I already said I didn’t.” He flipped through his clipboard, made a note and tore off a scrap of paper, which he tossed to her. “This is the florist. If you need more details, call them.”

“I will.” She pulled out her cell phone and stepped aside.

Slocum pivoted on his heel so he was facing toward Noah again. “You need to keep your people in line, and I’m not just talking about Gennie. I have a problem with your man at the front entrance.”

Shrugging off his irritation with Slocum’s tone, Noah remained professional. “Which man at the entrance?”

“The pretty boy, he said his name was Tony Vega and claimed that his orders were to set up a metal detector. That’s a waste of time. Some of the people coming to this event are military and could be in full dress uniform, possibly including sabers. Others are ranchers who routinely carry guns. These are rich men, powerful men, and they won’t give a damn if they set off a beeper. No way will they surrender their weapons.”

Providing security for people who refused to disarm made Noah’s job more difficult, but he wasn’t responsible for this particular scan. “Talk to the general about disarming his guests. He specifically asked for the metal detector.”

“And I’m telling you to take it down.”

Seriously? This pencil-neck geek thought he could overrule the general? “I won’t do it without written authorization to change the terms of our contract.”

“Fine.” He flipped to a blank page on his clipboard and started writing.

“What’s the deal with this event?” In normal circumstances, Noah would have covered this fund-raiser with five or six operatives, but the general requested twelve, including outdoor surveillance. “Is there something we need to be aware of? Have you received threats?”

“Not your problem, Noah.”

The hell it wasn’t. Managing the danger level was the very definition of protective security. “I’ll take this up with the general.”

“Wait!” Slocum caught his arm before he could leave. “Several people—including a blond anchor on TV—are mad at Murano. He’s had a dozen or so threats from people who are unhappy with those screwball meditation classes he teaches.”

“And?”

“The threats were neutralized.”

Noah didn’t like the sound of that. Slocum was talking like an evil James Bond villain. “Neutralized how?”

“His people took care of it. Talk to them.”

The entourage for Mitch Murano included bodyguards and advisors. “How many of them are there?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Slocum tore the sheet of paper off his clipboard. “This note instructs you to take down the metal detectors. I signed it, dated it and will take responsibility.”

“I intend to inform the general of the change in contract.”

“You do that.” He pivoted and made a quick exit.

Gladly, Noah returned to Gennie. He didn’t understand her problem with the flowers, but when she had mentioned hemlock, it caught his attention.

She ended her phone call and frowned at him. “You didn’t tell me everything about this assignment.”

His patience was running thin after the snippy conversation with Slocum, and he didn’t like her insinuation that he was somehow trying to trick her. “You know everything you need to know.”

“I wasn’t aware that information was on a need-to-know basis.”

He was not going to get into an argument. The guests would be arriving soon. “Tell me what you learned from the florist.”

“The flowers used in these arrangements include yellow oleander, pink rhododendron, white azaleas, sprigs of hemlock and roses that are such a dark red that they appear to be black. Does that suggest anything to you?”

Though he could see that she was fighting to keep her anger under control, her flushed cheeks and clenched jaw betrayed the hostility raging just below the surface. And he was feeling much the same. “I don’t get it.”

“Even if you don’t know anything about the language of flowers—which clearly you do not—I’d expect you to recognize common poisons. If you had to survive in nature, what would you eat?”

“I could do without the sarcasm.”

“All these plants are toxic, except for the roses, and black roses symbolize death.”

His gaze darted around the room, noticing the large display at the podium and six smaller versions on surrounding tables. “How dangerous are they?”

“There’s no problem unless the guests start eating the flowers or rubbing them on their bodies. I’m surprised that the florist agreed to handle these plants.”

She crossed the marble floor to one of the tables with a tall spreading display of flowers, and he followed. “They don’t look dangerous.”

“Anyone who knows about plants will recognize the threat. They’re a warning. And that’s why I talked to the florist about why they used these flowers. They said they were fulfilling a request, and here’s where this story gets interesting.”

“How so?”

She plucked one of the dark velvety roses from the display. “Guess who made the request for all these poisonous flowers?”

He didn’t have time to play games. “Tell me.”

“The name the florist gave me was... Kenneth Warrick.”

