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“Stay with me, Lotus. I’ve never said this to another human being, but I need you. Slayer needs you. We were drowning before you came along. I didn’t want to put that on you, but it’s the truth. I think you were drowning too. Maybe not in the same way, but you need us.”

She let out her breath in a slow exhale. “For six months. A six-month trial.”

“A year, Meiling. It will take that long to get used to each other and work smoothly. You know that.”

She abruptly pulled her hands away and he thought he’d lost her.

“You always push it, Gedeon. You’re never satisfied until you get your way. I’ll agree to a year, but if you say one more word on the subject tonight, I’m out.”

“Fortunately, it’s four o’clock in the morning, so I’m safe.”

She burst out laughing, just the way he knew she would.

6

SIX months later, Gedeon was elated to admit he was right about their partnership. He and Meiling worked seamlessly together, as if they had been partners forever. Meiling was a shadow at times, going with him to a meeting, finding a place to sit in an obscure corner and disappearing so she was forgotten.

She was a gorgeous woman as far as he was concerned, but she had a way of downplaying her appearance. She could remain very still once she was in the shadows. She seemed to be able to absorb not only every word spoken, but body language and small nuances. Between the two of them, they accurately judged which clients to take on. They knew who would be a threat. Who would remain loyal. Both preferred to know if a client feared an outside source and wasn’t revealing that to them. Meiling was adept at feeling those fears.

They stood together waiting to be let into the back entrance of Fredrick Atwater’s immense, sprawling home, located in San Antonio, Texas. The two-story house was situated on twenty-two acres of real estate overlooking the lake. They had come at night as requested, telling no one. At first Atwater had balked at the idea of Gedeon bringing Meiling with him, but Gedeon had refused to discuss anything further with him. He simply put down the phone. Atwater called three times before he picked up again.

Atwater’s right-hand man, Harold Brinks, let them in through the ornate door. For a back entrance, the foyer and hallway were beautifully appointed. Meiling stayed in step with Gedeon but gave him enough room to fight their way out of any situation. She was very astute that way. Both appeared relaxed, but they were on high alert. Going into an unknown location and meeting with a client for the first time was always risky. It was just the two of them and Slayer.

“Mr. Atwater is in the conservatory,” Harold Brinks told them. He opened the door to a very large room made of glass windows that angled outward. The cathedral ceiling overhead was glass and that too was all angles. Lacy plants climbed the rock walls, and in one corner a waterfall, looking as if it came out of the wall, cascaded merrily over gray and blue stones. The floor was gray and blue tile. White chairs, surrounding a glass table, invited guests to sit and enjoy the peace of the large haven.

Atwater didn’t seem to be at peace. He paced around the table, which held a tablet and three slim accounting books, as well as what appeared to be several photographs and albums. He stopped moving when they entered the room, his gaze jumping first to Gedeon’s face, then to Meiling’s. Gedeon had seen that look of fear and despair too many times.

“Mr. Atwater,” he said, breaking the ice immediately. When potential clients had that particular look, they could be overwhelmed easily. It was better to get to the problem fast. “Is this room clean? Did you check it for bugs?”

Atwater looked shocked. He exchanged a look with Harold Brinks. “I don’t know. This is my private home. The people who work here have done so for years.”

“That would be a no,” Gedeon said. He glanced at Meiling, and she pulled a small device from inside her coat and began to move around the room. Twice there was a soft pinging noise, and both Gedeon and Harold went to the spots to crouch down and discover tiny round bugs—one in a potted plant and the other on the leg of the table.

“You haven’t had any workmen in recently?” Gedeon pursued.

Harold shook his head. “Absolutely not. We shut down the house when the trouble first started some time ago.”

“Then you have at least one traitor in your house,” Gedeon said, stomping on the bugs and then dropping them in the glass of water on the table. “I believe Harold suspected, or you wouldn’t be meeting with me in the middle of the night alone with just him in the conservatory.”


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