Rise of the Billionaire (6 page)

We could get killed here.

Or make a fast fortune.

Both possibilities were equally exciting.
Lately she’d found the routine of what she did somewhat depressing. If she had to sit in on one more corporate-performance appraisal meeting where they focused more on damage control than prevention, she’d gnaw off her manicured nails. Eventually they would sell themselves on the importance of tightened security without giving her a tedious overview of their company first. More than once she’d been tempted to stab a CEO with one of her stilettos just to see if she could—and then make it out of the building alive.

Kill me, just don’t bore me.

Thanks to her recent affiliation with Dominic Corisi, the challenge of finding new jobs had disappeared—along with any enjoyment she found in testing building security systems. She had more potential clients than she had time to work with, but how much fun is breaking into a building if you’re asked to?

The hatch of the
jet opened, and it took Alethea a moment to recognize Jeremy. Where was the pasty white man who had looked exactly like what he’d been: a computer geek who lived in his mother’s basement? His slightly rounded cheeks were now cut in strong lines, accenting his sharp blue eyes. His charcoal pinstriped Alexander Amosu suit was tailor-made to his new muscular frame. As he stopped to talk to the pilot before descending the stairs, Alethea’s jaw dropped in surprise. The modern cut of his thick brown hair was short, but edgy. It spoke of youthful power.
Move over, Dad, your son is taking over the company.

Not that Jeremy
necessarily had a company—or even a father, for that matter.

Honestly, Alethea had no idea what he had. She’d never paid much attention to his personal life. He’d always been her hacker friend
—a reliable source of information one couldn’t obtain legally.

She shook her head in wonder.
People don’t change that dramatically, do they? You don’t spend your life in a basement and then suddenly transform into a male model with an aircraft that screams, “Put me on the front page of Forbes.”

He started down
the stairs, saw her, and smiled.

She surprised herself by smiling back.

Jeremy, huh? I never would have believed it.

She expected him to approach her awkwardly, as he always had, with that look that said he longed to hug her in greeting.
Instead, he strode confidently to her and held out a hand as if she were a business associate of his. “Alethea,” he said smoothly, “I’m glad you made it on time. Our meeting is in twenty minutes at Alvo’s compound.”

His strong hand closed over hers
, and she forgot what she was going to say.

Jeremy?

This can’t be Jeremy.

He was the one who broke contact and motioned to
the armed jeep detail that surrounded the limo he had sent for her. “I know you like to keep a low profile, but with the recent uprisings, these are necessary.”

Alethea nodded, slid back into the limo
, and gathered her thoughts. A hundred questions swirled through her head, but none of them sounded flattering, so she held them in and waited for her filter to surface. “Nice jet,” she said and mentally kicked herself.
Since when don’t I know what to say to a man?

His smile turned to a pleased grin that
spread across his face, and for just a moment she glimpsed the boy she’d known for so long. He used to smile like that when he’d successfully hacked into a site someone had told him was impossible to access. “I’m glad you like it,” he said in a deep voice that was both familiar and completely foreign to her.

He sat across from her and opened a briefcase on his lap. “I brought you a hard copy of the layout of the compound we’ll be in today
, as well as that of the base that was attacked.”

“Whatever happened to breaking in first and getting hired later?” she joked.

One of his eyebrows arched in subtle recognition of her humor. “You can try that, but in Tenin they tend to kill more than they imprison. This is the big time, Alethea. You get in with this government and you can set your price with countries instead of companies.”

Damn, Jeremy. I want t
o take whatever vitamins you’re on.

“I appreciate you bringing me in on this,” Alethea said, and she did. This was exactly the kind of adventure her life had been lacking. She took the papers from him.

He shrugged. “You were a natural choice. We’ve known each other a long time.”

Not true, Jeremy,
Alethea thought.
If this is you, I never knew you at all.
Putting down the papers, she studied him again and shook her head in bemusement.
Were you always this good looking and I didn’t notice?
Or was it that, for the first time since she’d met him, he didn’t look the least bit interested in her? She sat back, crossed her legs, and watched his reaction from beneath her long lashes.

She’d chosen a
blue-and-black color-blocked tank dress. She was fully aware of how the material molded to her body like a second skin, and she’d never been above using her natural assets as leverage. Men were easier to handle when they were slightly off balance—something she’d always found disappointingly easy to do. Jeremy’s eyes drifted to her legs, back to the view in the window behind her, then returned to her face. Casually, dismissing her flirtatious move.

A zing of excitement coursed through Alethea.
Jeremy, you can pretend, but I know you’re into me.
You’ve always been into me.
She graced him with the sexiest smile she had in her arsenal. Heat flooded her cheeks when he looked amused instead of flustered.

In a perfectly calm, surprisingly disinterested voice, Jeremy said, “If you have any questions about the plans, we only have about ten more minutes before we arrive.” He pulled out a tablet from his briefcase and began to read over a document.

Oh, I have questions, but not about the plans.

What the hell happened to you, Jeremy, and why do I suddenly want prove to you that I am much more interesting than anything you can pull out of that briefcase?

Jeremy listened to the
prime minister drone on about the political climate of his country and was tempted to check his watch. He didn’t want to hear justifications or propaganda. He wanted to get his hands on their computer network to see for himself if it had been breached.

The careful expression of interest on Alethea’s face suggested that she was equally
impatient but was wisely keeping her thoughts to herself. She caught him looking at her and sat a little straighter in her seat.

