Page 23 of One Weekend in Rio de Janeiro

Time to dazzle, Donovan thought. The moment he stepped into the office and Warren swiveled around, Donovan knew something wasn’t right.

“You made it,” Warren murmured, not looking at all happy. Almost surprised. Or, maybe that was disappointment Donovan heard.

His lack of a greeting threw Donovan. “Of course. We, ah, rescheduled for today at ten.”

“Right. Guess I’d forgotten,” Warren said lamely. “I’m actually very busy today and don’t have time to take this meeting.”

Really? Because the office was empty. The place couldn’t be any more dead. Despite being suspicious, Donovan’s heart sank and, for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. Get it together, D. He’s a busy guy. “How about tomorrow?”

Warren waved his hand through the air. “The truth is I don’t think I’m interested anymore. After some research, I’ve realized drones are a dime a dozen.”

“Not my drone,” Donovan insisted, voice firm, hands curling into fists. He didn’t come all this way to get tossed out of there before having a chance to convince Warren how special his drone actually was and how it would change the world. “All I’m asking for is five minutes of your time, Mr. Warren. I came all the way to Rio—”

“I’m sorry. That isn’t possible. And, like I said, I’ve changed my mind.”

A muscle flexed in Donovan’s jaw and disappointment flooded through him. He’d spent so much time, research and effort perfecting his drone’s specs and now this asshole couldn’t even give him five minutes. His attention dropped to the large, heavy-looking statue of a masked figure on the desk representing Carnival. Yesterday with Kate, enjoying the city’s celebrations, had been the best day of his life.

He wasn’t ready to give up yet. Not on pitching his drone or making more time with Kate, he realized.

“What I’ve created is going to change the face of warfare. The U.S. government will pay a fortune for what we’d be able to offer them. But I need to create, test and tweak a prototype first. Surely a smart businessman like you can see how your investment would pay off.”

Warren’s dark eyes narrowed. “I’m not interested and I’m asking you to leave. Don’t make me call security.”

Confused, Donovan threw his hands up. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.” As he turned toward the door, wondering what the hell just happened, he caught a glimpse of a flash drive sticking out of the side of Warren’s computer.

His flash drive with the small blue skull and crossbones sticker on it. The same exact one that had been stolen.

Hooyah.

Chapter Eleven

Stomping over to the desk, Donovan ripped the flash drive out of the computer and spun around to face off with Kent Warren. “Why the hell do you have my flash drive?” he demanded.

“You weren’t supposed to survive,” Warren stated without a trace of emotion. “Who the hell walks away from a plane crash?”

Suddenly, things began to fall into place fast and Donovan felt sick to his stomach. The hack, the plane crash, the men chasing them through the jungle and now his stolen flash drive. Warren had sent those men to steal his drone specs and kill him so he could take full credit for Spectre. He’d never had any intention to act as an investor.

That greedy fucking bastard.

Donovan’s anger boiled over and he was about to rip into Warren when the man reached into his drawer and removed a Taurus .357 Magnum revolver. “I was assured you’d be taken care of but, as usual, I have to do everything myself.”

“Whoa.” Donovan raised his hands and backed up a step. “You fucked with the plane then sent those men to make sure I didn’t survive.”

It wasn’t a question. The reality of the situation was Kent Warren was an avaricious sociopath who would go to any measures to pass off Donovan’s drone as his own.

“You’re a hard man to kill.”

“Former Navy SEAL. We don’t go down easy.”

“But you do go down. And, now it’s your time to—”

“We can still work together,” Donovan insisted, trying to buy some time as he racked his brain on how the hell he was going to escape this clusterfuck. Because if anyone was going down, it was this arrogant prick in front of him.

“I don’t work well with partners, so I’ll just sell your idea to the highest bidder. And, trust me, there are some organizations out there who will pay a fuckload more than the U.S. government.”

“Terrorists,” Donovan murmured.

Warren shrugged a shoulder. “Narcos, jihadis…I don’t care who they are or what they believe. The only thing I believe in is the almighty dollar. And whoever is willing to pay the most is going to get your drone specs.”

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