He lifted a wicked brow. “That’s not the celebration I had in mind.”
“So much for family time.” She chuckled. “You’ll enjoy that one, too. Why not have—Joe?”
He was standing ramrod straight, his head lifted, looking out at the lake, the smile completely gone.
“Joe, what’s wrong?”
He jerked his gaze back to her. “Nothing. Just a—I don’t know.” He opened the car door. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
She watched the car go down the road and around the curve before she slowly turned and went in the house. Those last few minutes had made her uneasy, and it was difficult to dismiss them.
But she would dismiss them. It was time to forget nightmares and unexplained uneasiness. The sun was shining, and she had to get on with her life. It was a good life, with purpose and people she loved. That was what was important. She moved quickly back to the bedroom to dress and get ready to work on Ryan.
Vancouver, Canada
“VENABLE PHONED,” HOWARD STANG said when Lee Zander walked into the house after his gym workout. “He called on my cell. He wasn’t happy when he couldn’t reach you. He should know by now that you change your phones every week or so.”
“Venable is always unhappy when things don’t go like clockwork. That’s his CIA mind-set. He takes it as a personal insult.” Zander dropped down in the chair in front of the fire. “Did he say what he wanted?”
“For you to call him back.” He grimaced. “Venable doesn’t confide in me. Not that I’d want him to. I prefer to stay out of the CIA’s sphere of influence.”
“So do I.”
“It’s not the same. I’m intimidated, and you just choose to avoid.” Stang studied Zander as he watched him reach for his phone. Lee Zander was a tall, muscular man with white hair cropped short and a bone structure that was both craggy and bold. His brown eyes were sunk deep in his tan face beneath a slash of dark brows. Stang had no idea how old he was … fifties? Sixties? It didn’t matter. He appeared ageless, and he had seen Zander take down men who must have been half his age. He kept that powerful body exercised and his mind razor-sharp. Stang could not imagine Zander being influenced or intimidated by anyone, even a power player like Venable. Stang had been working for him for the last three years as his personal assistant and accountant, and he had never lost his respect … or his fear … of Zander. At times, he wondered why he stayed with him when the comfort level was always being jeopardized by the uncertainty of how Zander would respond to any given situation. But those moments were rare; when he subdued the panic, he knew exactly why he stayed with him. He’d made a decision years ago when he’d sworn on his brother’s grave that he’d never leave Zander until the day he died. “Venable sounded urgent.”
“He never calls me unless it’s urgent.” He gazed at him as he punched in the number. “I’ll probably need to talk to you after I finish with him.”
“Why?” Stang unconsciously tensed. “Is something wrong? Did I—”
“Why do you always think that something is wrong?” His lips twisted. “You’re brilliant. Everything you touch turns to gold. You give me choices.”
“Then what do you—”
“Venable?” Zander held up his hand and gestured for Stang to go out on the terrace. “What’s the problem?”
Stang had already reached the French doors and was opening them. It was standard operating procedure. Zander never permitted him to be in the room when he was dealing with anyone. For his part, he wanted no part of knowing anything about Zander’s lethal business. It could either make him an accessory or a danger to Zander or his client. Neither prospect was appealing.
He strolled over to the balcony and gazed out at the mountains. It was a glorious view from this magnificent house. Stay out of hearing range and just stand here and wait for Zander to finish with Venable and get to him.
And hope to hell he hadn’t screwed up.
* * *
“YOU TOOK YOUR TIME about calling me back,” Venable growled. “Or was it that Stang took his time about telling you I called?”
“I was working out in the gym. He has orders not to disturb me unless he knows that it’s important.”
“And he was too scared to make a mistake. I don’t know why he stays with you. He’s smart as a whip and makes you richer than you deserve to be. He could be one of the fair-haired boys on Wall Street if he walked away.”
“It’s complicated. We have a history. I don’t think Stang can decide whether or not to slip arsenic into my brandy. I’m curious to see if he whips up enough courage to do it. You did impress him enough that he told me the minute I walked into the house.” He paused. “But evidently it wasn’t that urgent if you’re choosing to growl at me instead of telling me what the matter is. I’ll give you two minutes, then I’ll—”