Edge of Dawn (10 page)

“I do. How awful to go through life thinking you're nuts.”

“You're not driving, are you?” Pamela demanded

“Oh, God no. I've rented a helicopter. Anyway, it'll leave from the airport, bring me back, and I can catch my flight back to California.” Richard checked his watch. “In fact, I need to leave for the airport in an hour.”

“You're not using some rent-a-pilot?”

“No, Jerry will be flying. We just rented the machine. Do you think we should buy a helicopter?” Richard added.

“No. And you need to watch your spending.”

Richard flushed at the hectoring tone. “You make it sound like I'm spending it on hookers and blow.”

“You do spend a lot on your clothes.”

“It's hard for me to buy off the rack, and I'm the head of Lumina. I have to maintain a certain standard … Why am I defending myself to you?”

“Because nobody else will criticize you.”

“Well, you never missed an opportunity.” It came out more resentful than he'd intended. “And by the way, everybody picks at me constantly. Making sure I eat. Making sure I sleep. Reminding me of this meeting and that meeting—”

“Oh, poor you.”

They were glaring at each other, they were Yin and Yang, Richard with his silver-gilt blond hair and pale blue eyes, Pamela brown-haired and gray-eyed. She also topped him by a good three inches.

“Look, I enjoy the money, I admit it, but in terms of the company and our subsidiaries, where would you like me to start belt-tightening? Our environmental company warns me the Great Barrier Reef is dying at an alarming rate and that we may have already passed the tipping point to restore the oceans. Since a lot of the world's population depends on subsistence fishing, I divert more funds to them. Then the medical division warns me there's a chance that Ebola may become a pandemic, so I give them more money. And that's only two among dozens of divisions and subsidiaries. So tell me, Pamela, where do you want me to cut?”

“It's not my job to make those kind of decisions. You're in charge.”

A weight settled on his shoulders. Richard stood, feeling very isolated. “Yeah, prevaricate. That way you don't have to commit yourself, and you can keep taking cheap shots at me.”

Pamela came to her feet, leaned in, fists resting on the desktop. “What do you want from me, Richard? I've given up my law practice to work for you. I've broken with our father over you. But I can't take over for you. Kenntnis left this company to you. You have to run it or lose it.”

He reared back, the final two words as tangible as a blow. “What do you mean?”

“Having Kenntnis back but not really back is causing … confusion. Legal and emotional. The document turning control of Lumina over to you was pretty specific. If he failed to check in in any twenty-four-hour period, the company came to you. Well, he hasn't checked in, but he's … present, so how does that affect your status?” She shrugged. “No one's raised it yet, but it's there, like a low-level toothache. And at least half the time you're running around the world acting like an action hero instead of paying attention to business.”

“I'm the paladin. The only one we've got. No one else can close the tears in reality. Should I leave them open? Let the monsters in?”

“Nobody's saying that.”

“So what are you saying?” he asked.

“I'm not sure they understand the reality. The idea that Kenntnis was … is an alien is hard for them. They dealt with him in his human form, and they never saw the light creature—”

“They saw the pictures,” he protested.

“And pictures can be faked. He still looks like the man they dealt with.”

“But his mind is gone.”

“Then show them that. Let them realize it and accept that you're it. There isn't an alternative,” Pamela said.

“And how do I do that? Or is that me asking you to take over for me?” he concluded with bitter sarcasm.

“No, this falls under legal advice.” She came around from behind the desk and took his hands in hers. “Call a meeting of the officers. Let them interact with Kenntnis. Help them understand what happened.”

Richard considered, nodded slowly. “I could bring in Eddie, have him fill them in on his efforts to reverse the damage to Kenntnis.”

Pamela nodded. “That would be good. Then they would know you're not just taking advantage of your position.”

“Okay. I'll do it. Just as soon as I get back from California.”

“And when will that be?”

“In a few more days.”

He started to leave, only to be pulled back when Pamela said, “Are you planning to see Grenier?”

