Sir took his own first sip of the well-aged Scotch, closed his eyes in appreciation, and nodded. “By all means. Ask away.”
“Did you insert a tracking device into my daughter’s shoulder?”
Sir’s glass paused on its way back down to the wire mesh of the tabletop.
Cheyenne almost choked, and she hadn’t tasted the Scotch yet.
“That is an excellent question,” Sir replied, “and I think it’ll serve as an excellent segue into why I decided to make this visit personally after so many years.”
“Wonderful.” The way Bianca said it didn’t sound wonderful.
Sir folded his hands on the table beside his glass. “As you are no doubt aware, Ms. Summerlin, your daughter possesses a vast array of…abilities that are of interest to my organization.”
“To which abilities are you referring? Cheyenne’s skill with computers and technology in general, or the abilities that nearly laid waste to your entourage parked in my driveway?” Bianca lifted her glass to her lips.
“Both, actually. Now, I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of our operations, but I will say your daughter found herself in the middle of one such operation last week. Whether she knew what she was getting into doesn’t change that she interfered with a high-security campaign to—”
“Excuse me. I’m sorry.” Bianca shook her head, set her glass down, and pressed both hands toward the table without touching it.
More interruptions. She doesn’t like this guy.
Cheyenne hid her smile behind the rim of her Scotch glass.
“I would very much like to know what organization you work for.” Bianca’s smile was bitter and strained.
“That’s classified, Ms. Summerlin.” Sir did not sound amused, but so far, he’d held his own under Bianca Summerlin’s scrutiny. “May I continue?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you. As I was saying, your daughter stepped on some toes last week. We normally don’t employ individuals who make things more difficult for—”
“’Employ?’” Bianca raised an eyebrow at her daughter. Cheyenne shook her head. “Has Cheyenne signed an employment contract with your organization?”
“Not officially, no.”
“And unofficially?”
Sir leaned forward to readjust his position in the patio chair. “We’ve made a verbal agreement if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“But no signed employment contracts, even unofficially?”
Cheyenne had to stare at the bottle of Scotch on the silver tray to keep her blank expression. She’s ripping him a new one.
“Correct, Ms. Summerlin. And in that capacity—”
“Excuse me one more time, please.” Bianca pressed her hands together and smiled. “I know you have quite a bit you’d like to say to me, but before you go any further, I must ask you not to mince words during this discussion.”
“I’m sorry?” Sir glanced from mother to daughter and back again, his mustache bristling on his upper lip.
“You said you didn’t make a habit of employing individuals who make things more difficult for your organization, if I’m correctly assuming that was the end of your sentence. But you haven’t officially or unofficially employed my daughter in any capacity, correct?”
“We’ve made verbal agreements—”
“For employment? Which, to be clear, is defined as the condition of having paid work.”
Sir cleared his throat. “No, ma’am. Our agreement did not include monetary compensation for services rendered.”
“Then please choose a different turn of phrase when you’re recounting these circumstances for me. I don’t appreciate being spoken to as if I lack a full understanding of the English language and its many nuances.” Bianca took another drink of Scotch.
For a second, it looked like Sir was about to call the whole thing off, but he pushed through. “Understood. After our original meeting, I provided your daughter with a prepaid cell phone under the condition that she keep it on her at all times and answer it whenever either one of my men or I made a call to that same phone. I was aware of her abilities, such as those she demonstrated earlier this evening outside your home, Ms. Summerlin. I was not previously aware that she is also quite skilled at…manipulating certain technologies to her own benefit.”
“I see.” Bianca blinked but didn’t choose to interrupt the man this time.
Cheyenne shot her mom a sideways glance. She’s working on something, though.
“When my associate discovered your daughter had removed the tracking device implanted in the phone and constructed a separate…obstacle limiting our ability to keep an eye on the location of this phone, I was forced to make a decision. So, to answer your question, Ms. Summerlin, yes. I did have a tracking device implanted in your daughter’s shoulder since she had disabled every other means by which we could keep an eye on her for the foreseeable future. And when we saw that she’d come here, to your home, which is listed under your name, I was reminded of my first encounter with you and the reason I first contacted you twenty-one years ago.”
“And that’s why you’re here?”
Sir nodded and took another drink, looking very pleased with himself for having delivered all that information so succinctly. “Yes.”
He’s trying so hard, and he’s way out of his element. Sounds like he’s reading a script, too.
Cheyenne sat back in her chair beside her mother and folded her hands in her lap.
“Cheyenne.” Bianca turned toward her daughter with a patient smile. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like these men came all the way out here to our home because they failed in all their other attempts to intimidate you into complacency.”
Rhynehart coughed into a fist, then dropped his chin to his chest and clasped his hands behind his back. Parker had his eyes clenched shut and looked constipated. Sir looked like he’d been caught with his pants down. “Excuse me?”
“I’m sure you heard me. Sir.” Bianca gave him another polite smile with a sharp edge. “You do very well with mimicry, so please, give yourself points for that. But I’ve been navigating the world of reading between the lines, and on occasion, writing those lines myself for a lot longer than you have. This is what I heard you say: Cheyenne found something you didn’t want her to find.
