“And you reminded me how much I do.”

They looked at each other for several seconds, then simultaneously remembered how vulnerable they were to being seen together and resumed walking in the direction of the reserved spaces.

“Which one’s yours?”

“The black BMW.”

“Hit the trunk button.”

She juggled her keys, depressed the button, and the lid of her trunk automatically opened. He lowered the cumbersome box and placed it inside. “What’s in here? For being so bulky, it’s light.”

“An airplane model. I’m taking it home.”

“To Speakman? I notice he didn’t come to work today.”

He was still bent at the waist, fiddling with the box. To a casual observer it would have looked as though he was situating it in the trunk to prevent damage during transport.

“How do you know that?”

“Because that first parking slot has his name stenciled on it, and it’s empty. I know he wasn’t here earlier because I’ve been staked out across the street-”

“Staked out?”

“At that pizza place. For hours. Watching this door, waiting for an opportunity to talk to you.”

“What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until the next time we meet?”

“Will there be a next time?” He straightened up and turned to face her.

She gave a small bob of her head.

“You, uh-”

“Yes. Day before yesterday.”

“Oh.”

He just stood there.

She examined her keys.

Forever.

Then he said, “You must’ve been disappointed.”

“Of course I was. We were. Foster and I.” Drawing a quick breath, she said, “So, you and I must meet again.” Having avoided looking at him except peripherally, she tilted her head back and looked directly into the opaque lenses of his sunglasses. “Unless you resign.”

“We’ve been over that.”

“Then what’s so important that you came here?”

“I came to warn you.”

She had expected a demand for more advance money. Maybe even an apology for what he’d said to her before he left last time. But a warning? “Warn me about what?”

“A couple weeks ago. When we were together. You saw the bruises on my face?”

“And your hip.”

He tilted his head, and she knew that if she could see into his eyes they would be looking at her curiously. There was only one way she would have known about the bruises on his butt, and she’d given herself away. But to try to maneuver herself out of the blunder would only make it more awkward.

“What about the bruises?” she asked impatiently.

“I wish I could say the other guys looked worse.”

“Guys? More than one?”

“Two. I was jumped in a restaurant parking lot and beaten up. A few weeks before that, a friend of mine got it even worse.” His lips formed a hard, thin line. “Much worse. And hasn’t recovered yet.”

Laura couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What are you into?”

“Nothing!”

“You and your friend got beaten up over nothing?”

“Listen to me,” he said, bending nearer, talking quickly and softly. “It goes back to five years ago, but it has nothing to do with me now. Except that there’s this asshole who’s made it his life’s mission to ruin my life. His name is Stanley Rodarte. He drives an ugly, olive green car. If you see him, stay out of his way. Under no circumstances let him get near you while you’re alone. Are you hearing me?”

“I’m rarely alone.”

“You were just now. Look how easy it was for me to get close to you.” As though to emphasize that, he looked down at the space between them, which was less than a foot.

“I appreciate the warning,” Laura said, distancing herself, and more than just physically. “But your extracurricular activities have nothing to do with Foster and me. This Stanley whatever poses no threat to us.”

“Rodarte, and the hell he doesn’t,” he said, pushing the words out. “Listen to me. He’s dangerous. Given a chance, he would hurt you, in ways you probably can’t even imagine. This is no bullshit. He-”

“Laura?”

They jumped guiltily at the sound of another voice. She turned and spotted Joe McDonald approaching them from the next row over. “Hi, Joe,” she called, trying to sound normal and glad to see him.

“Remember what I told you,” Griff said in an undertone, then he walked quickly away.

Forcing herself to move, Laura headed off the marketing head, who was looking curiously after Griff’s tall figure as he wove between the rows of cars. “Who was that?”

“Someone cutting across our parking lot. Lucky for me. He saw me lugging the box with the Select model in it and offered to carry it for me.”

“Where was the guard at the door?”

“He wasn’t there when I came through, and I didn’t want to wait.” Without it being obvious, she steered Joe toward the entrance. “I’m eager to get the model home and show Foster.”

“So tonight’s the big night?”

“It is. Wish me luck.”

As they approached the entrance, she glanced casually over her shoulder. Griff Burkett had disappeared.

CHAPTER 16

LAURA DIDN’T TELL FOSTER ABOUT GRIFF BURKETT’S UNEXPECTED appearance.

Ordinarily she didn’t keep anything from her husband. But she was reluctant to share Burkett’s warning about a man in a green car because even a hint of her being in danger would send Foster into a tailspin. He would respond in typical Foster fashion; she would have armed guards within an hour.

Furthermore, she wanted nothing else competing for Foster’s attention tonight.

She changed clothes before coming down to dinner, putting on a simple black dress that was one of his favorites. She took extra time with her hair and makeup. She applied fragrance.

Descending the staircase, she realized she had butterflies, and that nervousness surprised her. But then, she reminded herself, she’d been preparing for this night for months. A little stage fright was understandable.

She barely touched her meal, but Foster didn’t notice because he was enthusiastically telling her about a new exercise Manuelo had incorporated into his physical therapy sessions.

“It’s helping to strengthen my back and arms. I’ve noticed a big improvement already.”

“Did he learn the technique at that seminar you enrolled him in last month?”

“Yes. Obviously he’s a quick study.”

“He would be even quicker if he knew English.”

“He’s a very proud man.”

“How would learning English damage his pride?”

“He would regard it as a betrayal of his heritage.”

Before she could comment further, he asked about her day at the office. “I’m glad you mentioned it,” she said, giving him a mischievous smile. “I have a surprise for you after dinner.”

When they were done with the meal, she asked him to follow her from the dining room. He rolled the wheels of his chair forward and backward three times before moving ahead. He’d adopted that habit a few weeks ago.

Also, plastic containers of hand sanitizer had begun showing up everywhere. Initially he’d used them when he thought she wasn’t looking. Now dozens of them were scattered throughout the house so that one was always within Foster’s reach. Cleanliness and germ killing had always been obsessions, but these recent signs of his OCD disturbed her. She would insist he speak with his psychiatrist about these manifestations.

But tonight they would not address his disorder or anything else negative. Besides, once Foster was focused on the project she was about to introduce, his symptoms would probably recede again.

She’d set up everything in the den beforehand. Leading him to the closed door, she pushed it open and dramatically intoned, “Introducing SunSouth Select.” She stepped aside so he could see the prominently displayed artist’s rendering, the banner she’d had made bearing the new logo, the graphs and charts standing on easels for quick reference, and the model.