“I really don't have anything to discuss with him,” Richard said.

“You ruffled his feathers with this California thing. You might want to do a bit of feather smoothing while you're here.”

Richard sighed and smothered the sudden flare of irritation and resentment. As if he didn't have enough to contend with, now he had to soothe the ego of a man he feared, hated, distrusted—and needed.

“Okay, I'll stop by and see him.”

*   *   *

He heard footfalls approaching. The quick, sharp staccato of heels on stone, and he knew at once who it was. There was nothing restful about Richard; he moved like one of those dust devils that periodically swirled and danced across the deserts and mesas of New Mexico. Grenier felt a momentary sense of pique. He hadn't been told the boss was coming home, but then anticipation replaced the feeling and he looked up as Richard swept through the door.

Richard looked well. More rested than was usual, and he'd gotten some sun. The narrow nose and high cheekbones were tinged with a bit of sunburn. That nose wrinkled as the young man took an appreciative sniff of the redolent and seductive smells of ginger, mint, lemon grass, and chili that floated though the office.

“Oh, that smells good.” He paused and cocked his head, one of his little habits. “I didn't have any breakfast, and I just realized I'm hungry.” Grenier suppressed the urge to hug the take-out containers to his chest and protect his lunch. Richard held up a finger in a wait-one-moment gesture and was gone with a swiftness and grace that reminded the older man of quicksilver and lightning. He returned in a few moments clutching a plate and utensils. Somehow he knew of Grenier's ad hoc kitchen, which had Grenier wondering how much else Richard knew about his habits.

Richard began scooping out Tip's famous teriyaki fried rice and added a large dollop of pad Thai and an inordinate amount of ginger beef. Grenier tried to curb his annoyance. Clearly he failed, because those ice-blue eyes, brimming with amusement, stared challengingly into his.

“You don't mind if I bogart part of your lunch? There's enough here for four,” Richard said.

A flush swept up Grenier's cheeks. “That was cold.”

“But true.” Richard took a bite of noodles, chewed and swallowed. “You know, I really wish you'd grow back your beard. That many chins just aren't natural.”

“Did you come here solely for the purpose of irritating and insulting me?” Grenier snapped. “But you are correct,” Grenier continued. “I ordered too much food, and I would have eaten it all if you hadn't shown up.”

“I think you're gorging because you lost your magic. Trying to fill the void,” Richard said.

Grenier found the remark smug and condescending, and he struck back. “So says the man with daddy issues.”

There was a flash of anger in the amazing blue eyes. “Okay, I'd say we're even on the exchanging-insults front,” Richard said.

Grenier gave him a thin smile. “Don't try to outpsych me, Richard. Two can play that game, and I'll always win. But let's start with your statement. I did not
lose
my magic, as you so euphemistically phrased it.
You
robbed me of it, and took my hand in the process.”

“You were trying to kill my father and Angela.” Once again the pale cheeks were awash with color.

“The merest touch of the sword is enough to destroy a person's power,” Grenier shot back. “You didn't have to cut off my damn hand!”

“You had spent the past two days having your thugs beat me up, then topped it off with
you
running electricity through my balls. At that point I wasn't feeling very charitable.”

There was no good answer to that, and Grenier didn't try. Instead he voiced the question raised by Jorge. “People wonder why you let me stay here.” Then he added a poisoned dart. Looking down at his desk, he shuffled papers and casually added, “It makes them question your judgment.” He looked up quickly to catch Richard's reaction, and was pleased when he saw doubt cloud those eyes.

Richard shook it off and gave Grenier a challenging look. “Would you like me to kick you to the curb?”

“I'd rather you not. The Old Ones have long memories.”

“Besides, you know why you're here,” Richard said.

“Actually, I don't. Why do you keep me around, Richard?”

“You know how the Old Ones and human quislings work together, and you can recognize signs of those unholy alliances—”

Grenier held up an admonishing finger. “Ah, religious allusion from the newly minted atheist.”

