Cassie Miles - The Final Secret

“I don’t know who she is or what she looks like,” Gennie said.

“Of course not. It’s obvious that you aren’t interested in fashion. My question is, why the hell are you making trouble?”

“About the flowers,” she said, “you didn’t request yellow oleander, pink rhododendron and hemlock branches. Is that correct?”

“I already said I didn’t.” He flipped through his clipboard, made a note and tore off a scrap of paper, which he tossed to her. “This is the florist. If you need more details, call them.”

“I will.” She pulled out her cell phone and stepped aside.

Slocum pivoted on his heel so he was facing toward Noah again. “You need to keep your people in line, and I’m not just talking about Gennie. I have a problem with your man at the front entrance.”

Shrugging off his irritation with Slocum’s tone, Noah remained professional. “Which man at the entrance?”

“The pretty boy, he said his name was Tony Vega and claimed that his orders were to set up a metal detector. That’s a waste of time. Some of the people coming to this event are military and could be in full dress uniform, possibly including sabers. Others are ranchers who routinely carry guns. These are rich men, powerful men, and they won’t give a damn if they set off a beeper. No way will they surrender their weapons.”

Providing security for people who refused to disarm made Noah’s job more difficult, but he wasn’t responsible for this particular scan. “Talk to the general about disarming his guests. He specifically asked for the metal detector.”

“And I’m telling you to take it down.”

Seriously? This pencil-neck geek thought he could overrule the general? “I won’t do it without written authorization to change the terms of our contract.”

“Fine.” He flipped to a blank page on his clipboard and started writing.

“What’s the deal with this event?” In normal circumstances, Noah would have covered this fund-raiser with five or six operatives, but the general requested twelve, including outdoor surveillance. “Is there something we need to be aware of? Have you received threats?”

“Not your problem, Noah.”

The hell it wasn’t. Managing the danger level was the very definition of protective security. “I’ll take this up with the general.”

“Wait!” Slocum caught his arm before he could leave. “Several people—including a blond anchor on TV—are mad at Murano. He’s had a dozen or so threats from people who are unhappy with those screwball meditation classes he teaches.”

“And?”

“The threats were neutralized.”

Noah didn’t like the sound of that. Slocum was talking like an evil James Bond villain. “Neutralized how?”

“His people took care of it. Talk to them.”

The entourage for Mitch Murano included bodyguards and advisors. “How many of them are there?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Slocum tore the sheet of paper off his clipboard. “This note instructs you to take down the metal detectors. I signed it, dated it and will take responsibility.”

“I intend to inform the general of the change in contract.”

“You do that.” He pivoted and made a quick exit.

Gladly, Noah returned to Gennie. He didn’t understand her problem with the flowers, but when she had mentioned hemlock, it caught his attention.

She ended her phone call and frowned at him. “You didn’t tell me everything about this assignment.”

His patience was running thin after the snippy conversation with Slocum, and he didn’t like her insinuation that he was somehow trying to trick her. “You know everything you need to know.”

“I wasn’t aware that information was on a need-to-know basis.”

He was not going to get into an argument. The guests would be arriving soon. “Tell me what you learned from the florist.”

“The flowers used in these arrangements include yellow oleander, pink rhododendron, white azaleas, sprigs of hemlock and roses that are such a dark red that they appear to be black. Does that suggest anything to you?”

Though he could see that she was fighting to keep her anger under control, her flushed cheeks and clenched jaw betrayed the hostility raging just below the surface. And he was feeling much the same. “I don’t get it.”

“Even if you don’t know anything about the language of flowers—which clearly you do not—I’d expect you to recognize common poisons. If you had to survive in nature, what would you eat?”

“I could do without the sarcasm.”

“All these plants are toxic, except for the roses, and black roses symbolize death.”

His gaze darted around the room, noticing the large display at the podium and six smaller versions on surrounding tables. “How dangerous are they?”

“There’s no problem unless the guests start eating the flowers or rubbing them on their bodies. I’m surprised that the florist agreed to handle these plants.”

She crossed the marble floor to one of the tables with a tall spreading display of flowers, and he followed. “They don’t look dangerous.”

“Anyone who knows about plants will recognize the threat. They’re a warning. And that’s why I talked to the florist about why they used these flowers. They said they were fulfilling a request, and here’s where this story gets interesting.”

“How so?”

She plucked one of the dark velvety roses from the display. “Guess who made the request for all these poisonous flowers?”

He didn’t have time to play games. “Tell me.”

“The name the florist gave me was... Kenneth Warrick.”

Gennie was good at reading people, not that it took any particular sensitivity to deduce that Noah was furious. His brow furrowed like a grumpy—but still handsome—troll, and she could almost see steam shooting out of his ears, which was pretty much the reaction she’d expected. If there was one thing she’d learned about her boss during the past four days, it was that he hated when any situation got out of his control.

Though equally outraged, Gennie tamped down her anger. She twirled the dark rose between her fingers. “Did Warrick send these flowers as a warning? Or as a threat?”

“Hell if I know.”

His dark brown eyes returned her gaze with an intensity that made her feel like he was peering inside her skull. Looking for what? She had no hidden agenda. Her attitude toward Warrick was unambiguous hatred. As far as she was concerned, Noah was the wild card. He had mentioned Warrick at their first meeting, but he didn’t give context. Were they connected? Was Warrick a friend or an enemy? A muscle in Noah’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing. If that was the way he wanted to play it, fine.

She squared off with him and went silent.

They were both stubborn enough to continue this stare down for a very long time. She took the opportunity to study his face, which was definitely masculine in spite of the dimples that tweaked the corners of his mouth when he grinned. He was saved from being too classically handsome by his square jaw, sharp cheekbones and the tension that deepened the wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. She wondered what he’d look like with longer hair and maybe a beard.

Speculation on Noah’s grooming was none of her business. Whether he shaved or not, she didn’t give a hoot. Gennie had never been the type of giggly girl who got all jacked up over a good-looking male. She needed to figure out why Warrick requested those flowers. Warning or threat, which was it?

She cleared her throat. “Is Kenneth Warrick coming to this event?”

“He’s not on the guest list.”