Chapter
1
Sofia
I knew I was in trouble the
moment I first saw Colton Stark’s eyes.
They
glare up at me from a headshot on LaTashia’s iPad . He’s sitting—hands clasped around a pair of
leather gloves—looking upward, all pensive and determined like he’s
accepting a challenge.
Zing!
Shit,
was that a wet spark firing up in my panties?
Fuck,
it was. Goddamn. I cross and recross my legs.
Weird.
Rich, billionaire playboys born with silver spoons in their mouths usually don’t
do jackshit for me.
LaTashia and
I sit at an outdoor table at the top end of Ocean Drive, having just finished a
delectable lunch from BLT Steak at The Betsy Hotel.
“Know
him?” LaTashia asks, gesturing to the picture of
Colton Stark on her iPad .
Today
she’s all professional in a black suit with
pinstripes. Expensive shoes. Badge and gun hidden in her purse. Lustrous black
skin, broad shoulders, a strong chin, and kind eyes that morph into vicious
spears the moment you irritate her.
LaTashia Washington is my role model. Lieutenant at forty, head of the
Organized Crime Section (OCS) at forty-five. To me she’s a mentor,
having promoted me to OCS, at age twenty-four, last year. Not to mention giving
me some sorely needed tough love and discipline along the way.
Why are we meeting outside the office?
LaTashia takes a sip of her coffee. She shoots a serious squint at me.
“I
know of him,” I say. “How can you
not? Stark Technology has been around forever.”
“Used
to be Stark Technology. Now it’s Stark Worldwide. Branched out into
biopharmaceuticals, aerospace research, and water filtration systems.
“Capitalism
at its finest. Only other fact I know about Colton Stark is that every cokehead
tramp in Miami goes to his club down the street just for a chance to suck his
cock. Can’t remember the name of it…”
“Heat.”
“Yeah,
that’s it. How fucking original.”
LaTashia frowns. “Sofia, we haven’t talked recently about your profanity issues. Do we
need to revisit that subject again?”
I
clear my throat. “No. Sorry.” I take a sip of my coffee.
“We
believe Stark Worldwide is involved in some narcotics shipments from Colombia.
We’ve actually suspected it for many years, but never got the evidence.”
“This
guy?” I laugh. “No fucking way.” LaTashia frowns
again. “Sorry, I mean no way. He’s more of a magazine model. Probably gets mani-pedis in between $5,000 bottles of Krug at the VIP
table.”
“Well,
that’s the question. We’re not sure Colton Stark himself is involved. Or even
knows. We do suspect, however, that he’s up to something else.”
“Like
what?”
“That’s
just it. We don’t know. There is a lot of money moving around inside Stark
Worldwide. Some of it ends up in a series of shelf companies owned personally
by Colton Stark, while some is transferred into offshore accounts and then
funneled somewhere else.”
“What
does that mean in English?”
“Colton
Stark is stealing from his own company. Millions of dollars that would have
gone unnoticed if it weren’t for our new whiz kid who identified the
complicated algorithm Colton uses. It’s quite brilliant, actually. Designed it
himself.”
“Why
would Colton Stark steal money from his own company?”
“That’s
the question. We don’t know. We’re not even sure if it’s related to the
suspected drug trafficking. Seems to be separate because it happens at
different times.
I
flip the screen. Another shot of Colton Stark glaring into the camera.
Zing!
“This
guy?” I say, then cough and clear my throat. “Looks like all he knows how to do
is pose.”
“On
the contrary. Top of his class at MIT. Degree in computer science and engineering. Father wanted
him to go to Yale but he has a gift for math. Claims he sees everything in
formulas and algorithms. Like that guy from A Beautiful Mind —only without the
hallucinations. Even designed his own operating system for his
graduating
1
Sofia
I knew I was in trouble the
moment I first saw Colton Stark’s eyes.
They
glare up at me from a headshot on LaTashia’s iPad . He’s sitting—hands clasped around a pair of
leather gloves—looking upward, all pensive and determined like he’s
accepting a challenge.
Zing!
Shit,
was that a wet spark firing up in my panties?
Fuck,
it was. Goddamn. I cross and recross my legs.
Weird.
Rich, billionaire playboys born with silver spoons in their mouths usually don’t
do jackshit for me.
LaTashia and
I sit at an outdoor table at the top end of Ocean Drive, having just finished a
delectable lunch from BLT Steak at The Betsy Hotel.
“Know
him?” LaTashia asks, gesturing to the picture of
Colton Stark on her iPad .
Today
she’s all professional in a black suit with
pinstripes. Expensive shoes. Badge and gun hidden in her purse. Lustrous black
skin, broad shoulders, a strong chin, and kind eyes that morph into vicious
spears the moment you irritate her.
LaTashia Washington is my role model. Lieutenant at forty, head of the
Organized Crime Section (OCS) at forty-five. To me she’s a mentor,
having promoted me to OCS, at age twenty-four, last year. Not to mention giving
me some sorely needed tough love and discipline along the way.
Why are we meeting outside the office?
LaTashia takes a sip of her coffee. She shoots a serious squint at me.
“I
know of him,” I say. “How can you
not? Stark Technology has been around forever.”
“Used
to be Stark Technology. Now it’s Stark Worldwide. Branched out into
biopharmaceuticals, aerospace research, and water filtration systems.
“Capitalism
at its finest. Only other fact I know about Colton Stark is that every cokehead
tramp in Miami goes to his club down the street just for a chance to suck his
cock. Can’t remember the name of it…”
“Heat.”
“Yeah,
that’s it. How fucking original.”
LaTashia frowns. “Sofia, we haven’t talked recently about your profanity issues. Do we
need to revisit that subject again?”
I
clear my throat. “No. Sorry.” I take a sip of my coffee.
“We
believe Stark Worldwide is involved in some narcotics shipments from Colombia.
We’ve actually suspected it for many years, but never got the evidence.”
“This
guy?” I laugh. “No fucking way.” LaTashia frowns
again. “Sorry, I mean no way. He’s more of a magazine model. Probably gets mani-pedis in between $5,000 bottles of Krug at the VIP
table.”
“Well,
that’s the question. We’re not sure Colton Stark himself is involved. Or even
knows. We do suspect, however, that he’s up to something else.”
“Like
what?”
“That’s
just it. We don’t know. There is a lot of money moving around inside Stark
Worldwide. Some of it ends up in a series of shelf companies owned personally
by Colton Stark, while some is transferred into offshore accounts and then
funneled somewhere else.”
“What
does that mean in English?”
“Colton
Stark is stealing from his own company. Millions of dollars that would have
gone unnoticed if it weren’t for our new whiz kid who identified the
complicated algorithm Colton uses. It’s quite brilliant, actually. Designed it
himself.”
“Why
would Colton Stark steal money from his own company?”
“That’s
the question. We don’t know. We’re not even sure if it’s related to the
suspected drug trafficking. Seems to be separate because it happens at
different times.
I
flip the screen. Another shot of Colton Stark glaring into the camera.
Zing!
“This
guy?” I say, then cough and clear my throat. “Looks like all he knows how to do
is pose.”
“On
the contrary. Top of his class at MIT. Degree in computer science and engineering. Father wanted
him to go to Yale but he has a gift for math. Claims he sees everything in
formulas and algorithms. Like that guy from A Beautiful Mind —only without the
hallucinations. Even designed his own operating system for his
graduating
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