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  “This has nothing to do with corporate espionage, Mr. Gowers.”

  “Save it.” He slammed open the rooftop steel door so hard it hammered the concrete wall. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the helicopter’s spinning rotors. “I’ve checked on you. Your team claims you’re hot stuff. Now I know why. They think your insider position with Revell is going to save their hides!”

  Taylor waited until the chopper had lifted off to shout, “Sir, it’s not what you think.”

  The chairman turned to the window and shut him out. The chopper banked away from the city, passed over the inlet and a forest and a manicured golf course, and headed for the open sea. The Revell corporate logo on the six leather seats was all the explanation Taylor needed of what lay ahead.

  Taylor Knox was a product of his past and scorned any man who claimed to have risen free of such ashes. He had a high respect for money, particularly since he had never had enough. Taylor was not a brawler by nature, but he had no fear of battle. He was tall and dark in the Minorcan manner and hard as the live oaks that surrounded his homeland. Once, when the rage was on him, Kirra Revell had told him all he needed was an eye patch and a cutlass to join the ranks of his pirate forebears.

  His eyes were the only part of him that did not hold to the ancient Spanish heritage, a sky blue gift from his Irish daddy. But his father had been unable to overcome his own inheritance of a truly bad heart and had died when his son was just nine. Taylor had been left to fend for himself along the hardscrabble streets of North Town, the poor white trash region of St. Augustine, Florida. Taylor had been raised by any number of idle hands. They had taught him the Minorcan heritage of indentured slavery, as though hiring themselves out to Spanish overlords three hundred years earlier justified a life of drunkenness and drugs and gambling. He learned to handle a knife and his fists, how to gig for gators, and where to sell both the smoked meat and the skins. He netted fish and set lures and hunted out of season and raised bird dogs. At the ripe old age of eleven, Taylor had guided his first party out for largemouth bass.

  But he was too smart to hide the pleasure he found in books, and too tough to be scorned for acing his schoolwork. He went to college on a scholarship. There was enough of the buccaneer in him to relish the convoluted patterns of modern accounting. He covered his living expenses with a variety of semilegal jobs until he landed the prized summer slot at the richest marina in northeast Florida. Which led him to Kirra Revell and dreams far beyond anything a poor Minorcan boy should ever have tried to claim.

  As the chopper began its descent, the chairman leveled his gaze once more on Taylor. “The least you owe me is half a dose of the truth!”

  “Sir, they told you to bring me along today because they want to make my firing as personal as possible.”

  “You worked for them?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “I checked your file this morning. There wasn’t a word in there about a prior connection to Revell.”

  “That’s because there wasn’t any. Not to the firm.” Taylor pointed out the chopper’s window at a gleaming white yacht with smoked glass for eyes. “I worked on their boat.”

  The Rapacious was 250 feet long. Amanda was playing halfcourt basketball on the aft deck. The chopper set them down on the foredeck helipad and took off, all the while keeping well away from Amanda’s game. She was too intent to even look over. But the well-dressed crowd on the middle deck all watched and pointed. In the distance, six sailing vessels competed for two available slots in the America’s Cup trials. Amanda’s sponsored boat was behind. Which was why Amanda was playing basketball and not watching the race. Amanda Revell never lost. If she was losing, she left the game.

  Taylor loathed the Revell family yacht. Between his sophomore and junior years at university, he’d gotten the job as dock boy at the club marina where the Rapacious was moored. The following summer he’d been hired as galley goon. He had stayed on board through three summers, as the money was good enough to pay his keep at grad school. Then Amanda had caught him visiting her younger sister Kirra’s forward cabin. The Revell family had not taken the news well that Kirra had fallen for a hired hand. Not well at all.

  Oh yes, he knew this boat.

