Not on His Watch

As soon as the electronic door whooshed open, their screens went blank.

Whitney stood. “Gentlemen, I’m pleased to introduce Prince Javid Haji Haleem, future ruler of Anbar.”

In person, Javid was impressive. Though he was probably only in his early thirties, he carried himself gracefully. As he shook Quint’s hand, he said, “I know you.”

“No, sir, I don’t believe I’ve had the honor.”

“We have not met. I know your reputation.” His slight accent made his speech seem formal. “You have led wildcat oil crews.”

“Not for a long time.” In his twenties, Quint built the resources of Crawford Oil by wildcat exploration around the world, usually in Central and South America. He quit traveling when he settled down with Paula, five years ago on his thirtieth birthday.

“You discovered oil in many nations,” Javid said. “Yet, you never exploited the local population. Instead, you created employment. In some cases, you won freedom for oppressed peoples. I admire you, Quintin Crawford.”

“Thank you, sir.” Embarrassed by the tribute, Quint got back to the topic at hand. “How can Chicago Confidential be of service to you?”

Javid strode around the table and sat beside Vincent. “I believe my brother, Zahir, helped in the overthrow of Nurul by Sheik Khalaf. It is no secret that Khalaf would like to put Zahir on the throne in Nurul. The alliance between these two is perilous for my nation. If Imad and Nurul combine their military resources, they could conquer Anbar.”

“If they conquer Anbar,” Law said, “they might become the most powerful force in the Middle East.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Javid frowned. “I have come to you because I am also convinced that Zahir was involved in the Reykjavik bombing.”

“Do you have proof?” Quint asked.

“Not direct evidence.” A pained look crossed his face. “It saddens me to think my own brother is linked with terrorists, but I am not naive. Zahir is capable of…anything.”

Quint said, “We just heard that Sheik Khalaf is coming to Chicago. How about Zahir?”

“He will be here soon,” Javid said. “There are rumors he is betrothed with the estranged daughter of Khalaf, but his stated purpose in coming to Chicago is to meet with Quantum and to discuss the future sale of oil from Nurul. And possibly to convince them to buy from Imad.”

“But he supposedly bombed Quantum in Reykjavik,” Andy said.

“My brother negotiates with one hand,” Javid said. “He plots with the other.”

Andy nodded, seemingly unconcerned about human treachery. “What can you tell us about the incendiary?”

“If you’d like,” Whitney said, “we can review the specs right now.”

Vincent nodded his assent, and the large high-resolution screen lit up with a three-dimensional blueprint for an incendiary.

Once again, the door from the outer office opened, and Kathy the receptionist stepped inside. “Excuse me,” she said. “I have an urgent phone call for Quint.”

“I’ll take it out front.” He rose from his seat, glad to be leaving a technical discussion of bombs and bombing.

In the outer office, he winked at Kathy Renk. “Thank you, ma’am. All those switches and coils are way too much information for me.”

“Me, too. When Andy explains mechanical stuff, it’s hard for me to stay awake.” A pleasantly plump woman in her late thirties, Kathy couldn’t be considered beautiful. But when she smiled, the world was a friendlier place. She pointed toward Whitney’s office. “You can take the call in there. It’s Daniel Austin.”

Quint closed the office door behind himself, picked up the phone and said, “If it isn’t Daniel Austin, the head hound dawg at Montana Confidential.”

“Surprised you can remember with that peanut-size buzzard brain of yours. How the hell are you?”

“Can’t complain,” Quint said. “I’m in the middle of a briefing, so I got to keep it short. What’s up?”

“What’s your take on Javid?”

“He’s not afraid to look me straight in the eye. He seems a mite quick to turn on his brother, but I don’t know the family history. And, I’d have to say, Javid’s a real handsome fellow.”

“You got that right.” Austin chuckled. “And don’t we sound like a couple of prancin’ Nancy boys?”

“Don’t know about you,” Quint said. “I happen to be confident enough in my masculinity to notice when another guy is good-looking.”

“Boy, you’re beginning to sound like Oprah.”

“Well, perhaps that’s why I was sent to Chicago,” Quint said. “Now, was there a reason for this urgent call?”

