Evening Storm Read Online Free Page B

being a half-assed rat.
Finish what you start
, he thought to himself.
Finish it and finish it well.
    It’s a long way down . . .
    â€œI can’t get Sarah McLachlan out of my head,” he said to Daniel when the Special Agent in Charge, “Wilson” by his badge, and highly ambitious by the way he carried himself, set down the laser pointer, signaling a break.
    â€œIt’s a sign of stress. I’ve had Drake in my head for days.”
    Most people rose and stretched, seeking coffee, planning food deliveries. The Jock disappeared with a white sack labeled SYMBOWL , and returned with a steaming bowl that smelled fantastic until Ryan’s stomach weighed in by lurching in disagreement. Daniel stayed seated so Ryan did, too. Daniel swiveled his chair to face Ryan, then braced one elbow on the conference room table and his chin on his bent fingers. “You understand what you need to do,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.
    â€œYes. You’re going to set me up with a recording device. I take it with me everywhere I go, and turn it on when I’m in situations where I think I can get information. This isn’t rocket science.”
    â€œNo,” Daniel agreed equably. “But it is a situation that’s going to involve a swath of devastation and destruction through people’s lives. Reputations will be ruined, fortunes will be lost, and if we do our jobs right, MacCarren will cease to exist. People have died for far less.”
    Ryan almost laughed. “No one’s going to kill me over this,” he said. “This isn’t the mob. It’s a bunch of investment bankers.”
    â€œAll I’m saying,” Daniel said, “is to be careful. Ask questions but try not to make them suspicious. Get involved, get inside, but avoid raising red flags.”
    Walk a razor-sharp, hair-thin tightrope, in other words. “Trust me,” Ryan said. “When I walk into that office and tell them that I figured out what they’re doing and I want a piece of the action, that’s right in character for me. I’m smart enough to have figured it out, and I’m greedy enough to want some.”
    Logan’s eyes sharpened. “Why didn’t you do that?”
    He’d answered this question a dozen times since he’d walked into Logan’s office, but he got the feeling the man wouldn’t stop testing him until this was over. “I’m not a thief,” he said bluntly. “I’m competitive, driven; a shark, even. I’ll exploit loopholes until the SEC screams, but I’m no thief.”
    It’s a long way down . . .
    Unbidden, an image of Simone bloomed in his brain, her thick red hair flowing over one shoulder to lay against one breast, the tight control in her blue eyes. But it wasn’t her hair or her eyes, nor was it her pale skin that was absolutely covered in freckles. There was an honor, and integrity, in the way she moved, the way she handled herself, in the way she looked at the clothes she made. She was authentic. He couldn’t even remember authentic.
    Apparently satisfied, Logan picked up his cell phone and lifted it to his ear, listening to the voice mails that accumulated during the presentation. As Ryan watched, his face changed, the veneer of professional dispassion melting into something shockingly close to anguish. “Christ,” he said as he dropped his shoulder. His phone slid to his lap as he swung his laptop around and pulled up a travel Website. “Oh, Christ. Not now.”
    Ryan felt his eyebrows war between shooting up in surprise and drawing down in disbelief. He’d been working with Logan for weeks now, and unlike many of his law enforcement colleagues, never heard him swear.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” asked the Jock.
    â€œMy wife’s grandmother just died. I need to get to London,” he looked at his watch, “shit, right fucking now, one seat