Илона Эндрюс - Emerald Blaze (Hidden Legacy)

“He bought his nieces and nephews,” Alessandro said. “Smart. No man who would sell his children deserves them.”

His tone told me he would’ve done the same thing.

“Leon doesn’t know how much money Marat sank into the Pit, but he thinks it’s in the millions.”

“Fifteen million,” Alessandro said. “That was the required buy-in when the board was formed.”

That’s right, he had access to Lander.

“Fifteen million is quite a bit,” I said. “If the project collapses, Marat might go bankrupt. Felix dying is the worst thing that could happen to him right now.”

“But you still like him for it?”

I nodded. “He is a summoner sitting in a swamp filled with arcane creatures, he has ties to Russia, and he is in debt up to his eyeballs. It might make him desperate and prone to doing something rash. Maybe Felix wanted him off the board.”

The PRP island loomed ahead. In the center of it, a relatively well-preserved office building rose three stories above the water. A faded green sign on the wall of the top floor proclaimed “XADAR.” The roof bristled with antennas, power poles, and a couple of satellite dishes. A seven-foot fence wrapped around the island, reinforced every few yards by metal posts. A guard tower rose on the west side, and a booth secured the entrance.

We pulled up to the security booth.

The guard glanced at our permit and waved us through. We drove into a large parking lot dotted with puddles. The spot nearest to the door was between an enormous black Ram truck and a mud-splattered Jeep, and Alessandro slid Rhino into it with surgical precision. He had many, many faults, but he was a superb driver.

“Marat’s ride,” I said and nodded at the truck. It was in the summary Leon had sent me.

Alessandro eyed the truck and sneered.

“It’s Texas.” I shrugged.

“What would he even transport in this truck? Another more reasonably sized truck, perhaps?”

“It’s a statement.”

“Yes, it is. Does it turn into a giant robot?”

“Will you run away if it does?”

He gave me a chiding look. “Please. Give me some credit.”

“Then we’re fine.”

Marat exited the building. He wore jeans and a dark shirt and walked with an aggressive, fast stride, as if he were doing the ground a favor.

Alessandro jumped out of the SUV, came around, and held my door open.

Marat looked at me. His eyebrows rose.

I always kept a spare outfit in Rhino, but when I packed it, I aimed for a generic business casual, the kind of outfit that would let me blend in with the city scene in the heat of Houston’s summer. I wore a light coral skirt, a pale, almost white blouse with just a hint of pink, and a striped black-and-white blazer with sleeves rolled up to just below the elbow. I had completed this fashionista ensemble with my muddy boots, because my only alternative was a pair of coral pumps.

It wasn’t the kind of outfit one wore to the swamp. I looked like a complete idiot.

Marat’s face told me he thought as much. “You’re late.” Then he turned away from me. “Prime Sagredo, good morning. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Ah. Alessandro got a good morning and I got the hired-help greeting.

“My apologies,” Alessandro said smoothly. “Lander asked me to accompany Ms. Baylor. We ran into some obstacles on the way.”

“Was the road flooded?” Marat frowned. “I didn’t notice any trouble this morning.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Alessandro said.

“We are here now,” I said.

“Now I don’t have time,” Marat said. “I had time twenty minutes ago, but now I don’t have any to spare. I’ll have my secretary call you.”

I had hoped for the subtle approach, but Alessandro was right. Marat was a bully, and like all bullies, he only understood blunt strength.

I held out my hand.

Marat looked at it. “What?”

“Keys.”

“What keys?”

“Keys to the building. I’m shutting you down.”

Marat’s face turned purple. “You can’t do that.”

I quoted from memory, skipping over some irrelevant time limits. “In the event of the death of a Director from a Nonnatural Cause, the Deceased Director’s Voting Shareholders—that would be Lander Morton and Alessandro, by proxy—shall have the right, at their sole election and expense, to retain a private investigator to identify the person or persons responsible for the Deceased Director’s death. That would be me.

“The remaining Shareholders shall cooperate with the Investigation by, at a minimum, one, producing in full any documents requested by the Investigator, subject to a separate nondisclosure agreement; two, responding in writing to any written questions submitted by the Investigator to a Shareholder; three, making available to the Investigator for interview any persons under the control of the Shareholder to whom the request is made; and four, immediately upon retention of the Investigator, preserving all records in any and all media formats by taking any other steps necessary to prevent the spoliation of evidence.

“In the event that any Shareholder fails to cooperate with the Investigation as required by this section, the Deceased Director’s Voting Shareholders shall have the right, at their sole election, to suspend any and all activities of the Corporation, but for the following: one, payment of previously incurred obligations; two, payment of taxes; and three, any filings required to maintain the Corporation as an entity in Good Standing with the Texas Secretary of State.”

Marat gaped at me.

It wasn’t that impressive, actually. I was good at memorization, and a lot of PI work, and especially Warden-related work, landed me into a grey area between regular citizen and law enforcement. Knowing exactly what I was and wasn’t authorized to do was essential, and I had learned to spit the relevant contract language on command.

“You signed this agreement, Mr. Kazarian. You clearly don’t understand what you’ve signed, so I will explain it to you.”

Marat sputtered.

“The contract requires you to comply with my investigation. I’m making a formal request to view the crime scene and interview you in regards to the death of Felix Morton. You’re refusing me access. Therefore, you are in breach of contract. That gives me the right to mothball this project until you decide to cooperate.”

I raised my voice. I had no idea if there was anyone within earshot, but it didn’t matter. “Starting today nobody gets paid. Drop what you’re doing and leave.”

Marat spun to Alessandro. “Are you going to let her do this?”

“Yes.”

“Every moment we’re not working, we’re losing money.”

Alessandro arranged his stunning face into an expression of concern. “I’d like to help. I really would. But she’s a very dangerous woman and you’ve made her angry.”

Marat swore. “Don’t be a fucking pussy!”

Weeks of visiting Grandma Victoria and controlling my face paid off. I didn’t laugh.

“Let’s be reasonable,” Alessandro said, his voice soothing.

“You signed the contract,” I told Marat. “Nobody twisted your arm to do it. This can end any time you’re ready. Show me to the crime scene and answer my questions, and I’ll go away.”

Marat whipped out his phone and stalked away.

I reached out and patted Alessandro’s arm.

“What’s that for?”

“Superhuman self-restraint.”

Marat turned around and marched back to us, his face dark. “Fine. Fucking fine. Let’s go. I’ll show you the damn crime scene.”

We trudged along a series of bridges. One guard, an older, balding man with a Texas tan, in the lead, and the other, a man in his late twenties with hair so pale it was almost white and a brick-red sunburn, bringing up the rear. Both were armed with shotguns and both looked like they wanted to be anywhere but here. Alessandro stuck close to me, blocking the rear guard’s view of me with his wide back. I had a feeling if that shotgun came up, he would grab me and throw me into the murky water.