“The CEO at Quantum, Henry Van Buren, is an old friend of mine, and I’m worried about him.” All the joking left Austin’s voice. “I want you to take real good care of him and his family.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Most especially,” Daniel said, “I want you to look out for Henry’s daughter, Natalie. From what I understand, she’s a single woman.”

“You’re matchmaking,” Quint said. “Now who sounds like Oprah?”

Austin gave a hoot of laughter. “Seriously, how are things going with the set-up of Chicago Confidential? What do you think of Vincent Romeo?”

“A good man.” Quint didn’t choose to mention his personal spitting match with Vincent which was a man-to-man private matter. “This is a real high-tech operation, and they’re doing just fine.”

“Take care of yourself,” Austin said. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That leaves me a lot of room, sir.”

After saying goodbye, Quint disconnected the call and returned to the outer office where Kathy Renk was scowling at a half-eaten candy bar.

“Something wrong?” Quint asked.

“It’s that new maintenance man, Liam Wallace, who thinks he’s God’s gift. The ego on that man!” She fluttered her hands. “Oh, listen to me. He’s got my feathers all ruffled. It’s not important. You go back to your meeting.”

Quint smiled at Kathy as he returned to the special-ops room. The discussion with Javid continued, outlining the arcane politics of Imad, Nurul and Anbar. Why had Austin alerted him? What did he suspect about Javid? Quint wondered if the twin brothers really were estranged.

As Vincent wrapped up the briefing, Lawson Davies was given the assignment of researching other terrorist groups and ferreting out possible traitors inside Quantum Industries. Quint wondered how he was going to be used in this investigation. Infiltrating Quantum was out of the question. Even if he buried his Texan accent, he couldn’t disguise his identity; too many people at the company already knew him. Nor was it likely he could go undercover with the terrorists.

As the others left the office, Vincent caught his gaze. “Stay behind. We need to talk.”

Quint returned to his chair. Idly scrolling through the information on his laptop, he paused again on the photograph of Natalie Van Buren, a lady who should be safe at her desk, escorting visiting dignitaries and sending out press releases. What was her connection?

Vincent returned and took the seat beside Quint. For a moment, they sat quietly, allowing the energy in the room to settle.

“When I started out,” Vincent said, “I never planned to be the guy behind the desk. The administrator. The boss. It’s harder than I expected.”

“‘Uneasy is the head that wears the crown,’” Quint quoted.

“And the butt that sits on the throne.”

A joke from Vincent Romeo? Quint could hardly believe it.

“Except,” Vincent said, “I’m not a king. We all work together, and I want you on my team, Quint.”

“I’m ready to play.” Quint figured this was as close to an apology as he’d get. And it was enough.

“I’d like to hear your opinion on the briefing information.”

Quint glanced toward the woman’s face on the screen. It would be her job with Quantum to make sure these Middle Eastern dignitaries were entertained while in Chicago. “From what Javid said, I’m worried about his brother, Zahir. He’s convinced the world that he’s just a playboy, but his plan might be to take over the whole Middle East.”

“Wish we had solid proof against him.” Vincent sighed. “It’s easier to go after known criminals. We know how they think, how they operate.”

“Not always.” Paula’s death had been caused by a drug cartel, a viperous nest of professional criminals who had ultimately been stopped by Texas Confidential. Unconsciously, Quint’s gaze wandered toward a mounted set of cow horns over the door in the special-ops room. The horns—an anachronism in this high-tech arena—were a good-luck gift from Daniel Austin. “The only thing to count on is the unexpected. Mitchell Forbes gave me that bit of advice.”

“Mitchell’s a good man. He told me a lot about you. Information that wasn’t included in your dossier.” Vincent’s voice lowered. “I’m sorry for your loss. Deeply sorry.”

Quint acknowledged his sentiment with a shrug. Neither of them were men who spent much time expressing their emotions. “What’s my assignment?”

Vincent pointed toward the computer screen. “You’re looking at her.”

“Natalie Van Buren?”

“She and my wife went to boarding school together, and Whitney is worried about her. It seems that Natalie has been receiving threatening notes.”

“For how long?” Quint asked.

“A couple of weeks. They started before the bombing in Reykjavik and might be unconnected threats from a crank, but we need to keep an eye on Natalie.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Quint said. “She’s not hard to look at.”

