The Phoenix (3 page)

He pushed into the office into a welcoming wall of heat. He noted serviceable commercial carpet, quality leather furniture and a bit of high-end art. The desk was neat and tidy, suggesting excellent organizational skills. A small Latino man produced the obligatory smile upon his entrance, but it never met his eyes. They were cool and assessing and, though it was ridiculous, Jay felt that he’d already managed to offend the man in some way.

“Jay Weatherford?”

He nodded.

“I’m Juan Carlos, the office manager,” he announced with equal parts long-suffering and pride. “If you’ll come with me, the triumvirate is waiting for you in the boardroom.”

The triumvirate? That was an interesting way to refer to the bosses, though he supposed for the legendary Rangers it was as good a moniker as any. Jamie Flanagan, Guy McCann and Brian Payne were still the subject of battlefield and locker-room lore.

With an IQ supposedly bordering on genius, Jamie had the brain to go with the considerable brawn. He’d been quite the player until he’d met and married Colonel Garrett’s granddaughter. Known in certain circles as the Specialist, Brian Payne had an unmatched attention to detail and cool, unflappable calm that had set a precedent new recruits were still trying to reach. Guy McCann’s maverick style skated the thin line between genius and stupidity, but he possessed instincts that were almost providential and the man never failed to come out of any situation on top.

Individually, they were formidable. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with.

Though he’d never heard the particulars about why the three had left the military and started the security company, rumor suggested that an unsuccessful mission that resulted in the death of a dear friend had prompted the untimely departure. He could certainly understand that. The hardest part about his own impromptu career change was leaving behind the friends he’d made along the way. Battle created an unmatched sense of brotherhood, forged bonds that were, in some cases, stronger than blood. He mentally grimaced.

That had certainly been the case between him and his younger brother. To his regret, he and Carson had never been particularly close. With more than a decade between them, though, there hadn’t been much time to form any sort of true relationship. Carson had come along a week after Jay’s sixteenth birthday; a driver’s license—his ticket to freedom—and then two years later Jay had left for college. After college came the military and he’d been home so little….

At least that would be something he could rectify now. His little hometown—Pennyroyal, South Carolina—was only a two-hour drive from Atlanta. Easily overcome for Sunday lunches and other family get-togethers, a fact his mother had gleefully pointed out when he’d told her that he’d be moving to Atlanta.

His mother had been too thrilled to wonder why Jay had decided to leave the military, and his father too tactful to ask. A blessing, that, since it was something he still hadn’t managed to explain to himself. And, frankly, was in no hurry to. He suspected too much mental excavation would result in revelations he wouldn’t be proud of.

Shaking off an instant sense of dread, Jay dutifully followed Juan Carlos down the hall. He noted two offices on the left, a bathroom and another office on the right before they arrived at what Juan Carlos had indicated was the boardroom. One glance inside the room confirmed what he’d suspected all along—he was going to love it here.

It was a grown man’s playroom—big-screen, flat-panel television, comfortable leather furniture, a small kitchen equipped with a counter full of snacks, a pool table, various gaming systems and a bar. Only a topless model popping out of a fake cake could have made it better.

Brian Payne strode forward and extended his hand. “Welcome to Ranger Security,” he said. Jamie Flanagan and Guy McCann, who’d been watching
Pawn Stars,
paused the program and made their greetings, as well.

“Thanks,” Jay told them. “It’s good to be here.” He cast a significant look around the room. “Nice,” he said, nodding his approval.

Jamie laughed. “This is where we keep all the stuff our wives don’t want in the house,” he said, settling back into a heavy recliner. He gestured for Jay to sit as well, so he claimed a chair. A certain form of camaraderie hung in the air, one that bespoke years of familiarity, mutual affection and respect. It was a comfortable sense of belonging, leaving him feeling immediately at ease and included.

Payne arched a brow. “You’ve reviewed the employment package?”

Jay nodded. He had and had to admit that the salary and benefits were significantly more than he’d expected. He said as much.

“You’ll earn it,” Guy told him with a grim laugh. “We never know what sort of jobs are going to come through that door. We’ve had agents doing everything from protecting society debutantes to looking for lost Confederate treasure to escorting fertility statues across the country.” He flashed a smile. “Rest assured, you are no longer in a war zone, but you are
never
going to be bored.” A significant pause, then, “And your first assignment certainly falls into the—” he hesitated and that brief pause made Jay’s stomach constrict “—
surreal
category.”

Hoping he looked more intrigued than nervous—Fertility statues? Lost treasure? What had he gotten himself into?—he made an effort to school his features into confident curiosity. “What sort of surreal?”

The three men shared a look, then stifled smiles—that sure as hell didn’t bode well, Jay thought—and it was Payne who was silently elected to brief him.

“I’m assuming you’re familiar with Betterworth Chocolate?”

Of course he was. It was one of the premier candy companies in the United States and had been around for decades. Betterworth candy bars were sold everywhere and were so popular that the company had built several theme parks around the country, each featuring chocolate-themed rides and attractions. The simple branding and quality flavor had made Betterworth unequivocally successful.

“Yes,” he acknowledged slowly, wondering how the chocolate company needed to use Ranger Security services in a “surreal” way.

Or
his
services, rather.

“I’m assuming even though you’ve been out of the country the better part of the past year you heard about Ms. Marigold Betterworth leaving the bulk of her fortune to her—”

“Dog,” Jay finished, chuckling, struck again by the absurdity of it. He shook his head. “Yes, I do remember that. The news made it all the way to Baghdad. What’s a dog supposed to do with— How many million was it? Two? Three?” He laughed under his breath. “Unbelievable.”

