Pick Your Poison - Roxanne St. Claire Page 0,1
Heaven and Hell had to move to change it.
Then he’d move Heaven and Hell, damn it. He just wasn’t entirely sure how.
Lucy let out a slow sigh, sinking into the leather chair across from him and resting her elbows on the table. “We lost the client, Ben. Even you have never cost me a paying account before.”
“McManus is a loose cannon.”
“Don’t make excuses,” she fired back at him. “He’s the governor of Florida, well-connected, vocal, and pays a small fortune for private protection on his campaign. A small fortune that is now being paid to a far-less capable competitor, I might add.” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine why he’d settle for that operation.”
“Well, they’d better be on their game because someone’s gunning for that guy.”
He expected an argument, but Lucy drew her brows together. “I trust you’ve triple checked every lead to the incoming threats?”
“Quadruple checked, and the bitch of it is they have to be coming from someone close to him. They know too much.”
She glanced down at the files spread out before her. “But you didn’t find a weapon at the rope-line, and you were certain there would be one, based on the content of the text.”
“I did find some things.”
She arched a brow. “Yes, I saw the unaccounted for items after you cleared the area. Let’s see…” She fluttered a piece of paper, pretending to read. “We have a jar of homemade pepper jelly, a notebook of handwritten poetry, and a bouquet of roses. Not exactly the tools of a trained killer, or does your gut think the assassin makes jelly and pens poetry?”
He ignored the sarcasm. “All those items are in the lab now, being broken down to their last molecule. It might interest you to know that the poetry book had been wiped clean of fingerprints.”
She nodded, obviously appreciating how unusual that was. “And the jelly?”
“A little spicy, but not toxic,” he admitted. “However, the roses intrigue me.”
“How so?”
“They were black, symbolizing death if you follow those kinds of things. I happen to think that’s a very strange thing to give a politician on the rope-line of a rally.”
“Black roses? Dyed or natural?”
“According to the lab, they are a rare genetically engineered breed of red so deep, they appear black. They’re known in the trade as Black Cherries, and only a few horticulturalists in the country grow them. The closest grower in four states happens to be in the governor’s backyard, not an hour from the state capitol.” He let his tone make it clear that couldn’t be a coincidence. “If that grower can supply the names of every florist who purchased those roses in the last week, we could trace those sales records and, maybe match one of the rally attendees.”
“That’s a long shot.”
“The best kind.”
“He’s not even our client anymore, Ben.”
As if he needed to be reminded of that. “Look, I don’t want to lose this job. I know my decision cost us this client, but…” But what? He couldn’t bring McManus’s business back, could he? “I’d like another chance.”
Inhaling slowly, she divided her gaze between his face and the termination paperwork. After a moment, she pushed the papers closer to him. “I’m sorry.”
Shit. Desperation squeezed his chest. He would not pick up that pen and sign. “Let’s make a deal, Lucy.”
She laughed at the suggestion. “How long have you worked for me?”
“Not long enough,” he said. “Look, if I can find a credible threat to McManus and prove someone is trying to kill him, can I keep my job?”
She hesitated a nanosecond, just enough to give him hope. “That’s just—”
“If he rehires us for security?” He threw that stipulation out there with the same force he’d use on the shovel to dig his own grave. How the hell could he get McManus to do that?
She surrendered a smile. “You know I like your style, Ben, but—”
“Lucy, come on. Give me this chance.” He stared her down, the weight of hopelessness pressing on him, making him add one more word. “Please.”
The office door popped open. “Mommy!”
Instantly, all of Lucy’s features relaxed, her eyes lit up, and both arms shot out to a wee girl with black ringlets who toddled across the room.
“Gracie! There’s my pumpkin!”
“I’m so sorry, Miss Lucy.” A fair-haired young woman followed in Grace’s wake, picking up speed to catch up with the child.
“Not a problem, Sveta. C’mere, you.” Lucy swooped her daughter onto her lap with a kiss for both cheeks before returning her attention to Ben. “All