“I shouldn’t be more than an hour or two.”

“Sí.”

“Thanks, María.” Kerry hung up and clipped her phone to her belt.

“Okay. Let’s go.” She glanced up at the tall accountant and found his interesting hazel eyes gazing back at her. His face was nicely proportioned and he had a straight nose and thin, but well formed lips. Not a bad face to have to sit across a lunch table at, she decided.

“Right this way.” Sam gestured towards the door and followed her out, making small talk as they exited the building, and he guided her towards a four door sedan parked nearby. “So, have you been to Vermont before, Ms. Stuart?”

Kerry settled into the passenger seat and buckled the seat belt. “No.

I’m from Michigan, originally, and I’ve spent some time around the northeast.”

“Really?” Sam got behind the wheel and started the car, locking the doors as he pulled out of the parking lot. “Michigan. Hmm. I had a friend that went to school up there. Don’t think I’ve ever been, though. I’m from Oregon, but I moved here when I was just a kid.”

“Do you like it here?” Kerry gazed out the window at the beautiful, stately trees. “It’s lovely country. Must be nice when the leaves change.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Sam told her, with an easy smile. “Do you miss that in Florida?”

“Sometimes.”


Eye of the Storm 23

Kerry watched the road idly, marking the streets until the car turned into a driveway, continued down a crunching gravel path and through a line of neatly trimmed hedges before it pulled up next to a small inn. She released the safety belt and waited until the doors unlocked, then got out of the car.

She was fairly sure there was more to this than lunch and, as she felt Sam’s speculative eyes examining her as they walked towards the inn, she found herself wondering just exactly what that something more was.

“THIS ISN’T A debate, Alastair.” The tall, dark haired man leaned back in his chair and threw his arms up. “You can’t argue with numbers, and that’s what the shareholders are concerned with.”

Alastair folded his hands on the table and kept a patient smile on his face. “Now, David, you’ve seen the plans for next quarter. I agree the last one wasn’t what we’d want, but projections on towards the end of the year are excellent.”

“That’s right,” Stuart Kissington, the chief financial officer agreed, his low, gruff voice a counterpoint to Alastair’s polished tones. Kissington had been on the board of directors for as many years as Alastair and was a formidable bulwark to the CEO’s left, a burly, bearded man with white hair and a grizzled beard. “Damn shame we had to take that charge last quarter, but it couldn’t be helped. Weather.”

“Not good enough.” Ankow shook his head. “Gentlemen, we’re rounding the corner to the twenty-first century and, frankly, this company’s not ready for it.” He stood up and paced the room, an annoying habit of his. “Our shareholders expect us to be cutting edge and that’s not just on technology. We have to be ready to provide all the services our clients need into the next century.” He turned and spread his arms. “We can’t be stuck in the past and I think that’s exactly where we are right now. I don’t see any indication that this company is up to the challenge.”

Alastair propped his chin up on one hand. “David, I don’t get why you’re so against the new network, then. That’s all the new technology you’ve been bab–I mean, referring to in the last five minutes.”

He ticked off his fingers. “It’s overpriced. It’s under designed. I can’t think of one reason why this company should invest in a lot of wires and cables that won’t get us squat in the marketplace.”

“I can.”

David’s voice had covered the sound of doors opening and now a low, vibrant drawl overrode his speech and echoed across the conference room.

Ankow turned, startled to see a tall, dark haired young woman in jeans and a faded crimson shirt standing in the doorway, sunglasses perched on her nose, and both hands planted firmly on her hips.

One hand lifted and a long, narrow finger raised. “It’s all fiber technology. It’s state of the art. It triples our available public bandwidth.” The tall form stalked towards him. “The one problem this company has is our 24 Melissa Good lack of infrastructure. You can’t goddamn well sell what you don’t have.

And if, Mr. Ankow, if you can’t see that,” Dar pulled off her sunglasses and treated him to an ice blue stare, “get your eyes checked.” She held her ground for a moment as he stared at her in shock, then she turned and walked to the conference table, picked a chair and stripped her leather jacket off as she dropped down into it. She tossed her sunglasses on the polished wood surface and glanced down its length. “Hello, Alastair.”

Her boss beamed at her. “Hi, Dar. It’s so nice to see you.” He turned the beatific smile on the now furious David Ankow. “David? I don’t think you’ve ever met Dar, have you? Sorry. This is Dar Roberts, our CIO.”

