“The launch is ready. What about the girl? Do we take her with us or get rid of her now?”
He turned to look at her in the shadowy room, and there was no reading the expression on his face. Even if she’d had her glasses on, she doubted it would have helped. “We’ll take her with us,” he said.
“Makes more sense to finish her off here. Just give me ten minutes with her and I’ll take care of things.”
“I know how you hate to rush things,” Peter drawled. “I think you can safely leave her to me. I’ll do what needs to be done when the time comes.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” Renaud didn’t sound pleased, and a stray shiver ran down Genevieve’s back, remembering the small, cruel eyes. Anything would be better than Renaud.
By the time Peter moved away from the door, she’d gotten to her feet. “The launch?” she said. “Where are we going?”
“We’ve reached our destination. Didn’t you notice we haven’t been moving?”
So that explained her initial feeling of well-being when she woke up. No wonder she hadn’t felt the same claustrophobic panic. “I’ve been distracted,” she said. “Where are we?”
“Little Fox Island. Harry’s private escape from all his onerous duties as a billionaire. It’s as good a place as any.”
“As good a place as any for what?”
“For Harry Van Dorn to die, Ms. Spenser. I’m afraid poor old Harry’s time has run out.”
“And mine? Has my time run out as well?”
He didn’t answer. Which was the worst answer of all.
He couldn’t move. Whatever they’d used on him was damn strong; he was so doped up he couldn’t even open his eyes, he could just lie on his own bed, zoned out, listening.
It wasn’t a bad way to spend his time, Harry thought. He had an infinite appetite for any sort of drug, and he was enjoying the rush, perfectly at peace for the time being. Sooner or later he’d have to make an effort, find someone he could turn, but in the meantime he could just lie there and listen to the ratbastard Jensen mess around with his girlfriend.
The term amused him. He liked to think of all his sexual partners, willing and unwilling, male and female, child and adult, as girlfriends. Genevieve Spenser wouldn’t know what hit her.
She’d have to be disciplined, of course. She was trapped in a room with him and all she could see was Jensen. She should have been busy begging for his life, not wrestling with his enemy.
But there’d be time enough to deal with that once he bought himself an ally. They had some kind of complicated plan—he could sense that much though he was so stoned he couldn’t bring himself to care. There was a reason they hadn’t killed him yet, and whatever that reason was, he knew the truth.
He wasn’t meant to die. He was too powerful, and his vision was too strong. The Rule of Seven was about to come into being, and no force on this earth would stop it, or him, no matter how dire things were looking.
It was all so simple, so beautiful. Seven disasters, one following the other, that would send the world into a financial uproar, the kind of chaos only a prepared man could take advantage of.
And it was so well planned that he doubted even the people who’d kidnapped him had any idea what it involved, the scope of his genius, because he’d been very careful to keep each aspect self-contained. He could buy the best, most ruthless help, and he had seven of them overseeing each of his little projects. Wipe out one, and there were still six others.
They wouldn’t move until he gave the word. He doubted if any of his hired help knew he’d chosen April twentieth as the perfect date—Adolf Hitler’s b
irthday, with the anniversaries of major American disasters such as Columbine, Waco, Oklahoma City surrounding it. They were good soldiers but they lacked imagination.
On the other hand, Peter Jensen had fooled him, something that Harry Van Dorn wasn’t about to forgive. And he’d known enough to choose April twentieth as his cover’s birthday. Which meant his enemies knew his timeline.
Well, he’d always liked a challenge, and even in his current situation, lying drugged and immovable on his own bed, he could already see his eventual triumph. There was no possible alternative.
He was going to see to Jensen himself, kill him slowly, gut him and watch him bleed to death. Maybe have his lawyer watch as well, since she seemed far too distracted by him.
He’d have time to enjoy himself with her before it all came together. Maybe he’d even keep her around for a while—it was easy enough to make a woman docile.
He should have known that a man born on Hitler’s birthday was going to be trouble. The coincidence had been too tempting, but it had been Harry’s one mistake.
One that could easily be righted. As soon as he found someone to turn.
7