  Taylor’s blue blazer and club tie looked distinctly weary alongside the shipboard designer fashion. The other guests assumed he was a lackey brought to hold the CEO’s files. Their gazes slipped off him like grease off a hot Teflon pan. Taylor had three summers’ experience of being ignored. But it still rankled. Which was why he veered away from the chairman when they hit the middle deck. He snagged a glass from a passing waiter and worked his way through the memories. The middle deck was split between the open veranda where he stood and the shaded vestibule where the more delicate guests avoided the brilliant August sun. A thirty-foot bar ran across the back wall, tended by three hustling deck hands in white jackets and leathery tans. One of the bartenders spotted Taylor and flashed him a swift grin. Behind the bar opened the control deck, which even at anchor was staffed by crewmen in starched whites.

  Then Taylor spotted Kirra’s father wheeling over his chair. Taylor set his glass down on the railing. Such enemies needed to be met with both hands free.

  “Why, you paltry little scum.” Old man Revell spoke with conversational ease, as though Taylor’s presence was not even worth a decent rage. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “I’m guessing you’re going to tell me that yourself, Jack.”

  “You will address your betters with proper respect.”

  “Happy to. Only I don’t see any of them around.”

  The founder of Revell Pharmaceuticals rolled his chair a fraction closer. “When I heard you worked for this newest company Amanda went after, I was delighted. Do you hear me? Dee-lighted. I can’t tell you how happy I am to have this opportunity to destroy you.”

  Taylor had long fantasized over what he’d like to say to the old man who had done so much to wreck his life. Only now they were surrounded by a hundred or so sparkling guests, and all eyes were on him. “Why, because your little girl showed good taste for once?”

  The old man flushed scarlet. “Raymond!”

  The largest of the deck hands slipped out from behind the bar and approached. “Sir?”

  “Be so good as to toss this vermin to the sharks.”

  Raymond’s smile had always been his easiest way of lying. “You going to come quietly?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Be a good boy.” Raymond had the moves of a blond puma. “Don’t make a scene and we might even give you a ride to shore.”

  “Ah, but our dear Taylor revels in making scenes.” The voice was instantly recognizable. But not the hand on his arm. To Taylor’s recollection, Amanda Revell had never touched him before. “Daddy, call off your hound.”

  “You invited this parasite onto my boat?”

  “Yes, and you know precisely why. Raymond, go back to the bar. Now.”

  The deck hand did not move until Jack Revell flicked his hand. Raymond straightened from his fractional crouch. “Always a pleasure, Taylor.”

  “Some other time.”

  Jack Revell’s gaze was glacial gray and half submerged beneath scruffy eyebrows. “I’ll never forgive you for what you did. Never.”

  Amanda tugged on his arm. “Come on, Taylor.”

  But her father was not finished. “You and your backwoods wiles twisted my little girl away from her family.”

  “Sorry, Jack. You’ll have to dump that one on the man in the mirror.”

  “Taylor, leave it.”

  Taylor shook off Amanda’s hand. “Kirra never was a part of the family power structure. She was too smart for that. She knew you for exactly who and what you are.”

  “All right, enough!” Amanda inserted herself between the two men. Her lithe spandex form was still perspiring from the game. “Downstairs!”

  Taylor allowed himself to be turned and prodded toward the stairs. Anythin
g was better than giving voice to what would have come next. Which was that Kirra’s turning away from the family had been one of the many reasons why he had loved her so.

  And still did.

  From behind him, Amanda commented, “Shame on you, Taylor. Baiting the old man like that. I would have expected better.”

  “What can I say?” He halted when they entered the main lounge, a place of burl and Chinese silk and original oils. “The real target wasn’t in range.”

  To his surprise, Amanda smiled. As though she were genuinely pleased with his response. She led him down the port hall to the office, held the door for him, then shut and locked it. “Have a seat, Taylor.”

  He remained standing. “Last time I was in this place was when your father gave me the ax.”

  “Sit. Please.”