“Here’s the complicated part,” Vincent said. “We don’t want to alert the terrorists to our presence. You can’t tell anyone you’re her bodyguard. Not even Natalie herself.”

“Wait a minute,” Quint said. “Are you saying that she won’t be told that I’m there to protect her?”

“Exactly.”

“How am I supposed to shadow her every movement, without letting her know why I’m there?”

“Turn on that famous Southern charm.” Vincent grinned broadly. “Okay, cowboy?”

STANDING ALONE at the floor-to-ceiling window in her father’s office on the thirty-first floor of the Quantum Building, Natalie Van Buren stared at the familiar Chicago sky-scape. Tall, solid buildings thrust into the cloudy March day, defying the blistering winds from Lake Michigan with their muscular presence. She loved the character of her big-shouldered city. Chicago had been built from the honest sweat of plain, hard-working Midwesterners. Chicago was a city that got things done.

Usually, this view comforted and inspired her, but not today. Natalie knew, in her heart, that someone was lying to her. Behind the bland reassurances from the other corporate vice presidents that everything was business as usual, she sensed a thin veil of deception.

When it came to Quantum business, Natalie trusted her instincts more than she did data, meetings or memorandums. This was her home; she’d grown up here. These corporate offices had been her childhood playground. As the eldest daughter, she’d always aspired to taking over the family business. Her life had been dedicated to proving herself worthy of running the largest oil distributor in the world.

Impatiently, she turned away from the window. Where was her father? Why was he taking so long? The minute he stepped through the door to his office, she’d pounce and demand to know the truth. As if that would make him tell her. Nobody ever forced Henry Van Buren to play his hand.

Her father entered his office and closed the door. Though he strode with his usual athletic vigor, his green eyes—exactly the same color as Natalie’s—seemed tired. “Good morning,” he barked.

“I need to know what’s going on,” she said.

“Read the Tribune.” He sank into the black leather chair behind his desk. “I have a job for you, and I don’t want you palming it off on an assistant.”

She never shirked her responsibilities. Why would he even insinuate that she wasn’t a hard worker? “Before we talk about anything else, I want some answers. In five days, I’ll be speaking to that energy consortium in Washington, D.C., and I must be sure of what I need to say.”

He tilted his head to one side, studying her as if he didn’t see her every Monday through Friday. “You look nice today, Natalie. That’s a pretty color.”

“Loden green.” Her tailored, silk-blend blazer with matching knee-length skirt ought to look more than simply “nice.” This suit had cost a small fortune. “Back to business, Henry. I have a few questions.”

“Shoot.”

“The security in this building has been increased. New fish-eye cameras have been installed on the floors. There’s a new machine in the mail room for x-raying packages. Why?”

“It was time for an upgrade.”

He had on his poker face. Natalie recognized the expression because she often wore it herself. She and her father were very much alike—hardworking, skilled businesspeople who were absolutely dedicated to Quantum. Yet, they weren’t close. They never hugged. And they weren’t confidants.

Natalie strolled across the carpet to his desk and casually picked up a clumsy-looking ceramic paperweight that she’d made for him when she was in fourth grade. “I hope we’re not going to the expense of upgrading security because of those stupid threatening notes I’ve received.”

His poker face slipped. “I’d do anything to protect you, Natalie. You know that.”

His sincere concern worried her. Though Natalie had been a bit disconcerted by the first couple of notes, she was more angry than anything else. She refused to be intimidated. But if her father was taking the threats seriously…

“Next question,” he said.

“Does this extra security have anything to do with the explosion in Reykjavik?”

“You have the PR information on the explosion. An accident. What else?”

“I’ve heard that someone is buying oil from Imad.”

“There’s no law against it,” he said. “What does that have to do with Quantum?”

“We’re not dealing with Imad?”

“Hell, no. Sheik Khalaf Al-Sayed can take a flying leap, as far as I’m concerned. In my opinion, the man is a murderous terrorist.”

“I’m glad.” The moral center at Quantum always made her proud. Though they were a megacorporation in a sometimes dirty business, her father kept them on the high road. The suspected human rights abuses in Imad truly disgusted him. “What’s our position on Nurul?”

“I’ve agreed to meet with Prince Zahir next week. Though he’s not officially part of their new government, he’s acting as emissary. But I don’t intend to buy from Nurul until their politics have stabilized.”

