Page 5 of Kiss of Steel

Everyone at the defense table stood.

“How do you find?”

She riveted on the jury foreman. Her stomach roiled, and she pressed a hand to her mouth.

“We, the members of the jury, find the defendant, Blane Anton, not guilty.”

No! No! It can’t be!The verdict punched her in the gut.

Blane hugged his defense attorneys as if they’d been responsible for the acquittal. In reality, he, or a member of his criminal family, had tampered with the jury. Threatened them. Bribed them. Blackmailed them. Maybe all three.

The prosecutor, who’d assured her the case against Blane was a sure conviction, didn’t turn around to look at her. But Blane did. His happy grin spread into something menacing.“It’s not over. I’m coming for you,”he mouthed.

* * * *

Honoria sprang upright, gasping for air, her heart pounding. She’d relived the nightmare of the verdict every night since the trial ended a month ago. Everything had gone down as it occurred in the dream, except for Blane mouthing the threat. He hadn’t done that. But the danger, revealed in his vengeful eyes, his menacing smile, in the meaningful nod he’d given to his bodyguard, was no less real. He would not forget what she had done, and he intended to exact vengeance.

She slipped a hand under the pillow and groped for the blaster. With its reassuring weight settling in her palm, she slipped out of bed and went to check the doors and windows. Security patrols had become an obsessive-compulsive habit since she’d first discovered what Blane and the company were involved in. However, no locked door could keep her safe forever. Nor could a blaster, although it might even the odds a little.

Once, she wouldn’t have believed herself capable of shooting someone, but everything changed when she’d overheard her boss-turned-boyfriend ordering a hit. Testifying against him in court had drawn a target on her. Would Blane fire the shot or hire out the deed?

He’d do it himself. He’d enjoy seeing me die.

His menacing grin had given new meaning to the phrase killer smile.

He’d been so charismatic, so easygoing when she first joined the family-owned Solutions, Inc. as his secretary. The second son of four, Blane served as the chief operating officer. He’d been charming, solicitous—not at all what she’d expected from a high-powered executive. Her job had been ridiculously lucrative and easy. She booked meetings, answered calls, set up vid-comms, reminded him of his engagements. But, after seven months, she’d failed to get a solid grasp of what exactly her employer did. Ostensibly, they were a “consulting firm,” but what did they consult about?

Finally, despite the worry she’d be fired for cluelessness, she’d confessed to Blane she didn’t have a good handle on the company business.

“People have issues with other people, and we fix it,” he said.

“Isn’t that what litigation and arbitration are for?”

“When those things fail, that’s when we get called in. We’re the solution of last resort,” he said and then rushed off to a meeting.

Oh, how naive she’d been. She realized now he’d hired her because of her naivete. She never snooped, and she didn’t ask a lot of pesky questions. She provided the perfect window dressing, the perfect ignorant arm candy. She’d vowed from now on, she would question everything.

Right after that conversation, he’d cranked up the charm and started to flirt. She’d laughed it off, until it had dawned hemight beserious, and then she’d resisted harder, reluctant to get involved with the boss. Business and romance did not mix well. If the relationship soured, she could lose her job. And what would people say? She didn’t wish to get a reputation for being the kind of woman who slept with the boss to get ahead.

But he’d persisted, wooing her, and he was so nice, so charming, she caved.

They’d been dating for four months when her eyes were opened. She’d spent the night at his luxury apartment, awakening in the wee hours to an empty bed. She’d gone to find him and overheard him in the library on an audio-comm discussing having a man killed. The target had been an assistant who’d “gotten away” after the “Chicago incident.”

“We can’t use the cyborgs on this one,” Blane had said.

Cyborgs? The part-man, part-machines weren’t just urban legend? She hadn’t understood a lot about the conversation except for one thing: Blane wanted somebody dead. For real.

She’d been in a panic, uncertain what to do. Go to the authorities? A wrongful accusation could ruin Blane’s life and reputation.

Ignore what she’d overheard and hope for the best? An innocent man might die.

Confront Blane? Forget that! If she was wrong, he’d never forgive her, and if he didn’t outright fire her, working for him would be impossible. And if he was guilty, telling a murderer she’d overheard his scheme could be hazardous to her health.

She’d scurried back to the bedroom. When he returned, she feigned sleep. Her heart had pounded so loud, she feared he might hear it, but he’d rolled over, and within minutes, he went out like a light. Either his conscience was clear—or he didn’t have one. In the morning, she pled illness—not a total lie; she was nauseous from shock, fear, and a lack of sleep—so he’d kissed her forehead and told her to take the day off. As soon as he left, she’d searched the apartment and then hightailed it to the police station where she’d spilled her guts—literally and figuratively. Overwrought, she’d vomited on the detective’s shoes.

No mere witness at the trial, she’d ignited the entire investigation.

She’d quit her job and moved right after the arrest, giving no one her address, but she didn’t doubt that Blane could and would hunt her down. With his power, wealth, and obvious connections, he had the means to achieve whatever he wanted. Unemployed, she lived off savings.

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