  He stayed where he was. The room was the same as when her old man had commanded the desk. Taylor’s roving gaze was halted by a blow-up of a photo that Kirra had carried in her wallet. Two blond girls swam in sparkling Caribbean waters, supported by a woman who could only be their mother. Kirra’s mother had been an Australian dancer whom Jack Revell had spotted from his box in the New York City Opera House. Theirs had been a fairy-tale romance, all but the ending. She had died when Kirra had been just five. Leukemia. The family had been devastated. Kirra had retreated into a world of her own making. Amanda had fashioned herself after her one remaining parent. Or so Kirra had said, on the few occasions she tried to explain how her older sister had turned out.

  Amanda opened the fridge behind the desk and drew out an Evian. “Can I offer you something?”

  “What is it you want, Amanda?”

  “Same old Taylor.” She was a fraction taller than Kirra and a good deal harder. Her eyes, her stance, her voice. Very similar to her younger sister, yet totally different. Kirra had been wrong to defend her sister. The reason Amanda had followed in her father’s rapacious footsteps was because Amanda was Amanda. Always had been. Taylor had long since decided that when it came time to fit Amanda Revell for her final resting place, the embalmers would discover she had always had formaldehyde for blood.

  But now, as he watched her unscrew the cap and take a long pull, Taylor found none of the expected rage. All he felt was the ashes of old shame over what he himself had done.

  Amanda replaced the cap and rolled the bottle across her forehead. “Kirra’s gone missing, Taylor.”

  “No surprise there.” Prior to their becoming an item, Kirra had run away a lot.

  Taylor had tried his best to talk Kirra into running away with him. But their relationship had also been marked by another major change in Kirra’s life. One that had ended a great many of her wild ways. Kirra had started going to church. The family had been so dumbfounded by her transformation that they had not mocked her seriousness. Initially, Taylor had poured scorn over what he called her religious kick. That was before he realized it was the beginning of their end.

  “This time it’s different.”

  Taylor struggled to refocus. “So send in your corporate dogs.”

  “We did. They couldn’t deliver.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “That’s the way it is, Taylor.”

  “You’re telling me she’s been kidnapped?”

  “We don’t think so. There’s been no ransom demand, nothing.”

  “Contact the authorities.”

  “We’ve done that too. Zilch. According to them, Kirra’s an adult. If she chooses to leave, that’s her legal right.”

  Taylor studied her. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “The week after we brought in the FBI, Kirra sent a note. She was fine. That’s basically all she said. She was fine and wanted to be left alone.”

  “So do what she says, for once.”

  “I don’t think the letter was hers, Taylor. I know my sister better than anybody.”

  “You’re wrong there.”

  Amanda shot him a hard look. Which did not bother Taylor at all. Amanda had never pretended any affection. Up front and straight ahead had always defined Amanda Revell. “I’m telling you the letter wasn’t hers.”

  “You brought me here to find Kirra?” This was too rich. After the family had done everything they could to split them apart. “And old Jack is going along with this?”

  “He doesn’t have any choice. Neither do I.” She offered him a bulky file. “Here’s the deal. Do this or die a swift corporate death. Find her and win a stake in the merger.”

  “This is a bad idea, Amanda.”

  “I’ll assign you a director’s share. At current market valuation, you’ll clear just over three million dollars.”

  “Getting mixed up with your family again would only cause us all a lot of pain.”

  She responded with a grimace. Then she shoved the file into his hands. “Just have a look.”

  Taylor turned for the door, wishing he was strong enough to toss the folder in her face and yell that he was gone. Finished. Saved from falling yet again.

  But Amanda halted him with a grip on his wrist. She motioned to the lamp, the ceiling vent, the phone. She then made a crawling sign for bugs.

  Amanda pointed at the folder’s cover. On it was written a telephone number and a time, midnight to four in the morning. Below that was a final warning: Tell no one.

  Taylor studied her eyes, so similar to Kirra’s, and so utterly different. “Tell me this isn’t a joke.”

