Lori Wilde - Zero Control

“Beard?” Involuntarily his hand went up to stroke his jaw. He’d never worn facial hair in his life.

“You’ll be playing the Bard.”

“Who?”

“Shakespeare.”

Dougal frowned. “I’m not following you.”

“I’m concerned that the saboteur is targeting the Romance of Britannia tour next, and the lead tour guide on that junket dresses as Shakespeare. Or rather the Shakespeare in Love version of what he dressed like.”

“Why are you so sure the saboteur is targeting that particular tour?”

Taylor opened up her desk, took out a green file folder and passed it across her desk. Dougal opened it and read the letter inside.

You thought those little incidents at your Venice resort was trouble? You haven’t seen anything yet, bitch. Just wait until one of your planes falls from the sky. Wouldn’t that set tongues wagging? Do you have any idea how vulnerable your air fleet is? Just take a look.

Attached to the anonymous letter was a schematic of the inside of a Bombardier CRJ200. In the margins, written in red, was a detailed listing of the numerous ways a saboteur could cripple the private jet.

His blood chilled.

Dougal raised his head and met Taylor’s gaze. For the first time, he saw real fear in her eyes and he was strangely comforted. If she was afraid, that meant she was taking the threats seriously, and the fact that she’d laid her cards on the table made him feel instantly calmer. He was the kind of guy who liked to have a map of the quicksand bogs before he ventured into the jungle. “What did the police say when you showed them the note?”

Taylor plowed a hand through her hair. “I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want any more negative publicity than I’ve already gotten. I prefer to keep this in-house.”

“We should have it dusted for prints.”

“I already sent it out to a private lab. There were dozens of prints on the envelope, none on the letter beyond mine and the temp who’s been filling in since my executive assistant decided not to return from maternity leave.”

“What happened in Venice?”

Taylor inhaled audibly. “A few months back my Venice resort experienced a series of…problems.”

“Meaning?”

“Malfunctioning smoke alarms that allowed a fire in the laundry room to go undetected until it had done several thousand dollars’ worth of damage. It was suspicious because the smoke alarms had just passed inspection the week before.”

“Cause of the blaze?”

“Undetermined.”

“Go on.”

“After one of the scheduled banquet feasts, a few guests contracted food poisoning, sending them to the hospital for treatment. And finally a Renoir was stolen. The security system had been turned off, and the police suspected an inside job. I fired the manager, hired someone new. Taken one by one it seemed like mere coincidence, but then I learned an exposé reporter was following me.”

“The incident between you and Daniel in Spain,” he said.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Once the reporter aired his piece, I thought the sabotage was all over. Apparently—” she waved at the letter Dougal was still holding “—I was wrong, and the guy was just lying in wait, lulling me into a false sense of security.”

“You believe it’s a man?”

She shrugged. “Aren’t men usually the ones who do these kinds of things?”

Dougal thought of Ava. “Not necessarily.”

Taylor pulled her lips back in a pensive expression. “I hadn’t considered a woman.”

“What makes you think this saboteur is going to strike the Romance of Britannia tour?”

“That diagram is not just any generic Bombardier schematic. It was torn from the handbook of the plane that services that specific tour.” She pulled the handbook from her desk and tossed it to him.

Dougal opened it to the back where the schematics were located and saw the jagged edges where the paper had been ripped out. It didn’t take a crime scene investigator to see that the torn segments matched. “Any clue as to who could be behind this?”

She shook her head. “I’m no stranger to controversy, you know that. There have been outspoken religious fundamentalists picketing my resorts, condemning them as hedonistic and wicked. Then there are the superkinky customers who threaten to sue me because Eros refuses to fulfill their illegal fantasies. My competitors are jealous of the way I’ve taken my father’s dated commuter airline model and given it a very profitable new millennium makeover. But many on the board of directors are unhappy about this new direction. Making enemies is all part of doing business in the tourism industry.”

“This feels more personal.” He fingered the torn pages. “For one thing, how did they get access to the jet’s handbook?”

“I don’t know. That’s where you come in.”

“I’m not sure how my men are going to like dressing up and playing tour guide.”

“I understand it’s asking a lot. I’m willing to sweeten the deal.” She named a figure so high it was all Dougal could do not to blink in disbelief. “What do you say?”

He smiled. “How can I refuse?”

Taylor reached across the desk, rested her hand on Dougal’s forearm. “I want this person caught and I want my guests kept safe.”

“We’ll take care of it.”

“I’m counting on you.”

He got to his feet, thought about what happened in Germany and swallowed hard. He could do this. He had to do this. He’d learned from his past. He wouldn’t be played for a fool again. He met Taylor’s steady gaze and made her a promise. “You can depend on me. I won’t let you down.”

At that moment, a knock sounded on the door and before Taylor could say, “Come in” the door opened and a heavyset older gentleman, with a straight-shouldered military bearing, stepped over the threshold.

Immediately, Dougal saluted the former general who had once been his superior officer. “General Miller, sir.”

“Please.” The general waved his hand. “There’s no need for that. We’re both retired.”

Dougal relaxed his stance.

“How are you, Uncle Chuck?” Taylor asked and got up to give the general a kiss on his cheek.

“I’m just fine, princess.” He wrapped an arm around her waist.

“How’s Aunt Mitzi?”

“Blowing through all my money on a spa day with her friends.” He grinned at her, and then looked at Dougal. “Are you in the middle of something here? I thought I’d take you to lunch and you could tell me what’s going on with that sabotage business.”

“Actually, I just hired Dougal and his team to augment my security staff. I just received another threatening letter. This one targeting my air fleet.”

“Oh?” The general canted his head.

“I’ve started my own private air marshal service, sir,” Dougal explained.

“Ah.” Miller nodded. “Applying the lessons you learned about security after that mess in Germany.”

Was that a personal dig? The man’s tone made Dougal squirm in memory over what had happened. “Yes. And I’m going to do everything in my power to ensure that Eros Air stays safe.”

“See that you do,” Miller said curtly. “See that you do.”

“HEY, HANDSOME, YOU CAN SHAKE your spear over here anytime you want.”

In light of that sexy remark, Dougal forced himself not to roll his eyes as a group of women filed onto the Bombardier CRJ200, chatting, giggling and finding their seats. The majority of them were young, rich and attractive. The red-haired woman who’d cracked the suggestive comment briefly met his gaze, then lowered her eyelashes, licked her lips and murmured, “Yummm-o,” before moving down the aisle.

It didn’t help matters that Dougal was dressed like Joseph Fiennes from Shakespeare in Love right down to the artsy, beatnik beard he was itching to shave.