Before opening the door, he withdrew his wallet and handed her his business card. "My pager number's written on the back if you need it."
His fingers brushed against hers when she reached for the card. His eyes skimmed down the front of her. A renegade jolt of pleasure barreled through her.
"I'll call Van-Dyne first thing in the morning and fill him in." He opened the door, checked the hall, then looked at her.
She raised her eyes to his, strangely disconcerted by the dark intensity of his gaze. God, he was one of the most unsettling men she'd ever met.
"I'll hang around the building for a while." But he didn't move. His eyes flicked to her mouth.
Addison's pulse jumped in response. She told herself it was because she didn't quite trust him, but she was in tune with herself enough to know it was because she wasn't the only one who'd just felt the arc of electricity.
Feeling uncharacteristically awkward, she stepped back, thankful her intellect had kicked in before she did something stupid. The last thing she needed in her life right now was a man, especially a volatile, unpredictable man like Randall Talbot.
"Thanks for the coffee." He tapped the bolt lock with his finger. "Don't forget to lock it."
"I won't."
His gaze lingered on hers an instant longer, then he turned and walked away without so much as a backward glance.
Addison closed the door, then leaned against it. The elevator down the hall chimed. She had the crazy urge to call him back, but of course she didn't. Instead, she leaned against the door, trying to turn off her thoughts, trying not to be afraid. But her sense of security had been shattered. She felt as if she were riding in a car that was careening out of control, and she could do nothing but hang on for dear life.
The tears came with surprising force. Body-wracking sobs that shook her all the way down to her toes. It was as if all the emotions she'd suppressed in the last hours had finally been unleashed. The memory of the shooting rushed at her like tiny spears. The terror, the helplessness, the knowledge that death had come so perilously near.
And with a stark sense of dismay, she realized that even locked away in her own apartment, she no longer felt safe.
Chapter 7
Beyond the glass wall of his fourth-floor office, rain fell in sheets, bringing a rise of fog to the street below. He watched the people on the sidewalk with a mixture of disinterest and disgust as they went about their daily routines like mindless herd animals.
He should have been celebratory, sitting where he was, looking down at the rest of the world from his exalted position. He should have felt superior perched above the scampering rats beyond the glass. He should have felt in control and relaxed. But he didn't feel any of those things.
The demons of his past had finally come home. Tasks he'd left unfinished as 'a careless and irresponsible young man were tumbling back into his life to haunt him, like a persistent ghost that had become as dangerous as it was frightening.
He'd dreaded this moment his entire life. Not because he was afraid. Fear never entered into his decisions. Nor was the dread he felt induced by the thought of violence. Violence was merely a part of doing business, many times necessary, invariably effective.
It was the lack of control that troubled him most. There were too many people in too many places asking too many questions. There were too many loose ends. Predictably, it was the loose ends most men failed to deal with. Loose ends that eventually destroyed them.
Swiveling in the black leather executive chair, he faced the man who'd entered his office. He considered the nondescript features made important not by the European suit or Gucci loafers, but by the knowledge stored beneath the scrupulous facade. He paid his employees well. As a result, they did his bidding for him without objection and without question.
His eyes traveled to the fully stocked wet bar. He watched with a rich sense of satisfaction as the other man walked to the bar, poured, two fingers of Remy Martin cognac into a crystal snifter, then returned and set it on the desk in front of him.
"Our little problem in Denver is no longer a little problem,” he said, leaning back into the plush leather.
"I take full responsibility for the error." The other man fingered the Hermes tie at his throat as if the hideous colors were choking him.
"Of course you do." From the top drawer of the desk, he removed an emery board and filed the tip of a short, perfectly-manicured nail. In a world where perceptions were everything, it wouldn't do to overreact. Even if control of the situation had slipped beyond his grasp, at least he could maintain the illusion. "This young woman seems to be quite resourceful. How much does she know?"
"She found out about the Beckett woman. Of course, her trip to Ohio wasn't fruitful."
"She seems to be very determined."
“We have some options."
The other man's naiveté irritated him. "Such as?"