“What’s the story with Zahir?”

“Even though he’s supposedly engaged, he has the reputation of being a ladies’ man. Which makes me glad that you’re going to be out of town meeting with the energy consortium while he’s here.”

Though her sense of being deceived lingered, she had to smile. Her father didn’t want her getting involved with a renegade prince from the Middle East. “Do you really think I’d fall for Zahir?”

“You never know.” He scooted a stack of papers to the center of his desk and eyed the top sheet, apparently anxious to start work. “Are we finished with your questions and ready to start your new assignment?”

“I’m not quite finished,” she said. “About my speech to the consortium, the legal department has compiled proof against the allegation that Quantum is a monopoly. Our contracts are clearly nonexclusive. According to—”

“Hold it! This job assignment will give you a new perspective on contracts. I want you to spend the next couple of days with one of our oldest suppliers, the owner of Crawford Oil. His name is Quintin Crawford. He’s up here from Texas and would like to be shown around the town.”

“You’re joking!” She had tons of work to do before she left town. “You want me to waste my time babysitting some minor-league supplier?”

“Watch your attitude, Natalie. The loyalty of men like Quint is what keeps us in business.” He pressed a button on his intercom and spoke to his secretary. “Please show Mr. Crawford in here.”

“No, Henry, my schedule is full. I can’t… I don’t want to…”

Her objections faded to helpless sputtering when the door to her father’s office swung wide and an extremely tall man swaggered into the office. From the top of his black Stetson that almost scraped the upper edge of the door frame to the toes of his brushed-leather cowboy boots, he was every inch a Texan. He was not—definitely not—the type of sophisticated escort Natalie preferred.

Though his denim jeans and suede jacket might pass for an eccentric fashion statement, the rest of his outfit was over the top. At the throat of his white cotton shirt was a bolo tie with a silver concha that matched the blindingly polished silver in his gigantic belt buckle.

“Howdy, Miss Natalie,” he drawled. “Your daddy tells me you’re going to show me the town. I am much obliged.”

“Hello, Mr. Crawford.” Her brain raced, trying to figure out ways she could dump this assignment. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Call me Quint.” He removed his ridiculous cowboy hat, strode toward her and stuck out his hand. “And the pleasure is all mine.”

When she accepted his handshake, Natalie looked up at him. His brown hair was a little too long and untamed. A dark tan bronzed his features. His startling blue eyes, surrounded by crinkles from the sun, held her gaze. Strangely mesmerized, she saw wide-open skies, unlimited vistas and wildflowers—a breath of fresh air through her sterile corporate existence. His handshake was firm. His large hand engulfed her soft palm, but his touch was gentle and controlled.

She swallowed hard. No way would she allow herself to be interested in a shaggy-haired cowboy.

Her father came out from behind the desk and rested his hand on each of their shoulders. His gesture startled her. It felt as if he was giving them his blessing.

“You two have fun today. All day. That’s an order, Natalie.”

She didn’t mistake his meaning. Natalie would not be allowed to assign the task of sightseeing with Quint to an assistant. According to her father—the CEO of Quantum—this Texan was her problem.

Chapter Two

Before leaving Confidential headquarters, Quint had checked out the blueprints Andy had for the Quantum Building, a post-World War II skyscraper that had been upgraded and renovated several times, creating a security man’s nightmare. If a terrorist planned to hide a bomb within these walls, the options were endless. Thousands of square feet of cubicles, offices, boardrooms, bathrooms, cafeterias, mail rooms, exercise facilities and a parking garage made this structure into a thirty-two-story labyrinth of danger.

Therefore, Quint had decided before he got here that he’d feel safer protecting Natalie on the streets of Chicago—far away from potential threats at Quantum. The way he figured, randomly selected destinations would lessen the opportunity for a planned assault, if, in fact, she was a target for these unnamed terrorists.

After he and Natalie left her father’s office, he trailed her into the elevator. His gaze flicked to the ceiling. The center panel could be easily removed to gain access to the elevator shaft. In spite of security cameras, any of the eight elevators could be considered a possible bomb location.

Disembarking on the twenty-fourth floor where her office was located, she asked, “Is there something special you’d like to see while you’re in Chicago? The stockyards, perhaps?”

