Whispered Lies

Morton nodded his balding head, lips pinched in thought, and placed his hand flat on the table. He wore the understated brown suit of a nobody on his gangly body, which matched his nondescript face. A casual observance would dismiss his simple question and quiet acceptance as a pushover, but Vestavia never took anything casually. He’d investigated every one of them thoroughly.

Morton sat on the boards of six international firms, three of which held major defense contracts.

He was no pushover.

Fra Dempsey made notes during every meeting. He paused in writing. “What about the Venezuelan? Is he suspicious about what the teens will be used for?”

“No.” Vestavia rested his arms on each side of his file, making a show of being relaxed. “I’ve assured that Durand Anguis has more to worry about than the fate of the teens and ensured he will perform his tasks on time.”

“Impressive…if all goes as expected.” At fifty-two, Dempsey was one of the most accomplished Fra whose holdings included high-rise buildings all over the world and a luxury yacht manufacturer that custom-built vessels for world leaders as well as ships for international trade…and private submarines. Trim body, thick gray hair, and deep tan, he reminded Vestavia of a movie star known for that look whose name he couldn’t bring to mind.

“All will go as I explained in the original presentation for this project.” Vestavia would have preferred Mandy had been delivered to him, but she knew nothing significant and had been a sacrificial lamb. He’d only ordered the kidnapping to draw the attention of the Mirage, who took the bait the minute Durand’s involvement was leaked.

The only mistake in that plan had been in not capturing Mirage, but Vestavia would find this freelance informant soon and silence the rat.

“I sense a concern, my brothers.” Stilted quiet fingered across the table and got under Vestavia’s skin. Were they questioning him? Him. Fighting the urge to snap at them, Vestavia turned to the strength his ancestors had passed down through genetics rich with strategic ability and showed a tranquil countenance.

Benedict never wrote a thing in the meetings, but lifted a gold pen in his pudgy hand, fingering it like worry beads. “What if the Venezuelan fails or if one of the teens doesn’t come through or-”

What if you got laid by a woman who looked like Josie? Vestavia wanted to counter. The percentage of possibility had to be the same. Hard to imagine Benedict the Banker controlled 20 percent of all the money transfers between the United States and overseas.

Vestavia lifted a hand to stop Benedict the Banker before he bit his lip trying to get another worry on the table. “As I explained last time, we have three teens and only need one. The other two are insurance. This is a simple plan, but a well-constructed one that will have far-reaching results.”

Diablo had supported Vestavia’s rise to this level and proved to be the strongest voice in the group. He cleared his throat, effectively taking the floor.

“I hope I speak for all present to say I think you’ve done an outstanding job of pla

“Good.” Vestavia held a calm face though he wanted to smile, to enjoy the moment, but he’d celebrate for a week with Josie at his private island. Soon. “I’m ready for the second half of the funds.” But it took a majority to move the funds, and the four Fras in the room besides him held proxies from the other seven not present.

“If we are all in agreement, the eleven million will be moved in twenty-four hours.” Fra Diablo passed a pointed gaze around the table, waiting for a response from each.

Morton lifted the one finger again and nodded. Dempsey tapped his pen against the leather cover to his writing pad, but gave a dip of his head in acknowledgment.

All eyes turned to Benedict, who sighed heavily, making a production of any decision, then finally said, “I’m agreed.”

When they stood to leave, Vestavia caught the severe glance Diablo sent him that was just as pointed and full of warning, his message clear. Don’t make me regret supporting you.

The men rose and filed out. All except Diablo, who extended his hand.

When they shook, Vestavia leaned close. “There’s no reason to worry, but I needed to see you today for another issue as well. I need your support for one more thing.”

“What’s that?” Diablo’s eyes relayed his hesitance.

“A necessary death.”

“Beyond what is already proposed?”

“Yes. One that is not entirely related to the event Friday, but is important to the security of our organization.”

“Who? Why didn’t you bring this up in the meeting so all the Fras would be included in the decision?”

Vestavia took care with his words so as not to insult a Fra directly, but they were all suspect in his book. “Because there’s been an operation breach on the teens and Mirage. We have a mole working for one of our Fras who is leaking information and must be dealt with…if it isn’t a Fra.”

A STEADY FLOW of passengers moved past Carlos in both directions through the airport in Carcasso

He gave the second hand on his watch one extra round past ten minutes, then shook his head. Gabrielle had taken less time to shower and change before they left the cabin, so freshening up shouldn’t take this long.

He’d started toward the ladies’ room, one spot no man wanted to enter uninvited. With any luck, using the excuse he was checking on his traveling companion, who had been ill, would save him some grief.

As he reached the entrance, two young ladies strolled out, wheeling their suitcases behind them and chatting. They glanced up a

Carlos winked. They blushed and scurried off.

Right behind them, a shapely woman in a deep-ci

A coat like Gabrielle’s and pulling an identical suitcase.

Carlos hesitated in step at the same moment she stopped abruptly in front of him and looked up. He worked to find his voice. “Gabrielle?”

“Take this.” She shoved the luggage handle at him, muttering, “You can pull that while I finish dressing. C’est des co

She stalked off, then glanced to each side of her and swung around to face him. Her hair was swept up into a chic twist that showed off her high cheekbones. The angry gaze she shot him narrowed the longer she stood there waiting.

“Now what?” Her accent deepened.

Carlos caught himself and stepped forward next to her, surprised by the change that flowed over her like a thundering rain. She’d gone into the bathroom a cute, frumpy mess and emerged a polished butterfly with sharp teeth.

“You look…nice,” he finally managed to say. Not really. She looked stu

He bet she’d look even better out of it.

“That compliment does not negate rushing me,” she snapped. “And don’t ask me if I’m hungry.”

“Are you?” He gri