Page 52 of Power Twist

“Time’s up, Walmart.” Lips against the rim, he tips the crystal back, taking down the remaining liquor in one swallow. “Don’t worry about the gas issue. I’m already on it. Also, cancel your trip to the OPEC summit next week. Too many protests and chatter about potential attacks.”

“Fine by me.” Standing, I retuck my crisp white dress shirt into my slim black suit pants. “More time for me to win the House before the vote.”

“Yeah, good luck with that. Oh, and Randi?” My steps falter as I turn to gawk.What the hell is he up to using my actual name?“I'm not kidding with Shawn. He's a dangerous motherfucker.”

“Then why are you two friends?”

A sad kind of resigned smile pulls at his lips. New wrinkles form along the edges of his eyes, making him seem even older than he did moments ago.

“Because I'm dangerous too.”

* * *

A series of annoying,high-pitched beeps resounds in the small gym as the treadmill gears up to torture me for the next fifteen minutes. With a small jolt, the belt beneath my feet slowly rolls, dragging me backward with it.

“This is where you pick up your feet and don't let the machine win,” Trey says with a chuckle. “Damn, Mess. You're a mess.”

“Don't I know it.” Pressing the up arrow button, I increase the speed to just above a turtle pace. “Should we monitor my heart rate or something while I'm doing this? Maybe have one of those cardiac zappers around just in case I collapse?”

“Wow.” Reaching across the complex dash, he presses the button a few more times, increasing my speed. “You're not going to die. But if you want to pass out, I'd gladly give you mouth-to-mouth.” He offers me an exaggerated wink and climbs onto his own treadmill. A million sharp beeps later and he's practically sprinting, the heavy thuds of his steps shaking the machine.

“I'm sure you would.” With my own smirk tugging at the corners of my lips, I shake my head and press the speed button one more time, setting me at a brisk walk. “Maybe this is what I need after the meeting with Kyle yesterday and all that Shawn mess.”

“Speaking of—”

“Speaking of Austin, have we learned anything more about the message the Russians left in that envelope?”

“Nope, only the cryptic message of wanting to meet.”

Chewing on my middle finger's nail, I mull over his words. It was cryptic, but not. After several tests, they cleared the envelope and the contents late yesterday, allowing us to finally see what was inside. A single white sheet of paper with a date, time, and coordinates typed across the top. The paper, ink, and envelope are so ordinary there's no way to trace them. The coordinates are for a swanky hotel in Chile where the OPEC summit is to be held, and the dates coordinate to the summit as well.

But why is the main question. Then alsowho.

“If you're not breathing hard,” Trey puffs, “then kick that speed up. We need your heart rate up for at least fifteen minutes before we stretch and then move to weights.”

“Joy,” I say sarcastically while obeying and inching up my speed. “I think it's the Russian president.”

“Agreed.”

“Wonder what he wants.”

“Same.”

“I think I should go.”

His steps falter, causing him to wrap his hands around the side bar to keep from falling forward. “What?”

“I want to get to the bottom of the gas price thing at the summit. If there’s any place to gain clues to what’s going on it’s there. Plus Kyle was super evasive yesterday. Shady almost.”

“That's Birmingham.”

“Agreed, but this was different. Usually he taunts me, but this he outright avoided. I'm going to the OPEC summit and think I should meet with the Russian while I'm there. Clearly he has something he wants to tell me.”

“Or kidnap you and use you for ransom.”

“We don't negotiate with terrorists, remember? Everyone knows that.”

“The fuck? Did you hear that in a movie or something?”

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