Page 83 of Guilty as Sin
It wasn’t that Hunter was boring. It was just that he had slides. With graphs. Also artist’s renditions of buildings, which weren’t much better. Slides always put Paige to sleep. She was actually in danger of nodding off when Hunter said, “I think you’ve got the idea. I’ll take questions now.”
A rustle behind Paige, the sound of people standing to let somebody past and into the aisle, and then she recognized the gas station guy’s voice over the PA system. “Does this whole thing really depend on Lily Hollander’s selling?”
“As currently envisioned, yes,” Hunter said. “As I’ve explained, that land, together with the Forest Service land to the east, is the terrain best suited for cross-country trails. Snowshoe trails. In particular, we need the gentler slopes on her land.”
“But you could still expand the ski mountain without it,” Gas Station Man said. “You just told us all about that part.”
“True,” Hunter said, “but then, a developer tends to want the whole enchilada when he’s making this kind of investment.”
Paige started to stand up, then, and Jace stood, too, his hand under her elbow, and helped her to her feet. Ostentatiously again. Hunter said, “Looks like we have a question in the front from Ms. Hollander.”
Jace leaned down as if to whisper something in Paige’s ear, an elaborate piece of role-playing that had been his idea. He stood up straight again and said, in a voice loud enough to carry to the back of the room, “I’ll be making Ms. Hollander’s statement for her, as she’s unwell. I’d like to come up there to do it, if I may. Make sure everybody hears it.”
“By all means,” Hunter said, even though it really wasn’t for him to say. The chairman didn’t look eager to argue the point—or any point—with his benefactor, though, and Jace leaped up the stairs with a whole lot of athletic grace. It was a showy enough performance that Paige was surprised he hadn’t put a hand on the four-foot-high platform and vaulted up.
I think about what Jace would do,Rafe had said in that interview,and then I do it prettier.She had a feeling that this time around, Jace was doing it like Rafe. Doing it not like a man who had no need to advertise his toughness, because he’d long since proved it beyond any doubt, but like an action star.
He’d dressed the part, that was for sure. Dark Levi’s, boots that she’d swear were military-issue, and a black T-shirt snug enough to show off his muscular physique and reveal the business end of the dagger tattooed on his arm. All he needed were military fatigues and a knife on his belt to present the whole picture.
He took a moment before he started, adjusting the microphone upward as if to emphasize that he was possibly two whole inches taller than Brett Hunter. Men and their size obsession. Finally, though, he stood back, looked around the room like the eagle she’d compared him too, and began to speak.
“First,” he said, “I think that anybody who doesn’t know it already should be aware that Ms. Hollander’s shop has been attacked, her animals have been killed, and last night, she herself was attacked. More than attacked. If things had gone a different way, somebody would be looking at a murder charge right now.”
A buzz in the room, and Jace said, “I’m not going to believe that’s how most of you deal with neighbor disputes, or that you think it’s right to beat a defenseless woman. If I did, I wouldn’t live here, and neither would you. I don’t think that’s what Montana stands for. Your property is yours, whoever you are, rich or poor, and you have the right to defend it. And not to sell it, too. Of course, I’m Australian. Anybody want to offer up another opinion, set me right?”
He looked out into the audience. Black scruff, black hair less than tamed. Black shirt. Darkness. Challenge.
Raeleigh Franklin stood up in the audience. She didn’t bother going to the microphone, just called out, “Who says somebody here did that? Maybe she’s sleeping with somebody’s husband, did you think of that?”
“No,” Jace said, “I didn’t. That might be because she’s sleeping with me, so I tend to know where she is.” He let the buzz from that die down, then said, “This may also be a good time to tell you a bit about myself. Mr. Hunter brought a slideshow. Mind if I borrow your system?” He held up a thumb drive.
“Of course,” Hunter said, and obliged. A minute more, and a picture appeared on the big screen. This time, Paige didn’t have trouble staying awake.
A man in desert camo, helmet, body armor, and full tactical gear, with an assault rifle slung over a broad shoulder. It didn’t look like Jace, and it did. Same stare. Same diamond-hard blue eyes. Same set jaw with its scruff of black beard.
Oh, yeah. She’d take that guy. She may have gotten a little distracted, in fact.
Jace didn’t say anything, just clicked to the next slide. Same man—him—hanging out of the open door of a helicopter with one hand, his rifle no longer slung over his shoulder. Paige would take that guy, too. Any day of the week, and twice on Sundays.
Jace waited a moment, then said, “These days, I write thriller novels. In which the hero always wins, and the body count tends to get pretty high before it’s all over. I didn’t always do that, though. I served eight years in the Second Commando Regiment of the Royal Australian Army. You’d call it ‘special forces.’ We called it ‘search and destroy.’”
One more slide. Jace in low-slung fatigues, his shirt off, his tattoo visible, and Paige could swear the collective estrogen level in the room rose. “Motto of the Second Commando Regiment,” he said, clicking once more to show two black diamonds bisected by a dagger.“Foras Admonitio.Without warning.”
He clicked again. To blackness. He stood in front of the screen and said, “But I’m giving you warning. Call itfairwarning. Call it your last warning. I can operate in the daylight. I operate in the dark even better. From here on out, consider me Lily’s shadow. Assume that wherever she is, I’m one step beyond, and I’m watching. She’s telling you she’s not selling. I’m here to back her up.” He held out his hand for the thumb drive, and Brett Hunter handed it to him without a word. Jace nodded, came down the stairs as athletically as he’d gone up them, and headed back to sit beside Paige.
She gripped his arm, leaned over, and whispered, “That was great. Don’t put it in a book, though. It’s over the top.”
He grinned at her. “I know. I’m guessing it’ll work. Civilians are pussies, hey.”
She wanted to laugh, but it wouldn’t have set the right tone. Up on stage, Brett Hunter had taken the microphone again.
“I have two responses to that,” he said. “First, I’m officially scared.” He didn’t look it. “And second—I’m here to pursue a mutually beneficial business transaction. I’m not here to get anybody hurt or intimidated. That would make my investors nervous. So let me go on record here and now and say that if there’s any further attempt to intimidate Ms. Hollander into selling her property to me, I’ll be cutting my losses and leaving, because this won’t be a town where I can do business. By Monday, we’ll know which it is, so you won’t have to hang out with the suspense much longer, and neither will I.”
“Whoa,” Paige muttered.
Somebody else was coming forward. Sergeant Worthington. This night was getting more and more interesting. He made his deliberate way up the stairs to the platform, took the microphone, looked out at the crowd, and said, “A reminder, folks. If you go taking the law into your own hands, you risk not being on the right side of that law anymore. You’re putting yourself in danger two different ways. You’re not trained for it, and the legal consequences could be serious. Call 911 and let us handle it, please.”
Jace sat back and folded his arms, and Paige got the message without him saying a word.I might be in danger, but the other guy will be dead.
