Rhonda Nelson - Blazing Bedtime Stories, Volume IX

His friend’s silence stretched briefly across the line. “Is that right? And why is that?”

Robin filled him in. “She’s been going out with him, trying to get him to pony up the donation he’d promised. She’s doing it for the clinic, John. And according to Marion, there are many, many more.”

“I see,” John said. “Would I be correct in assuming that you’re going to have a little chat with everyone who has failed to make good on their promises, as well?”

“That would be a fair assumption, yes.”

“Excellent. Count me in.”

Robin grinned. “I already had.”

“You know the Red Ball is tomorrow night, right? I imagine that a good number of the people who’ve ended up on Marion’s list will be there. Perhaps instead of using the sledgehammer approach—not that it isn’t effective, mind you—you should employ a more … considered method. You’ve got Ranger Security resources at your fingertips, after all. Who knows what sort of leverage might emerge from a little reconnaissance.”

The Red Ball was an annual event hosted by Partners for Progress, a coalition of wealthy businessmen who believed in the old I’ll-scratch-your-back-if-you-scratch-mine approach to industry. It took place at the Turtledove, one of the oldest and grandest hotels in the downtown area and was one of the premiere formal events of the year for the city’s elite. It was a black-tie occasion and, true to its namesake, the women all wore red. It made a striking impression.

“The Red Ball?” Robin heard Jason say. “I’m going to the Red Ball. I’m told it’s quite exclusive.”

Robin snorted. Not exclusive enough if that jackass got an invitation.

“It is,” John told him. “You’ve got your red tuxedo already, don’t you? Those damned things are rare. I had to have mine special made. Double breasted with big brass buttons.”

Robin guffawed, thankful that Jason couldn’t hear him. “Don’t forget the gold cord.”

John dutifully added the cord and then told Jason that if he really wanted to make the right impression, he should consider a matching hat, as well. “Women love hats. It’s the mark of a gentleman.”

“You are evil, my friend,” Robin said, chuckling. “Brilliant, but evil.”

“Likewise. See you in a bit.”

Robin disconnected and, on a whim, sent a quick text to Ranger’s resident hacker, Charlene “Charlie” Weatherford. He liked everyone he worked with, but he was especially fond of Charlie and her husband, Jay. They were new parents and sickeningly in love.

Rather than text back, she called him. “I wasn’t busy at all. Just bored. What do you need?”

“Bored? How can you be bored with a toddler underfoot?”

“Both the toddler and my husband have gone to bed, there’s nothing worth watching on television and Juan-Carlos’s emails have taken a turn toward the mundane.”

Juan-Carlos was the superefficient office manager who had perfected the art of looking simultaneously martyred and put-upon. While everyone else seemed to understand that Charlie didn’t understand the word private , the little Latino man didn’t, and would flip a bitch if he knew Charlie had been hacking into his email account.

“Please tell me you need me to do something,” she implored, sounding a bit like an addict jonesing for a fix.

Robin grinned. “I do, actually.” He outlined what he needed. “Is that going to present a problem?”

She feigned insult. “Please,” she said. “It’s child’s play. Are you sure that’s all you need?”

“For the moment, though I’ll probably need additional assistance tomorrow. Will you be around?”

“I will,” she said.

“Excellent.”

He disconnected, then started the car and, with one last lingering look at Marion’s pink fortress, he backed out of the driveway.

It was time to deal with Jason.

He’d take care of Marion in the morning. Whatever she intended with that house, she’d made a tactical error.

He wasn’t afraid of pink.

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