Edge of Dawn by Melinda Snodgrass Page B

her boss, which puts you at a disadvantage.”
    Surrender came in the form of a sigh, then he added, “Okay, I’ll agree to that much.” She reached for the messages, but he pulled them away. “But all of these people work for me.” He went through the heavily carved wood-and-glass doors and into the office.
    He settled into the chair behind the desk. Studied the colors swirling and combining like a mad creation by Jackson Pollock. He couldn’t put it off any longer. With another sigh, he picked up the wireless receiver and started making calls. Cassutt wanted to host a Washington mill-and-swill and needed funds. Richard okayed it. Kenzo, the CFO, wanted to fly in from Tokyo and meet with him. The Japanese man’s voice sounded grim, and Richard desperately wanted to postpone the meeting, or fob him off on Lumina’s COO, Dagmar Reitlingen. Instead he reminded himself that the buck stopped with him, and he said okay. He jotted down the date on a piece of paper to give to Jeannette. He then applied himself to the stack of papers on his desk, only to be interrupted by a soft knock on the office door.
    It was Joseph. “We need to leave for the airport.”
    Richard checked his watch. “Right.” He wasn’t sorry to abandon both the office and the paperwork.

 
    Chapter
    SIX
    I N the distance, Shiprock thrust its jagged pinnacles toward the sky as if some ancient power had placed a stone pipe organ in the middle of the desert. Richard peered through the front window of the helicopter and felt awe.
    â€œThe Navajos call it Tse Bit’ a’i, rock with wings,” Jerry, the helicopter pilot and a Desert Storm vet, called over the headphones.
    Richard nodded, the beat of the chopper’s rotors a thrumming in his chest. He sat in front next to Jerry, while Joseph, his dark features serene, sat behind them, a duffel bag containing a shotgun and a submachine gun at his feet. The sword hilt gouged at Richard’s lower back, and he shifted in the seat.
    Beyond the mass of red sandstone that dominated the space, distant peaks, blue tinted, edged the horizon in all four directions like rampart walls defending the basin. Immediately below, the scrub brush, blasted brown by summer heat, clung doggedly to the tan dirt. In the distance, Highway 491 made a black scar on the face of the desert. A red pickup, looking like a toy from this height, drove in splendid isolation. Such vastness and emptiness left Richard momentarily longing for the green of Rhode Island and the blue of its lakes and the bordering ocean. He knew he would never return home; there was nothing there to return to. But at odd times he found himself afflicted with homesickness.
    â€œWhere are we landing?” Richard asked.
    â€œNear the senior center,” Joseph answered. “There aren’t a lot of choices out this way.”
    â€œReally? Looks to me like we’ve got hundreds of miles of choices.”
    â€œNot if you want to be anywhere close to town,” Jerry said. In the west, monsoon thunderheads were building, lightning jabbing at the earth beneath. “We want to land before that hits,” he added, a frown between his gray brows.
    The helicopter had seemed small. Now it seemed a fragile soap bubble caught between rock and fire. A few more minutes and the town came into view. There didn’t seem to be a lot of houses or trailers. What there was, was a long, wide main street lined with a multitude of fast-food restaurants, a few unidentifiable buildings, and some banks. Smaller roads snaked away into the desert, but only for a block or two. As they drew closer, more details came into focus. Virtually every car on the road or in the parking lots was a pickup truck. People looked up as the helicopter pulsed overhead.
    A gust of wind made the copter yaw, and Richard grabbed for a handhold, but Jerry was unruffled and set them down in a dirt lot next to the senior citizen center.