was his wife or not. Didn’t Nikki realize he tolerated her at best? Gave her what he had to when there was no other choice? Nathan knew their father would never give her what she wanted in the end—and that was the big chair. No, she’d stay planted in any chair he gave her, forever. Nathan vaguely remembered when he was small seeing his mother stand up to her husband. He remembered the fight, the blow to her ribs, her tears and groans, then the awful silence, and at last his father’s soft, cold words: Don’t cross me again, Kyra, or I’ll break your ribs next time, shave off that pile of hair you’re so proud of. Nathan never said a word, not then, not to this day.
He shook his head, he didn’t like to remember that night. With Nikki, his father pretended to show respect, to give her power in Bexholt, since she’d worked her butt off in every department he’d assigned her to, probably expecting her to fail spectacularly. Only she hadn’t. And now she’d taken this Federal Reserve assignment—seeing that the hotel conference room, the entire floor, was secure from any electronic surveillance or simple eavesdropping. He could have easily taken care of it himself, but oddly, Nikki had begged their father to be put in charge of this one, to work alongside all the other security teams. So her father had hidden his contempt again, and let her have her way.
Most of the time Nathan found his sister tedious and annoying, but unlike their father, he recognized she was smart. As smart as he was? No, of course she wasn’t, but still, he knew in the deepest part of him if he didn’t stay alert, she’d try to find a way to bury him.
He grinned at her now, knowing it would drive her nuts that he hadn’t answered her about sending the accounting department home. He said instead, “You sure look good in Armani black.” Not a lie. She looked like a powerhouse, a champ. Nikki wasn’t exactly pretty, her features were too strong, her focus too intense. At least she didn’t look bland, like his wife, who for some strange reason liked to copy Nikki’s clothes. But black Armani made his very pale-faced blond Crissy look like a crow—in mourning.
Nathan eyed his sister again. No wonder she couldn’t keep a husband. She held even the smallest slight close to her breast, she nurtured resentment. There was never any forgiveness. She was a ball-buster, vindictive. Denting his cars, it was so typical.
When his father finally retired, if he didn’t croak over his desk, Nathan would get her out of the main Bexholt campus, set her up at one of their plants in Spain. She could bust Spanish balls.
Nikki said to their father, “Everything’s on schedule for the bankers’ conference on Monday. The Kentington Hotel will be swarming with security, and we’re making good progress on securing the conference room as well as the entire sixth and seventh floors. We’ve already started installing the acoustic panels and the Faraday cage.”
“I was told you’re covering the entire room,” Nathan said. “You know that’s not really needed. What, you’re trying to impress them?”
“Isn’t that the whole idea, Nathan? You’re not jealous, are you?”
“You know their own security will examine the room for listening devices. I hope they don’t ruin all your work.” He paused, rubbed his hands together, and Nikki’s eyes went to the backs of his big hands. She hated his hands.
“Let’s have no more bickering,” Garrick said. “I’m sure Nikki will do an adequate job.”
Right, you bastard. She left her father and brother discussing their weekend plans to go out on the yacht with Nathan’s two boys. “No women allowed, Nathan, only us men,” she heard her father say when she was nearly out of his office.
57
* * *
Nikki walked swiftly down the hall to her office, stopped when she saw a man and a woman talking to each other in low voices, her admin seated only six feet away. The Feds. She would have to be careful. Jasmine had already been spooked by these two, best not to underestimate them. What were they saying to each other?
Savich said, “Mom said Sean talked her into pizza for dinner, pepperoni, of course.”
“That’s his favorite?”
“Well, it’s your favorite and so that’s his favorite, too.”
“What’s yours, Dillon?”
“I’m a vegetarian, so it’s always Vegetable Delight for me, but Sean’s a carnivore like you.”
He was a vegetarian. Sherlock hadn’t noticed what he’d