“First, it's been two years since Kenntnis and Cross showed me how the world actually worked. And sometimes you can't avoid the occasional
dear God
or
good heavens.
But back to the subject. I like to keep you where I can watch you.”

“So you don't trust me?”

“Would you?”

“No,” Grenier admitted, and tried to cover the emotional hurt with a rueful laugh. He decided to launch one more poisoned dart. “But you also need me here. I'm the daddy figure you cannot do without.” He watched it land with bitter satisfaction, because while Richard had initiated the break, the estrangement from the man haunted him. Richard had spent his life trying to please and win the respect of his cold and distant father, and while he had come tantalizingly close when he had outplayed and defeated Grenier, ultimately Richard had failed.

Richard stood and looked down at Grenier. “Well, you're just full of little croakers today, aren't you? Pamela said you needed stroking. Looks like she was right.”

“You're learning to punch above your weight.”

“Not a very good allusion in your case,” Richard said with a smile that extended only from the teeth out.

“Touch
é
.”

Richard checked his watch. “And I've got to go.”

He walked out, and Grenier stared for a long time at the closed door.

*   *   *

After the rather fraught conversation with Grenier, Richard returned to his office. As he emerged from the stairwell, he contemplated sneaking past his assistant, but Jeannette had her desk arranged to defeat any such maneuver. She handed him a stack of messages as he walked past. The sheaf of pink papers included the COO based in London; the CFO based in Japan; Damon Weber; Cassutt, who ran Lumina's Washington lobbying firm; and Egan, who ran human resources out of offices in Harlem in New York City.

“Do you want me to ring them for you?” Jeannette asked.

This was an ongoing dance-battle. She had slowly trained Richard to behave like a proper executive. He no longer came out to the reception area to greet visitors. He didn't make his own dinner reservations. He didn't type his own letters, which was one dictum he didn't mind. He had come to hate typing because he'd always gotten stuck typing up reports when he was a cop. Richard was a touch typist while his fellow officers were strictly hunt-and-peck, and he had been a rookie so there was no way to avoid being drafted. Since talking into a recorder made Richard feel stupid, he wrote out the letters in longhand and gave them to Jeannette to type. It wasn't the most efficient use of either of their time, but it seemed a suitable compromise.

But Jeannette hadn't won on the phone thing. “No, thank you. The day I'm unable to punch a few buttons, you need to take me out and shoot me,” he said.

“Don't even joke about it,” Jeannette said, and Richard could see he had really upset her.

It wasn't conscious, but Richard found his hand gripping his thigh where the bullet had torn through. Next he touched the bandage over his ribs and wondered if the claw wound was going to leave a scar.

Jeannette glared at him over the top of her reading glasses. “Look, it diminishes you when you call, and some secretary—”

Richard held up an admonishing hand. “Uh-uh, administrative assistant, please.”

She threw a computer screen cleaner designed to look like a Siamese cat at him. He caught it, and began squeezing it, feeling the seeds inside crunch and slide. It did seem to be a day for people to throw things at him.

Jeannette continued. “While an administrative assistant”—she rolled her eyes—“keeps you waiting while she rings through to her boss. The assistants should do the waiting.”

Richard hitched a hip onto the edge of her desk and stared down at her, fascinated.

“You're taking this seriously, aren't you?”

“Yes. With really important people, assistants try to make certain that you both come on the phone at exactly the same time.” She shrugged. “It's a power thing.”

“My ego isn't that big, and besides, most of the people I call work for me,” he demurred.

“True, but you should let me place the call when it's anyone outside Lumina. Otherwise you'll leave the impression with that other executive's assistant that you're not powerful, a bit na
ï
ve, and probably a pushover, and she'll pass that on to her boss, which puts you at a disadvantage.”

Surrender came in the form of a sigh, then he added, “Okay, I'll agree to that much.” She reached for the messages, but he pulled them away. “But all of these people work for me.” He went through the heavily carved wood-and-glass doors and into the office.