Chapter Three

Gennie was good at reading people, not that it took any particular sensitivity to deduce that Noah was furious. His brow furrowed like a grumpy—but still handsome—troll, and she could almost see steam shooting out of his ears, which was pretty much the reaction she’d expected. If there was one thing she’d learned about her boss during the past four days, it was that he hated when any situation got out of his control.

Though equally outraged, Gennie tamped down her anger. She twirled the dark rose between her fingers. “Did Warrick send these flowers as a warning? Or as a threat?”

“Hell if I know.”

His dark brown eyes returned her gaze with an intensity that made her feel like he was peering inside her skull. Looking for what? She had no hidden agenda. Her attitude toward Warrick was unambiguous hatred. As far as she was concerned, Noah was the wild card. He had mentioned Warrick at their first meeting, but he didn’t give context. Were they connected? Was Warrick a friend or an enemy? A muscle in Noah’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing. If that was the way he wanted to play it, fine.

She squared off with him and went silent.

They were both stubborn enough to continue this stare down for a very long time. She took the opportunity to study his face, which was definitely masculine in spite of the dimples that tweaked the corners of his mouth when he grinned. He was saved from being too classically handsome by his square jaw, sharp cheekbones and the tension that deepened the wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. She wondered what he’d look like with longer hair and maybe a beard.

Speculation on Noah’s grooming was none of her business. Whether he shaved or not, she didn’t give a hoot. Gennie had never been the type of giggly girl who got all jacked up over a good-looking male. She needed to figure out why Warrick requested those flowers. Warning or threat, which was it?

She cleared her throat. “Is Kenneth Warrick coming to this event?”

“He’s not on the guest list.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I have no reason to expect he’ll be here.”

“In our first interview, you mentioned Warrick. Is he an associate of yours?”

“Hell, no.”

Could she trust Noah? If she was going to work with him, she had to know that he had her back. “How did you meet Warrick?”

“We’ve never come face-to-face.”

She could tell that he was rationing his words but had no idea why. They were on the same team, weren’t they? Motioning for him to walk beside her, she strolled across the marble floor of the ballroom toward the kitchen where the caterers and the waitstaff bustled. Some carried trays of canapés. Others made final preparations by slicing, dicing and arranging. Two hours ago when she’d arrived at this massive three-story red brick Colonial house with six pillars across the front, she’d been excited about her assignment and anxious to do a good job—similar to how she used to feel with her team of army engineers. In Afghanistan, she’d been aware of the ever-present danger, but she hadn’t been fearful. And she wasn’t scared now, just apprehensive. She’d peeked under a stone and uncovered a scorpion.

She stopped a caterer in a chef’s jacket and asked him to clip the stem on her rose. Using his knife, he did so and handed the bloom back to her with a flourish. She rewarded him with a smile, passed on a bit of advice about steering clear of the poisonous flowers in the arrangements and then turned back to Noah. “I know Warrick is acquainted with the general.”

“He’s on a list of people to watch for. That’s why I mentioned him to you. By the way, Slocum hates him.”

She scanned the room until she spotted the overly tidy blond captain with his clipboard. “He hates everybody.”

“You have issues with Slocum?”

“Maybe.” She glimpsed a slight reaction from Noah, a narrowing of his eyes and a twitch of his mouth. “Do you have your own grudge against Slocum?”

“First, you tell me.”

While she’d been recovering from her injuries, Haymarket had offered her a job as his aide, taking over many of Slocum’s duties. Though she’d turned down the position, the captain was her sworn enemy for life. She didn’t really want to talk about it. “Let’s just say that he doesn’t like me.”

“Is there anybody in the military you haven’t pissed off?”

“Maybe not.” Though she remained curious about his beef with Slocum, she let it go. “Will you inform the general about the flowers?”

“Yes, and I’ll also ask about Warrick.” He frowned. “I think Haymarket is expecting trouble. Why else would he ask for a metal scanner and extra security outside the house?”

She’d wondered the same thing. The sniper on the roof seemed way too excessive for a fancy political fund-raiser. “He didn’t explain to you?”

“He did not.”

“Typical,” she said. “He plays his cards close to the vest.”

“Sounds like you know him better than I do.”

