“I did protect him. I told you, she had a knife and some interesting pictures of her husband and his boyfriend. She’d have carved him to the bone if I hadn’t distracted her long enough for him to escape.”
“I read the report.” She picked up the manila folder and placed it in his hands. “This one’s more important than it looks on the surface.”
“Because you want more of Parrish’s business?”
Let him think that. “I would very much like to impress him, regardless of his political leanings, and I’m counting on you to make that impression. And, of course, to be sure no one lays a hand on one of his favorite employees. Including you.”
“Aw, Luce. Don’t tell me you believe all those rumors.” An irreverent smile broke across his face. “I’m telling you, it’s all propaganda.”
Lucy laughed softly. “There’s truth in propaganda.” She never could stay angry with him for very long. Five years ago, when she’d left the Agency with a plan to target the most powerful people in the world as her clients, Alex Romero had been one of her first hires. His intelligence and fearlessness had knocked her socks off. He had that effect on most women; unfortunately their underwear and common sense were invariably knocked off along with their socks.
“This subject is not an ordinary news anchor,” Lucy told him. “When she’s done in Miami, she’s New York bound, being groomed to be the next star of the Metropolitan Network.”
“And I’m supposed to get excited about that.”
“No, Alex. That’s just the point: you’re not supposed to get excited about that. Your excitement was the cause of the debacle in Geneva.”
He fingered the edge of the folder, and read the tab. “Jessica Adams. What’s her deal?”
“She’s an ambitious thirty-year-old workaholic who lives in a high-rise off Brickell Avenue in Miami. She rarely dates, loves to cook, reads the classics, collects antique glass, has an identical twin sister, chairs a breast cancer foundation, exercises regularly, and drives a BMW convertible. She’ll be an easy client.”
“Fine.” His tone told her it wasn’t. “I’ll leave right away.”
“Mr. Parrish requested that you arrive no sooner than tomorrow night. That way he’ll have an opportunity to brief Miss Adams on his decision to hire a bodyguard. Evidently she’s not taking the stalker threats seriously.”
“That’ll give me time to bounce some nieces and nephews when I get to Coral Gables.”
Lucy smiled as she circled back to her chair. “You do that. And when you meet the principal, make sure she understands that the danger to her is real. She needs to know that complacency is the enemy.” Picking up her electronic assistant to check messages, she added, “Don’t let me down, Alex. You know the rules.”
“Jeez, Luce. It’s insulting that you think I’m such a dog that I can’t resist one measly news—”
She heard the folder flip open, then his long, slow whistle.
“Those are real,” she said without taking her attention from her handheld device. When he didn’t answer, she finally looked at him, seeing a glint in his eyes that was both threatening and amused.
“You’re evil, Lucy. Truly black-hearted and evil.”
Chapter One
J asmine Adams peered through her rental car windshield at the gaudy glass and brass high-rise, then back to her cell phone to try her sister one more time.
This is Jessica Adams; please leave a message and I’ll get right back to you.
Jessica’s chirpy TV voice usually made Jazz smile, but hearing the message for the umpteenth time simply made her boil. Or maybe it was Miami’s 200 percent humidity, which had long ago melted the spunk out of her new spunky hairdo and wrapped her whole body with perspiration. Back home in San Francisco, she’d need a leather jacket on a November evening; here, a thin cotton tank top was plastered to her skin.
“Come on, Jessica,” she told the answering machine. “I’m not even late, for once. Where are you, Miss Never Met a Clock You Couldn’t Beat?”
As night darkened the skies, the towering buildings came magically to light, spilling rivers of white and gold over the blackness of Biscayne Bay. Jazz scanned the deepening shadows under the palm trees and hibiscus bushes around the manicured grounds. What kind of self-respecting private investigator sat in the downtown Miami darkness unarmed?
But she wasn’t here as a private investigator. And Jessica had gone all whiny at the idea of Jazz bringing a Walther P99 Compact into her brand new condo. Because this whole outrageous plan