Dar rolled her head around and peered at her target. “Hi.”

Alastair cleared his throat and stood up. “Well, now that we’re all here. David, why don’t you sit down? I believe Dar is prepared to give us a briefing on the new network.”

Ankow visibly wrestled with his temper, then allowed a smile to cross his face. “I’d like that.” He took a seat opposite Dar. “Go ahead. I’ve got lots of questions.”

“HOPE YOU LIKE stick-to-your-ribs type foods, Ms. Stuart. That’s their specialty here,” Sam remarked, as he opened the menu. “We’re not big on salads.”

Kerry eyed the selections and bit back a wry grin, deciding Dar would be in heaven here. “I’ll be fine, thanks,” she answered politely, making her choices and putting the folded linen panel down. Though, she reflected while Sam examined his options, Dar had been getting better about that lately, and she’d done her darndest to nudge her lover towards a healthier diet.

Of course, during these two weeks, the woman was probably living on cheeseburgers and fries, but... Kerry sighed and folded her arms, looking around. The restaurant was a cozy one, with about two dozen tables and a wooden interior liberally sprinkled with gingham and crafts-work.

Roughly half the tables were filled, despite the early hour, and that at least boded well for the quality of the food.

A waitress came over, taking a pencil from behind one ear. She was an older woman, with a cheerful face and a sturdy body. “Hello there, Sam. How are you doing today?”

The accountant looked up and smiled. “Hi, Sadie. I’m doing fine, thanks. How’s the husband?”

“Cantankerous as always.” The woman laughed. “What’ll you have, the usual?”

“That’ll be fine…and a mug of coffee.” Sam glanced across the table.

“Ms. Stuart?”

The waitress blinked, then turned her head. “Sorry, hon. You’re so quiet there. What can I get for you?” She paused, evaluating her subject.

“We’ve got some poached fish for the special.”

“No. I’ll take the pot roast, thanks,” Kerry replied mildly.


Eye of the Storm 25

The waitress looked surprised. “All righty. That comes with mashed potatoes but we can put steamed vegetables on if you like.”

“Nope. Potatoes are just fine,” the blonde woman reassured her.

“And a chocolate milkshake, please.”

The writing stopped, then started again. “Coming right up.” Sadie took both menus and trundled off, after a long look at Kerry.

Keep them off balance. Dar had told her. Figure out what they expect you to do, then do something else. Don’t let them get comfortable thinking they know you. “So,” Kerry leaned back in her chair and regarded her table mate,

“what is it you want to talk about, Mr. Gershwin?”

The dark haired man looked honestly nonplussed for a long moment.

Finally, he leaned on his elbows and laced his fingers together as he studied her face. “You do keep surprising me, Ms. Stuart. I’ll give you that.”

A faint smile flickered on and off his face. “I’m not sure what to think about you.”

Kerry merely waited.

“Ann tells me you were interested in our bidding methods,” Sam finally drawled. “She seemed to think you wanted more information.”

Hmm. Kerry’s nostrils flared a little, smelling trouble. She carefully considered her answer. “On reviewing them we just thought it was interesting that you won the bid on last call,” she remarked casually. “After not really being a contender in the preliminary stages.”

“We?”

“My boss and I, yes.”

“Ah.” Sam pressed his fingertips against his lips. “That would be Ms.

Roberts, correct?”

Kerry nodded. “Yes.”

“I hadn’t thought Dar Roberts would argue with success. And certainly not that she’d quibble with tactics to get there,” Sam tilted his head, “not with her reputation.”

“I didn’t say she was arguing,” Kerry replied mildly. “Just that she was interested…and curious. Dar’s like that. She likes to know what the real story is.” She paused. “So. Are you going to tell me the real story, Mr.

Gershwin? Because sooner or later, she’ll find out anyway.”

The waitress came, breaking the tension and delivering their food.

They were quiet for a few minutes and Kerry took the opportunity to concentrate on eating, finding the pot roast delicious. “This is very good,”

she commented, as she put her fork down and took a sip of her milkshake.

“Glad you approve,” Sam replied. “As for our bidding strategy.

Well, I’m afraid your boss is going to be disappointed. It just comes down to really getting to know your customer, shall we say?” He smiled at Kerry. “And being local...let’s just say we had a definite advantage in that.”