The naked edge

8

"Early," the sniper said.

"Yeah." The spotter kept opening his knife and closing it.

"Complicates things. I told you I could have done it when he got out of the car. Now-"

"Now we'll just have to wait a little longer." The spotter readjusted the radio bud in his ear, listening harder. "The backup team isn't in position to cut the phone line yet."

Two men got out of the chopper.

"Getting crowded," the sniper said.

The first man who climbed down from the helicopter was forty-three, but his permanently pensive expression created wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth, making him look older. His dark hair was as immaculately cared for as his handmade shoes and his custom-tailored suit. His broad shoulders and proud chest gave him a further imposing look. He carried a leather briefcase that shone with polish. His contact lenses had a similar sheen, the intelligence in his eyes magnified by them. What his smile lacked in warmth was offset by the brilliance of his perfectly capped teeth.

"William." Cavanaugh shook hands with him.

The man's last name was Faraday. A ruthless corporate attorney, he didn't just defeat his opponents' clients but also destroyed them, in the process acquiring numerous enemies. Cavanaugh had once saved his life when a disgraced executive hired someone to try to kill him. In gratitude, William did much of Global Protective Service's legal work in exchange for ready access to world-class protectors.

"You remember Jamie," Cavanaugh said.

"I do." William shook her hand. They'd met when he prepared their wills. "Have you recovered from your injury?"

"Yes. Thanks for asking."

William nodded, as if not accustomed to displaying soft human emotions or being complimented for it.

"Angelo," Cavanaugh said to the chopper's pilot. "It's been too long."

"Since Puerto Vallarta," the husky man replied, "and that stock market analyst we protected. Remember how he was afraid angry investors were waiting for him behind every corner."

"Hell, one of them was." Cavanaugh shook his hand warmly. "How are the llamas you were raising?"

"They were sissies. They never bred."

"You're sure you had male and female?"

"You think I can't tell the difference? They spent more time spitting than trying to fornicate. Right in my eye. One of them spat right here." Angelo used a middle finger to point at his eye.

Cavanaugh couldn't help laughing.

"Then they jumped the fence. By the time I found them, they'd been run over by a cement truck. If I'd been smart, I'd have eaten them instead of trying to breed them."

"They taste good?"

"I have no idea, but now I raise ostriches. Those you can eat. Plus, they lay eggs the size of basketballs."

"True?"

"I exaggerate only slightly."

Cavanaugh laughed again. "Hombre, I missed you."

He led them toward the lodge. In the kitchen, he scanned the monitors again, saw that everything was normal, and introduced Mrs. Patterson as she spooned pumpkin mix into the pie crust.

"Want something to eat or drink?" he asked his guests.

"Thank you, no," William answered. "We have business to discuss. Then I need to get to Denver."

"What's in Denver?"

"A Vietnamese businessman with a problem."

"Ah." Knowing William's reluctance to confide, Cavanaugh knew that the Vietnamese businessman might actually be a Japanese baseball player. "I hoped you'd stay for a while. Both of you are welcome. You'll never forget the color of the sunset behind the Tetons."

"Another time."