Line of Fire by Jo Davis Page B

calling me here? What do you want?”
    “Aw, now, that’s no way to speak to the buddy who put you in office,” the familiar voice drawled. “Having a bad day?”
    “My credentials put me here, and my day was fine until you phoned. Don’t you have anything better to do than to harass your contacts?”
    “Employees,” the man corrected, sounding smug. “And as a matter of fact, I do—make money. I’m thinking my coffers are a tad shy of what they should be, given the initial payouts. Can you shed any light on the situation for me, Prescott?”
    Oh, fuck. What had tipped him off? He’d been meticulous about covering his tracks to the point of paranoia.
    He’d have to bluff his way through the danger zone.
    “You have the paperwork. The figures match.”
    “Papers can be faked.”
    Sweat trickled down his temple. Do not show fear, or you’re meat for the morgue. “I don’t have to tell you the economy is in the crapper,” he said coldly. “Values are down, investments worth a fraction of what they were when accumulated just a couple of years ago. Be patient and you’ll have the capital you need.”
    “Don’t pat me on the head, you arrogant little cock-sucker,” his nemesis snarled. “If I wanted to make a bad investment I’d open a whorehouse in Utah. Get the next assignment rolling so we can all enjoy the benefits. And, Prescott?”
    “What?”
    “I find out you’re fucking me over, so to speak, you’d better shell out for the best plastic surgery and fake ID money can buy. Hide in the darkest corner of the earth, and pray I don’t find you. Because when I do, I’ll feed your dick to you in pieces. Bank on it.”
    The bastard hung up and Forrest did the same, hand shaking. If his contact discovered proof of his skimming, the man would kill him without a second of remorse. Might anyway, when he no longer required his assistance to achieve his goals in Sugarland.
    Forrest considered making another call, for about two seconds. No, their contact no doubt had this and other lines tapped. They’d have to be extremely careful.
    His thoughts turned to Shea and his failure on that front thus far.
    He was infuriated that his plans were being disrupted by a pretty boy barely old enough to shave. If he couldn’t win Shea over soon, the kid would have to be removed. A distasteful, but necessary, measure.
    One way or another, Forrest would take what belonged to him.

    Shea checked her appearance in the bathroom mirror for the third time. Hair up or down? Unruly as it was, subduing the curly mass into a ponytail was seldom worth the battle. Down, then.
    She studied her figure critically, eyeing the trim black shorts and red top. She wasn’t fat, but she’d never had a cheerleader’s body. In her opinion, she was an average-looking woman with an average build, nothing special. Not like Tommy, who was even more stunning than the jock she’d been enamored of all those years ago.
    Much to her sorrow.
    An attack of nerves was forestalled by a knock on the door. “Oh, boy. Come on, girl, it’s Tommy, not the Big Bad Wolf.”
    Reaching for calm, she headed for the door as the knock came again. Giddy excitement bubbled in her veins like champagne, but out of habit, she still peered through the peephole in the door to make certain it was Tommy.
    “Oh, no.” The bubbles popped. Unlocking the door, she opened it, already contemplating how to get rid of him. “Forrest, what are you doing here?”
    “Bringing the loveliest woman in Sugarland these,” he said, thrusting an arrangement of flowers at her.
    A huge vase of white gladiolas that would look perfect spread across a casket.
    “My, they’re . . . impressive! Come in,” she said, taking the heavy vase and stepping aside. Crap, she had to get him out of here before Tommy arrived!
    “I thought you might like them.” Forrest closed the door behind him and smiled as she placed them on the coffee table. “You look very pretty. In fact, it would be a shame