  “I knew I could count on you.” She picked a piece of paper from the desk, folded it twice, and slipped it into his jacket pocket. “I believe your ride is back.”

  Taylor left, worried despite himself by what he had seen in Amanda’s gaze. Amanda was never frightened. Never.

  When the chopper was in the air and headed back for land and the corporate tangle, Taylor drew out the note. He read the four words, then opened the file and pretended to read the contents. But in truth his fingers leafed through pages his mind could not take in. Amanda’s note rang through his head the entire way home.

  She asked for you.

  chapter 3

  THE NEXT MORNING, TAYLOR WENT TO THE OFFICE only because he had no other logical destination. But the truth was, his air-conditioned corner of the lab was as close to a real home as he had. He did his best to lose himself in the press of work, but without success. Even with his door closed, he heard the whispers. Even when there was no sound but the sigh of manufactured air, he could hear the talk swirling on all sides. He did not shut the blinds over the interior glass wall because he had no desire to be further separated from his corporate world. So every passing eye cut his way, lingering only long enough to tell him they knew. Word had circulated about his journey on the chopper to the Revell boat. Since he was still around, it could only mean he had power they did not understand. This accusation isolated him far more than any closed door ever could.

  Midmorning, Allison finally braved the portal. She delivered her excuse in the form of files he did not need to see and an acquisition request he would normally have signed at day’s end. Taylor scrawled his signature and said, “You can tell them everything is normal. I thought I was being taken out there to be fired. Instead, they asked me to help out with something. It’s not tied to the merger, and as far as I know, everybody’s jobs are intact.”

  “It would sound better coming from you.”

  “I’ll make the rounds at lunch.”

  But she did not retreat. “Are there any arrangements you want me to make?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Travel, contacts, anything? I’m basically sitting there twiddling my thumbs.”

  Taylor set down his pen. “What’s going on, Allison?”

  “Nothing except talk about the merger.” Her tone was as neutral as her dove gray suit. “Time is hanging heavy, that’s all.”

  One of Taylor’s boyhood hunting partners had been a morose guide with one chalky eye and cheeks that always seemed two days away from his last shave. T
he man almost never spoke. Instead he taught the boy with tiny motions of one finger or his chin. Look there, the movement would say. Study and listen and learn. His regular clients often bragged about the guide’s ability to read sign even before the animal laid it down. Taylor had often dreamed of gaining the same ability through osmosis and sheer stubbornness. Now, as he sat and watched Allison avoid his gaze, he knew.

  “I might need some help later. I’ll let you know.”

  He followed her from the office, touched her elbow, and pointed them out the lab’s entrance and into the corridor. He did not speak again until they were down by the stairwell. “Tell me who’s gotten to you, Allison.”

  The words were strained by the tension in her throat. “I hate this. I hate it.”

  He spoke in a hunter’s voice, low and controlled. “Take your time.”

  “I need this job, Taylor.”

  “I understand.”

  “But you’ve always been good to me. Too good, if you want to know the absolute truth. It’d be easy to . . . Never mind.”

  “Somebody came by for a chat,” he suggested, trying to make it easy for her. “They want to track my movements. They said you’d be taken care of if you just let them know where I go and what I do.” He took her silence for assent. “Was it one of the goons from the sponsor’s box?”

  “No.” She spoke to the outside window. “A man I’ve never seen before.”

  “Describe him.”

  “Definitely not your standard issue corporate clone. Almost as tall as you and really heavy. But not flabby. He moved too fast for a fat guy. One minute I was alone, the next he was standing there in front of my desk.” She sounded glad to have it out. “Dark suit, dark shirt, dark tie. Hair cut so short I couldn’t even see the color, maybe grayish-blond. To tell the truth I was so shocked I didn’t really notice.”

  “And he told you to pass on information.”

  “He said he was working for Revell. He needed regular updates on your movements. He had a Revell company card.”

  “His name?”

  “Ted Turner.”

  He almost laughed. “How original.”