“Five-point-three, to be exact,” Jamie said. Something in his tone derailed Jay’s train of thought and made him pause.

“That would buy a lot of dog biscuits,” he said levelly. A dreadful premonition prodded his belly. A horrible suspicion took hold. Surely to God he wasn’t going to have to provide protection for a
dog.
And not even a proper dog, if memory served. Not a Lab or a golden retriever. No, he was certain it was one of those teensy toy breeds women toted around in their purses. Delicate, fragile and of no practical purpose whatsoever.

“As you can imagine, the family wasn’t pleased with the terms of the will.”

He supposed not. He couldn’t imagine that the pioneering members of the family that had started the company would have been too happy with the decision either, but who was he to judge? How people ultimately spent their money wasn’t his business.

But he suspected how Marigold Betterworth had decided to spend hers was going to be.

Payne opened a file and handed it to him. “That’s Truffles,” he said. “The canine heir.”

He’d been right. It was a Yorkie. Dark brown with caramel markings around its button nose and dark, inquisitive eyes. A pink bow sat perched between its alert little ears and a diamond-studded collar circled its small neck. A platinum tag in the shape of a chocolate truffle dangled from the collar and its name had been elegantly engraved in fancy script upon the surface.

“Yesterday, while outside for her regularly scheduled exercise, she vanished from the estate.”

“Dognapped?” Disbelief washed through him. Definitely surreal.

Payne nodded. “A ransom note arrived within three hours of her disappearance.”

This just got better and better. “Their demands?”

“Two million by the end of the week or they’ll kill the dog.”

A flash of anger made him scowl. Bastards. It wasn’t the dog’s fault that her owner had left her with millions of dollars. In fact, given that Marigold had decided that the dog was more deserving than the family…what exactly did that say about them?

“Which, as bad as that is, actually tells us something about the dognappers,” Payne added.

Intrigued, Jay levered a brow. “How so?”

“Because if they were familiar with the terms of the will they’d know that if Truffles dies of anything other than natural causes, the entire fortune—everything—goes to a variety of animal shelters across the country. The family will get absolutely nothing. Not a single red cent.”

Wow. That was certainly one way to make sure that the animal was cared for. “And the family is aware of this?”

“That’s who hired us,” Guy said. “Andrew Betterworth, specifically. His sister, Taffy, is in Brazil on some sort of new age self-discovery tour. But, as you can imagine, they are particularly desperate for the safe return of the dog,” he drawled.

Jay looked at the file once more. “Leads?”

Payne winced. “None, I’m afraid. No microchip. Mrs. Betterworth thought it was cruel. The collar was equipped with a GPS device, but it was put on a neighbor’s dog as a decoy.”

Jay glanced at the collar again. “I’m surprised they didn’t find some way to keep it. It looks quite valuable.”

Jamie snorted and absently scratched his chest. “Only if eighty grand is valuable.”

Jay whistled low, stunned. “That’s a lot of cash to strap to another animal.”

“They’ve got bigger fish to fry,” Payne said.

Maybe so, but that still seemed incredibly negligent. Who could afford to leave eighty grand behind? He supposed it was possible that the kidnappers hadn’t realized how much the collar was worth, but common sense would tell someone that if an animal was worth several million dollars, then its bling wasn’t going to be fake. Strange, that.

“Did you get anything from the note?”

Payne shook his head. “No prints, block-style lettering, delivered by a kid who couldn’t give a description beyond ‘old guy in a hat.’ He gave it to the guard at the gate of the estate and said the gentleman had given him a hundred dollars for the job.”

So basically, then, he had absolutely nothing to go on. No leads, no credible potential witnesses. Nothing. This was not good. Furthermore, Truffles’s notorious fortune had made national headlines, which meant the list of suspects was literally limitless.

“What is the family’s plan if we haven’t found the dog—” he couldn’t bring himself to call her Truffles “—by the end of the week?”

“Ultimately, that’s up to Truffles’s caretaker, Mrs. Aggie Tippins, Marigold’s former head housekeeper.”

Jay frowned. “That was an interesting choice.”

Jamie shrugged. “Evidently Truffles liked Mrs. Tippins and vice versa. Marigold was confident that Aggie would take good care of the dog.”

“You should start by talking to her,” Payne told him.

That was as good a place as any, Jay supposed, particularly considering the circumstances. “I’m assuming Mrs. Tippins is the final authority on whether the ransom is paid?”

“Though there is a board of trustees and the lawyer, of course, yes, Mrs. Tippins will be the one to decide.”

Jay reviewed a photocopy of the letter. A line emerged between his brows. “This doesn’t say how the ransom is to be paid, just to simply await further instruction. What does that suggest to you?”

“Either a moment of opportunity presented itself or the kidnappers are very disorganized,” Guy said, his shrewd gaze narrowing.

Exactly what he’d been thinking, Jay thought. He was going to need to talk to every person who had had access to the property and the sooner he got started the better. As this was his first assignment he wasn’t keen on blowing it.

Though he couldn’t say he was sorry that he’d left the military and gone to work for Ranger Security, he had to admit that had he known he was going to be searching for the wealthiest dog in the world—Truffles the freakin’ Yorkie, for heaven’s sake—on his maiden mission, he wasn’t so certain he wouldn’t have considered alternate employment. He appreciated the job—truly. But there was something quite…ignoble about it. It didn’t have the same panache as “I survived hostile fire and avoided an IED,” that was for damned sure.