Dying for You. BEVERLY BARTON
his office, shook the guard’s hand and effectively dismissed him.
“Thank you,” Sawyer said as he glanced around the room, noting that nothing was out of place. “I’ll take over from here.”
Once they were alone, Sawyer closed the door and faced the woman who had been tormenting him for the past nine years.
Lucie rose from his chair to her full five-eleven height, a look of pure defiance on her face. Her long, curly hair hung in loose disarray over her shoulders and down her back. Apparently, she had forgone refreshing her makeup and had combed her hair with her fingers. Only a hint of eyeliner remained and that was smudged. The only color on her lips was a naturally healthy pink.
She walked out from behind the desk and glared at him, her two-inch wedge sandals lifting her almost to his eye level. He noted the bulge her shoulder holster made beneath her gray cotton jacket that covered her white T-shirt and skimmed the top of her faded blue jeans.
“I appreciate your giving me fair warning,” Sawyer told her. “You could have come in here and ripped the place apart before Daisy could have stopped you.”
“Believe me, I thought about it. On the flight from Vegas, I not only envisioned tearing your office apart, I plotted how I could kill you and get away with it.”
“I understand your anger.”
She lifted her brows in surprise. “Do you really?”
“I spoke to Taylor Lawson. He told me what happened. I’m sorry, Lucie. I had no idea—”
“Bullshit. Don’t tell me that you didn’t know the man’s reputation before you assigned me as his body-guard. You didn’t give a damn what I had to put up with. You never do. As far as you’re concerned, the worse my assignments are, the better. But this time, you reached an all-time low, even for you, Mr. McNamara.”
He surveyed her from head to toe. “You don’t look any worse for wear.”
“You don’t think so?” She lifted her T-shirt high enough to reveal the white lace bra beneath and the bruises on the swell of her breasts. “Pretty, aren’t they?”
“Lucie—”
“Would you like to see the others—the ones on my hips and butt?”
“I’m sorry things got out of hand, but I never doubted for a minute that you could take care of yourself. You’re a trained professional.”
She hissed like a snake preparing to strike. “You son of a bitch. You heartless, uncaring, unforgiving son of a bitch.”
She reached out and slapped him. The force of her open palm against his cheek sent him reeling backward. The lady packed quite a punch. He stared at her, oddly surprised by her physical attack.
“I’ve put up with your crap for nine years,” she told him, her voice deceptively calm. “I’ve jumped through hoops for you. I’ve taken every assignment you’ve given me, no matter how unpleasant, stupid or demeaning. I’ve taken and taken and taken, all in the hopes that one day you’d give me a chance to explain, to listen to my side of—”
“There is nothing to explain. There’s no your side or my side. We both know what happened and why. And do you honestly think you’re the only one who’s been put through the wringer day after day for the past nine years? Lady, you’ve put me through hell.”
“I’m glad to know that I haven’t been the only one suffering.”
They stood no more than two feet apart, their gazes riveted with mutual anger and distrust.
“This is your lucky day,” she told him. “I’m going to give you something you’ve been wanting for a long time. Let’s call it a Get Out of Hell gift card.”
He eyed her quizzically. “What are you saying?”
“Mr. McNamara, I quit. I’ll submit a written resignation later, but consider this my official notice.”
Chapter Two
“CARA, SWEETHEART, ARE you listening to me?” Grayson Perkins asked.
“Huh?” She wasn’t paying any attention to Gray. She was too busy watching Bain Desmond, sitting three tables over, and hating the way he was smiling at his companion. She wanted to scratch the petite brunette’s eyes out.
“I said we need to finalize plans for your trip to Ameca.”
“Ameca?”
“Are you feeling all right? You don’t seem to be yourself this afternoon.”
Forcing her gaze away from the ruggedly handsome police detective and that brunette hussy, Cara Bedell turned to her brother-in-law. Former brother-in-law actually. Grayson Perkins had been married to her older sister, Audrey.
“I’m fine, just preoccupied with business.” The business of keeping tabs on Lt. Desmond. She had lunch every Friday at the Hair of the Dog pub because she knew Bain would be there and it was her only chance to see him, even if from a distance.
“If there’s something wrong, something bothering you, and you want to discuss it, you know you can count on me to listen.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “You must know how much I care about you.”
She eased her hand from his. “It’s nothing, really.” She looked directly at Gray. He was much too handsome, too tanned, too buffed and polished. He had the same kind of old-time movie-star good looks that had made her grandmother’s generation swoon over matinee idols. “But I suppose we should discuss my trip to Ameca.”
“Good, good. You realize that if you can pull off this deal with either Senor Delgado or Senor Castillo, you’ll prove once and for all that you’re definitely Edward Bedell’s daughter.”
Cara offered him a halfhearted smile. She knew he’d meant it as a compliment, about being Edward Bedell’s daughter. Her father had been a genius at the art of making money, as had generations of Bedell men before him. But the patriarchal line had ended with her father. She was the last of the Bedell line and she had been trying for the past few years, since taking over the reins at Bedell, Inc., to give back to the world instead of simply taking, as her family had been doing for the past hundred-plus years.
The pending oil deal promised a new source of oil to the United States and would no doubt make hundreds of millions for both Bedell, Inc. and whichever Amecan oil company she chose. If Cara had her way, one fourth of the profits would be reinvested in the people of Ameca. The country’s population was divided into the haves and have-nots, but in unequal proportions. The haves who ruled the small South American country consisted of less than three percent of the population. There were two major oil producers in Ameca: Delgado Oil and Castillo, Inc. Both were eager to do business with Bedell, but Cara was leaning toward Delgado because of the owner’s sympathy for the people of his struggling nation. Of course, Cara wouldn’t have known anything about either Delgado or Castillo without the input of Lexie Murrough Bronson, who headed the international charity organization Helping Hands, which Bedell, Inc. funded. Lexie had done her homework and presented Cara with the facts several months ago.
“Your meeting with Senor Delgado is set for mid-September,” Gray reminded her. “That gives you only three weeks to pull together all your facts and figures, arrange for me to take over your duties while you’re away and decide whether or not you’re going to meet with Senor Castillo while you’re there.”
“You think I should set up a meeting with Tomas Castillo, don’t you?”
Gray nodded. “You could at least listen to what he has to say. After all, you owe it to the shareholders to broker the best deal possible for Bedell, Inc.”
Cara heaved a resigned sigh. “I know you’re right. It’s just that Castillo has a reputation, if true, I can’t condone. But if I meet with him, I can report to the board that I met with the heads of both oil companies. That should satisfy them.”