Melissa Good: Eye of the Storm

Eye of the Storm

Melissa Good

Copyright © 2001 by Melissa Good

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The characters, incidents and dialogue herein are fictional and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN 1-932300-13-9

Second Edition

First Printing 2004

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Cover design by Donna Pawlowski

Published by:

Yellow Rose Books

PMB 210, 8691 9th Avenue

Port Arthur, Texas 77642-8025

Find us on the World Wide Web at

http://www.regalcrest.biz

Printed in the United States of America

I’d like to dedicate Eye of the Storm to Gabrielle the Labrador, my wildly happy and sock stealing Retriever. She keeps waiting for me to bring her literary alter ego, Chino, home for her to play with.

— Melissa Good

Chapter

One

THE AIR WAS thick with nervous dread, even though the plain, if neatly furnished conference room provided a relatively relaxed appearance. Six people were seated around the nicked, wooden table, all eyeing each other with looks of trepidation. It was mid afternoon, and several beams of warm sunlight entered through a high set of windows, painting the opposite wall in lurid stripes.

“So,” a short, dark haired woman shuffled the papers in front of her, “never thought I’d see this happen.”

A taller, equally dark haired man across from her leaned back and folded his arms. “C’mon, Ann. We were sitting targets. Six new contracts, and two of them directly competing?” He sighed in disgust. “Just a matter of time.” He glanced at his watch. “Speaking of…when’s this piece of bad news going to get here?”

Ann Delaney stood and paced to the window, barely tall enough to peer out. “Beats me. Maybe the plane was late. You know these people.

They’ll come when they’re good and ready, and I hear this one’s a tough customer.”

A stocky, balding man stood up, went to the coffee pot, and poured himself a cup. “What else is new? They don’t send nice guys to do this sort of thing. I’ve told accounting to be on their toes, God knows what they’ll ask for.”

Footsteps sounded on the carpet outside, the door latch worked, and then the wooden door pushed open. A thin, pale haired man walked in followed by a stranger. “Good morning, folks. Please be seated.”

“Morning, Charlie,” Ann murmured, resuming her seat and watching their visitor as the woman walked around to the front of the conference table and set her briefcase down.

Charles Efton took a seat and folded his hands. “Well, here we all are, just like you asked.” He turned his attention to the silent figure waiting at the head of the table. “I guess we can start.”

Cool eyes regarded them. “Thank you.” The voice was calm, yet vibrant. “I have a list of things I’m going to need for us to start this process.” Strong, powerful hands opened the briefcase and removed a sheaf 2 Melissa Good of papers, which were slid down the table. “I don’t think there’s anything unusual there. Once I have this information, we can proceed.”

Ann took the top sheet and passed the stack down, then looked at it.

A list of reports topped the requests. Some were expected, others...

“Dependents?” She looked up sharply, meeting intelligent eyes looking evenly back at her. “Is that necessary?”

“You’d be surprised what I find necessary,” the woman answered briskly. “I’d like to drop my things off at the hotel. That should give you about two hours to gather everything. You shouldn’t need more than that.” She paused. “Right?”

Ann shuffled the papers and arranged them with small, precise motions. “Right.”

“Good.” The sound of a briefcase being zipped was suddenly loud.

Charlie stood up hastily and moved forward, joined by the tall, dark haired man. “Ah, yeah, that’ll give us time…um, Sam, sorry…I should have introduced you but we—”

The woman turned and held out a hand. “Sam Gershwin, right?

You’re the comptroller.”

Sharp brown eyes regarded her carefully, before her grip was returned. “Right...and, sorry…we didn’t catch your name?”

The pale eyes warmed briefly. “Kerry Stuart.” A smile appeared, breaking through the business facade easily, then disappearing. “Good to meet you. I’m sure we can make this a smooth transition.”

“I’m sure,” Sam murmured as he watched the slim, blonde woman shoulder her case. “You need a ride out?” The intense green eyes flicked to his face, then dropped.

“No, thanks.” Kerry gave him a brief smile. “It’s the Courtyard, right down the road. See you all shortly.” She stepped around the table and went to the door, aware of the eyes at her back, which were cut off as she closed the door behind her, and hearing the voices already rising.

With a sigh, she stepped out into the pleasant sunlight, taking in a breath of the pine scented air. “Maybe three hours,” she decided, heading for her rental car across a gravel strewn lot.

THE SOFT SHUFFLE of booted feet against the padded deck broke the silence, and the ring of watchers shifted to watch as two opponents circled each other. The taller of the two stepped backwards and twisted to avoid a kick from the shorter, and then caught the extended leg under the knee and turned, bringing the other body down and over an outstretched thigh to the mat.

“Shit.” The shorter figure rolled to its feet and circled again. This time diving right into an attack and grappling with powerful hands. He managed a solid hold but it was broken moments later when his opponent dropped to one knee and delivered a blow to his ribcage. “Oof.”

“Sorry,” the low voice drawled as they separated and then went at it again. This time kicks and blows were traded in a rapid exchange that Eye of the Storm 3

finally ended with the taller of the two taking them both through the air with a rolling attack and landing with a thump to toss the shorter outside the fight area.

He stayed there.

Dar got to her feet and flexed her hands inside their padded covering as she walked over. “You okay, Ken?” She extended an arm down to help him up. “Didn’t mean to toss you quite that far.”

“Sure, sure.” Ken Yamamura took the hand good-naturedly and allowed himself to be hauled upright. “Nah. I’m fine, Dar. Just needed to catch my breath. We’ve been at it for a while.”

“That’s true,” the tall, dark haired woman agreed mildly, looking around as the crowd broke up, giving her lingering, appreciative glances.

“I think I’m finally getting used to being part of the freak show.”

“Phew.” Ken dusted his body off, covered in a neat fabric outfit matching Dar’s, and tightened his black belt. “They love watching me get my butt kicked, is what it is, Dar. Believe me, there’s a bunch of those kids who are loving every minute of this.” He gave his opponent a smile to take the sting out of the words.

Dar bit off a smile and riffled her fingers through her sweat dampened hair. “Well, you’re the one who haggled me into entering that meet.

You can only blame yourself.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.” Ken winced as he rubbed his shoulder.

“They’re not going to know what hit them.” He paused. “Literally.” His voice held warm admiration though. “Seriously, Dar. You’ve really been working hard. I’m totally impressed.”

They walked towards the changing rooms. “Thanks.” Dar exhaled.