When
Jeremy had run through this scenario in his head, he’d been pretty sure it would fall short of his fantasy. But it didn’t. Not judging by the sultry smile she snuck him when the prime minister looked away. She’d never met his eyes for so long when they spoke nor chose to sit so close to him when given a chance to do otherwise.

If he were a
fisherman, he would have said she was circling the bait.

When the
prime minister walked out of the room for a moment to take a phone call, Alethea said, “We make quite a team, Jeremy. He’s drooling over us.”

Jeremy deliberately kept his voice
cool. “He seems to be.”

“Do you have any other countries lined up?” she asked, excitement evident in her voice and the dancing light in her eyes. He’d known this project would interest her, especially since her recent work had seemed routine by
comparison.

Everything was coming together exactly as he’d planned. He’d even anticipated this question and practiced his response in front of a mirror many times
. He hoped it sounded natural when he drawled, “Let’s see how this one goes first.”

Bam.

There it was—the spark of real interest in her eyes.

She’
s never been able to pass up a challenge, and I just made myself into one.

I can’
t wait to tell Jeisa that it worked.

I’m not here because Jeremy is with Alethea.

I’m here because it’s the right thing to do.

Jeisa followed
Marie through the foyer of her Beacon Hill luxury condo. It was full of a tasteful mix of American and European antiques, the collecting of which was a well-known hobby of Marie’s. If Jeisa remembered correctly, she owned a home near each of Corisi’s headquarters and loved filling them with furniture she found in nearby shops. Dominic’s wife, Abby, had once joked about Marie’s passion for finding priceless pieces in small, unknown shops most people would have dismissed.

Today had been
Jeisa’s first invitation to Marie’s home, and she wished she hadn’t agreed to it. This was a conversation she would have preferred to have at Marie’s office. In Marie’s home, her prepared speech felt like she was reneging on something personal.

But I’m not.

I didn’t let her down.

This is
more of a mission-accomplished visit.

Marie
waved to the space around her and said, “Don’t mind how small the place is. I used to own a big home. I sold it when my husband passed away.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jeisa murmured.

“Don’t be,” Marie continued. “It’s going on eight years now. I still miss Stan every day, but the pain has grown bearable. Time does that. I’ve found happiness again, but my perspective has changed. Material things don’t matter much to me anymore. My home is wherever my boys are.”

“Jake and Dominic?” Jeisa asked, feeling suddenly unsure if she should have referred to them as informally as she had.

Marie turned and smiled. “Yes, those boys. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”

From what little Jeisa knew of them, she felt confident when she said, “I’m sure they feel the same way about you.”

“It is such a relief to see them settling down with good women.” Marie met Jeisa’s eyes with meaning. “Men get lost if left out there on their own. Women ground them.”

The world according to Mrs. Duhamel.

“It’s beautiful how you’ve all gotten so close. Do you have children of your own?” Jeisa asked. She knew the basics of the older woman’s life, but as open as they had been, the topic of Marie’s past had yet to come up.

Marie
’s eyes suddenly lost a bit of their twinkle. “I had a son once. He passed away in his crib before he turned one. The doctors never found the cause. He was simply with us one day and gone the next. My husband was a strong man, but he never recovered from that. A piece of him died along with our son and it never did come back.”

No words of comfort seemed adequate
, so Jeisa merely nodded.

Marie
sniffed, then seemed to shake off the memories. “Kevin would be Dominic’s age now had he lived. You never replace those you’ve loved and lost, but if you’re lucky and you keep your heart open, sometimes you get a second chance at a family.”

“What a beautiful way to look at life.”

“There are many things we cannot change, Jeisa, but we can choose how they affect us and our decisions. Life is too precious and short. Fill it with all the love you can and savor every damn moment of it.” She tamed the one errant lock in her otherwise perfectly groomed blonde layered bob. “Well, enough of that. I’m sure you didn’t come here to listen to me prattle on about the past. Let’s go sit down so we can talk.”

As if on cue, a muscular middle-
aged woman, her brown hair pulled back in a severe bun that accentuated her square jaw, came out of the kitchen in a blue housekeeper’s uniform. She asked if they would like to be served tea in a deep voice that had Jeisa checking to see if she had an Adam’s apple.

“We would love some, Alice,”
Marie said warmly. When the housekeeper left the room, Marie whispered, “Don’t let the outfit fool you—she carries a gun in that apron and I’m pretty sure she’s some sort of martial arts expert.” Her voice grew even softer. “Her tea is horrendous, but I wouldn’t mention it.”

Jeisa’s eyebrows shot up and her eyes flew to the
kitchen door.

Marie
chuckled and waved away Jeisa’s concern as she led her to two walnut cushioned Bernhardt tub chairs settled near an unlit fireplace in her sitting room. “Dominic worries about me. I’ve assured him that I’m not going anywhere, but he feels safer with someone guarding me.” A twinkle returned to her eye. “If he would hire a beefcake bodyguard for me I wouldn’t care about the poor cooking. I suppose I should be grateful. I stay trim with Miss Brown because I never want seconds.”

Beefcake?
Jeisa did a double take at her friend’s description of her preferred bodyguard type. Marie acted so matronly that it was easy to forget she was only in her early sixties. Looking past the overly modest neckline of her blouse and the straight lines of her long skirt, Jeisa realized that Marie was actually quite fit for her age. Unlike the Brazilian women Jeisa was accustomed to, Marie had chosen to conceal rather than accentuate her natural beauty. “That’s awful,” Jeisa said, referencing both Miss Brown’s cooking and a growing suspicion that the woman who guided so many people may be in need of a bit of help herself.
If only I weren’t here to say good-bye.