The woman points to my bleeding hand. “You’re the one who needs the bandage.”
I held Athena firm while picking out the glass, but a wounded child is one thing I’ve never learned to totally control. My fingertips are more badly scratched than I realized. Yet they are healing rapidly.
“That’s not necessary,” I say, raising my hand to decrease the blood flow into my fingers. “I’ll just pop in your restroom a minute. I’ll be fine.”
The secretary shakes her head as she strides away from her desk.
“A couple of bandages will keep the cuts from getting dirty.”
“I’ll take them when I get back.” Cradling my injured hand with my other hand, I try to keep my blood from spilling on the floor. It is an old habit of mine, to guard my blood. Once in the restroom, I let the hot water wash over my cuts. Already they have sealed; nevertheless, I’m careful to wash away the faintest sign of my blood.
When I return to the front desk, and the secretary, I hide my healed fingers beneath a paper towel. I gratefully accept the woman’s bandages and casually wrap them around my fingers. The secretary is a polite soul.
“I’m really sorry you had to be subjected to all that.”
“The child moved so fast. I don’t know if it was the talk about her father, or if she hated that painting.”
“Did you see her face just before she broke the vase?”
“No. She was looking away from me.”
The secretary frowns. “Her eyes suddenly blazed. Something set her off. I don’t know, that kid kind of spooked me.”
“She seemed sweet,” I say, but my words lack conviction. Something about the kid bothered me as well.
Ms. Cynthia Brutran calls for me a few minutes later. The secretary directs me to take the elevator to the fourth floor. At the top of the building, I’m met by what appears to be Ms. Brutran’s personal secretary—a young man who couldn’t look more sexy if he was naked. He flashes a warm smile, apologizes for my having to wait, and directs me to the boss’s office.
Ms. Brutran sits behind a beautifully finished walnut desk crowded with keyboards and computer screens. To say the lady multitasks would be an understatement. She’s forty but looks ten years younger. She’s had work done to her face and neck by an exceptional surgeon. It would take my eyes to spot it.
Her short brown hair has a bright sheen. She wears a single piece of jewelry, a diamond ring encircled with a dozen tiny rubies. The central stone is exquisite, without significant flaws, and is no doubt worth more than most people make in a lifetime. She has on a beige pantsuit. Her overall look is professional but relaxed. I’m dressed in a black skirt and a red blouse, and hopefully project the feel of a hunter.
Yet Ms. Brutran isn’t truly relaxed. Her gaze is intense, and she does not hesitate to let me feel its heat. It’s probably an old habit—to intimidate weaker souls in business meetings. She doesn’t know exactly what I am, but she knows something about me. She’s guarded but not fearful. I smell steel and gunpowder coming from the drawer on her right. I find it interesting she keeps a loaded weapon so close at hand.
“I hear you had a little accident downstairs,” she says.
“News travels fast in your building.”
“To me it does. Are your fingers okay?”
“Just scratched, thank you.”
“My receptionist said your name is Alisa Perne, and that you need to speak to me. May I ask the nature of your business?”
I stare at her and allow a measure of my power to enter my gaze. She blinks under my invisible and extremely subtle assault but does not back up or try to look away. For the first time I notice how disciplined her mind is. I don’t get an immediate sense of her thoughts, although I reach for them. It’s as if she wears a psychic helmet over her head. I’m intrigued.
“Simple curiosity,” I reply.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Please, let us dispense with the innocent act. You agreed to see me—a complete stranger off the street. Who made no appointment ahead of time. Whom you have never met before in your life.” I pause. “You must have a reason.”
She hesitates, then nods. “I ran your name through our database. It says you’re a person of interest.”
“Does your database explain why?”
“Of course. Our company research has identified you as one of the wealthiest women in America.”
“That’s extremely confidential information. How did you come across it?”
“Frankly, I don’t know. In my daily business I often use our database, but I don’t spend time creating it.” She pauses. “May I ask how you’ve managed to stay so completely out of the public eye?”
“Through great effort. But now you and your firm have invaded my privacy. I want to know why.”
“We’re an investment firm, one of the most successful in the country. It’s only natural we should seek out people such as yourself with a large amount of wealth.”
“Is that what you do? Manage other people’s money?”
“It’s one service we offer, yes.”
“Because I heard different. I heard you manage your own money. So well that IIC is worth trillions of dollars. Trillions that no one knows about.” I turn the tables on her. “May I ask how you’ve managed to keep these trillions out of the public eye?”
She smiles stiffly. “I fear you’ve been misinformed. Our firm is rich, true, but not on that scale.”
“You’re lying,” I reply. I still can’t read her thoughts. She blocks me somehow. Yet I sense hidden depths behind her walls. This woman must be handled carefully. I cannot simply snap her neck, much as I might want to. I sense she would not let me, although I have no idea how she would stop me. My intuition tells me only a part of her story.
However, she doesn’t have the supernatural heartbeat of the man who came to kill me. She doesn’t have his speed, muscle control, powerful eyes and ears, nor his extraordinary strength. She’s human, only she’s a highly evolved human. Suddenly, I feel her struggle to scan my mind, and I block her by keeping it blank. As blank as my expression.
The puzzle deepens, as my curiosity soars.
“We’ve just met,” she says. “Don’t you think it’s foolish to start with such insults?”