Page 109 of Dash

The Astor House’s dining room was fashioned after the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles. The space was heavily appointed with decadent wood floors, marble pilasters, and bronzed capitals. The east wall behind me displayed the mandatory antique mirror installation. Encased by sumptuous golden drapery, the west wall showcased a row of tall, arched, gilded French doors overlooking the terraced gardens and framing the mountains.

While I wolfed down a forkful of Cook’s outstanding spinach soufflé, I lifted my gaze to the dining room ceiling. It was painted with frescoes and adorned with enormous crystal chandeliers. On the south wall, the fireplace roaring several feet behind Thena added to the festive atmosphere and kept the chill at bay.

The weather had turned colder, and beyond the French doors, an earlier snow shower had dressed the gardens in awhite cloak that matched the silk of Thena’s outfit. With her hair up in an elegant chignon and her lips sporting her signature power-red lipstick, my woman was, by far, the most beautiful sight in the world.

I sat to the right of her, wearing my black suit, playing my CEO role. The list of suspects—I mean, guests—had been highly curated. By me. I’d also taken care of the seating arrangements. The plan tonight required precision. This meant I’d had to carefully position my assets, delegate some critical tasks, and be creative to execute my setup. While I cleaned my plate, my eyes shifted around the table, studying the people in the room.

Jorge Rivera sat to my right, wearing a blue suit. His long, tapered fingers tweaked the curved handles of his distinctive mustache. He was more of a listener than a talker, and he sported a cordial but small smile. He was the one man who could put up a fight if it came down to it. This explained why he was sandwiched between me and King.

King’s composure and amiability indexes had qualified him to be in this room. He sported a buttoned-up shirt with white Maori designs that cascaded over one of his shoulders. Worn untucked over his dress slacks, his outfit gave him options to conceal his weapons. He managed to look both elegant and chill as always.

In true King fashion, he listened stoically to Paolo, who occupied the chair next to him, afflicted by a serious case of diarrhea of the mouth. Paolo’s bright purple suit risked hurting someone’s retinas. I bet King was pining for his sunglasses just about now.

On the other side of Paolo, Bozeman anchored the far end on the table, looking as formidable as Mount Everest and as bored as an oyster. His face was a stoic mask of resignation as he listened to Paolo’s incessant yammering. Given his low sociability index, Bozeman hadn’t been the obvious choice, andyet his reliability indexes had earned him a seat at the table.

Sitting on the other side of Bozeman, Monique chatted with Guzman, whose stratospheric sociability and bullshitting index compensated for Bozeman’s massive silence. Guzman had volunteered for a special job tonight, persuading me he had the right skillset. He’d embraced his party boy nature and had already met and exceeded my expectations in his role as Monique’s handler.

I had to admit the lout looked dapper in his linen guayabera. He used what he called his “good looks and his masculine wiles” to distract Monique. When it came to women, the rake never faltered. He was a female magnet.

Right now, Pretty Boy with Big Muscles was charming the pants off Dragon Lady. Although, technically, she wasn’t wearing pants. Instead, she sported a severe green dress notable only for not being a pantsuit. She smiled at Guzman, cozying up to him in a way that shocked the hell out of me.

In all the years I’d known Monique, I’d never known her to smile, let alone laugh. Okay, so they were witch-like cackles, loud and abrupt, but maybe they had something to do with her flirty smiles or with the instant wine refill service Guzman was providing her.

Flanking Guzman on his right, Arthur Astor was telling Thena a joke so lame I couldn’t contain a yawn. Arthur had been a last-minute addition to the list. Since he was Thena’s only accessible family member, she figured he’d give the gathering authenticity. She’d also told me she’d promised him that she would see him soon. What the hell. It was her birthday after all. Shame she had to spend it fishing for a killer.

I didn’t like Arthur much. I’d always found him clingy. He’d been in Haiti the day that Richard was killed and had a solid alibi, but if he sat at my woman’s table tonight, then he was a suspect and would be treated as such.

Sandy came around, refilling wine glasses, fussing over us like the mother hen she was. She fluttered about the dining room, restocking the dishes lined up on the buffet table. With the exception of Sandy and Cook, who had already been cleared and on site, I’d taken care of transporting all of the guests.

I’d flown Monique, Paolo, and Jorge for the evening in one of BB’s jets. They’d been screened prior to boarding at the airport—metal detectors, full figure scans, the works. As for Arthur, Shaw and Ferranti had picked him up and ran him through the security drill. Even the presents the guests brought had been scanned before being allowed in the house. Tonight, we were gonna find out who were Thena’s real friends and who weren’t.

I crossed my fork and knife over my empty plate, and reviewed my asset distribution for the evening. Three operators in the room with me. Three outside. Shaw and Ferranti roamed the house and took turns guarding the main doors to the dining room. Cooper was perched on his sniper’s nest outside the house, pulling overwatch with a clear line of sight through the French doors. From her station at the library, Mina ran mission control and monitored security.

The entire crew was wired into our comms and our surveillance systems and automated defense system were fully operational. I leaned back in my chair and, fingering the cane propped by my side, released a slow, quiet exhale. What the hell could go wrong?

Anything and everything, my extensive combat experience had taught me.

Another glance at my watch showed me the hour was near. A double beep in my ear confirmed that the infils were in progress.Oorah. We were officially in business. Since the plan involved Thena, I’d kept my team at hand and called on my friends at Elite to handle the New York searches. Now I just hadto wait for their reports.

Because I was nothing if not thorough, I’d asked Druid to take a look at Arthur Astor’s humble bungalow. It stood twenty minutes away in the nearby town of—what else—Astorville. With Trev on the prowl, I’d covered all my bases.

Come on.I urged the intel to flow through. I wanted Thena safe and this farce to end.

When everyone was done eating, Sandy cleared the dirty plates and a very jolly Cook wheeled in a tall, tiered cake decorated with dainty sugar flowers. He parked the cart to the left of Thena near me. Candles burned on top as Sandy led the happy birthday chorus.

“Oh, how beautiful!” Thena clapped after she blew out the candles, firing up Cook’s grin with her grateful smile. An animated conversation broke out as Sandy set the table for dessert and Cook poured flutes filled with champagne.

“Yum, I want some of that.” Mina’s voice crackled in my ear, reminding me she had eyes on us through the hidden cameras in the room. “Save me some, will you?”

I made a show of glaring at the clean dessert plate Sandy set before me.

“Sorry, boss.” Mina got my message. “Got a little bored and a lot hungry. Won’t happen again.”

I grunted. No chitchatting during an op. Training a new team was a bitch.

Thena leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Everything okay?”

“Fine.”

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