Her friendship with General Haymarket developed during her first tour of duty in faraway Afghanistan after he’d discovered that she grew up in his home state of Colorado. They’d known some of the same people, skied at the same resorts and fished in the same creeks. After her injury, he’d been too protective, but she never doubted that he had her best interests at heart. When Noah told her about this assignment, she’d been looking forward to seeing her former commanding officer. Someday, she hoped they could mend fences.

Friendship with the general was a mostly good memory from her military service. Kenneth Warrick was the opposite. The only way she wanted to see him was through the crosshairs of a rifle scope. After she’d been discharged from the hospital—where he never once visited—she’d done her best to erase him from her mind. Through the grapevine, she’d heard that his legitimate business as a private contractor and weapons dealer had taken a nefarious turn, and he’d dropped off the grid.

“Warrick used his real name when he talked to the florist.” She looked up at Noah. “I had the impression that he didn’t want to advertise his whereabouts.”

“Could be trying to tell us something,” Noah said. “Is he aware of your knowledge of plants and flowers?”

“I’m sure he is. One time, he gave me a bouquet of irises as a symbol for intelligence and courage. Quite a compliment.” At that point in their relationship, she would have preferred brilliant red roses meaning passionate love, but there were worse things than being smart and brave. “Why do you ask?”

“The poisonous flowers are a warning that most people wouldn’t understand. But he knew you would. He might have used his name to attract your attention.”

She shuddered at the idea of Warrick sending her a message. “If he wanted to contact me, I’m not hard to find. He could pick up the phone and call. Or drop by the house.”

“Does he have your address?”

“It’s not hard to figure out.” She lived in her parents’ house in north Denver. They’d made a permanent move to Phoenix and were glad to have her taking care of the place. “We’re getting off track. Our main concern is security for this event.”

Wryly, he said, “I’m the boss. That’s supposed to be my line.”

“It shows we’re on the same page.” And she was proud of herself for not straying off track. When Noah flashed one of his infrequent grins and hiked up his right eyebrow in a question mark, he could be incredibly distracting. She squashed a crazy urge to trace the line of his lips with the nearly black rose. Instead, she tucked the flower behind her ear.

To her surprise, he reached up and brushed his fingers through her hair. “You make me think of Carmen. It’s pretty.”

“But not practical.” She wanted to look like a security guard not an opera singer or tango dancer. She removed the flower and slipped it into the pocket of his gray sports jacket.

“Here’s a thought,” Noah said. “The threat might be aimed at Mitch Murano.”

Apart from a general outline of Murano’s accomplishments, her only information came from one of the other ARC employees. Gennie looked across the dining hall toward the redhead with the great physique. “Zoey Potter took a three-week course with Murano. She said he turned her life around.”

Noah checked his G-SHOCK wristwatch. “The guests will be here soon. In light of Warrick’s involvement, I’d understand if you wanted to take the rest of the day off.”

“Not a chance.”

“Very well,” he said. “Talk to Zoey and see if there’s a link between Murano and Warrick.”

She stifled the instinct to salute. “Thanks for trusting me.”

His grin blossomed again. “Trust goes both ways.”

“Yes, it does.”

She watched him walk away. Though he hadn’t set out to be disarming, he couldn’t help the charm that radiated from him. In a few short minutes, she’d gone from anxious and irritated to nearly trusting the man. She wanted to believe that Noah was one of the good guys. He’d taken a chance by hiring her, and she didn’t intend to let him down no matter what kind of trouble Warrick was brewing.

NOAH STRODE ACROSS the polished floor in the impressive entryway to General Haymarket’s mansion. A crystal chandelier shimmered overhead, the side tables were polished antiques from an era he couldn’t name, but he knew the sculptures resting upon them were original Remington cowboys. Noah thought of the foyer as an example of the general’s rugged outlook mixed with Ruby’s taste for sparkle. Haymarket was the sort of man who braved the wilderness to pan for gold, and she was the lady who made his nuggets into a necklace. Despite their age difference—he was in his sixties and she in her forties—they seemed happy. In a weird way, they complemented each other.

Noah paused to issue a quick instruction to Tony Vega, telling him to hold off on the metal detector. Then he ascended the curving staircase, taking two steps at a time, hoping that a talk with the general would clear up his questions about Warrick.