“We got steer in Texas, Miss Natalie. While I’m here, I got a hankering to see the sights of your fine city. If you don’t mind.”

“The Art Institute?” she suggested.

Her smooth alto voice held a challenge, as if she wouldn’t expect a cowboy to be interested in an outstanding art collection, but he didn’t take offense. He was undercover. His exaggerated “good old boy” routine was meant to be disarming; nobody would suspect him of being a bodyguard.

Reinforcing her impression that his idea of culture was the local hoedown, he asked, “At the Art Institute, do you suppose they’ve got any of the cows?”

“Cows?” Her eyebrows lifted.

“Y’all had painted cows on the streets for a while. Isn’t that right?”

“Oh yes, the Chicago Cows. Dozens of life-size cow statues with designs by contemporary artists. It was a very successful public display.” She strode down the hall toward her corner office. “But I’m afraid the herd has gone back to the barn.”

Though her tone was professionally cordial, Quint had the impression that she’d be thrilled if he, too, would retire to the hayloft and leave her alone. “Too bad,” he said.

“After I check in with my secretary,” she said, “I have a lunch date with an old friend from boarding school. I should make other arrangements for you. I’m sure you’d be bored to death with our girl talk.”

“Don’t inconvenience yourself.” Quint already knew about the lunch date. Natalie’s school friend was none other than Whitney MacNair Romeo. “I’ll tag along with you ladies.”

When she hesitated, probably trying to come up with another excuse to dump him, Quint added, “Your daddy told me you got real good steak in Chicago.”

Her father was the only person at Quantum who knew the nature of Quint’s assignment, and Henry Van Buren was relieved to have a bodyguard for his headstrong daughter. The mention of his name had the desired effect on Natalie; she wouldn’t disobey direct orders from the Quantum CEO.

With an icy smile, she said, “Of course, you’re welcome to lunch with us.”

Entering the outer office, Natalie tossed off a casual introduction of Quint and her executive secretary, Maria Luisa Moreno.

But he wasn’t so cavalier. He’d been raised by his grandma from Alabama, who insisted on good manners and Southern hospitality. He shook the secretary’s hand and looked straight into her dark pretty eyes. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Maria Luisa. I’m a supplier for Quantum, visiting for a few days from Texas.”

The slender black-haired woman sized him up in a glance, then she smiled, slow and sultry. “I would’ve guessed Texas.”

“I reckon the Stetson is a dead giveaway.” He sensed her approval and felt gratified by her warmth. It didn’t hurt to have Natalie’s secretary on his side. “I used to have a girlfriend named Mary Lou. Mind if I call you that?”

Her sooty eyelashes lowered seductively. “For you, I’ll be Mary Lou. And you can call me anytime—”

“Maria Luisa.” Natalie interrupted their flirtation. “Was there anything important in the mail?”

“Not really.” She released Quint’s hand and resumed a professional pose. “When I came in, there was another of those hand-addressed envelopes marked Personal. I left it unopened on your desk.”

Quint was immediately alert. Where there were threats and a bombing, mysterious envelopes raised a red flag. He strode into the office behind Natalie, but he beat her to the desk and snatched the padded brown envelope before she had a chance to touch it.

“Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer.”

Obviously irritated, she reached for the package. “If you don’t mind, I can handle my own mail.”

Not if it’s a letter bomb. “I don’t see a postmark. Your secret boyfriend must be somebody in the building.”

“I doubt that.”

She made another grab, and he changed hands, keeping the package beyond her grasp. “How come you’re so sure?”

“If you must know, I’ve been receiving similar packages for the past couple of weeks. The contents are definitely not love notes.”

“Then, what are they?” He pretended ignorance, wishing like hell that he could simply tell her his job. This game of keep-away was getting silly. “Gosh, Miss Natalie, this package isn’t a threat, is it?”

“What if it is?”

Her hands balled into fists, which she planted on her hips. A red flush of anger climbed her slender throat, coloring her smooth, delicate skin a bright pink. Though she wasn’t aware of the change, she looked vivacious and pretty as a rose petal. By contrast, her voice was like steel.

“That’s my mail, Quint. I’ll thank you to set the package on my desk.”

He shook his head. “Your daddy wouldn’t like that, especially after he went to all the trouble of installing an X-ray machine in the mail room.”