House of Cards. C.E. Murphy

then the scene with Eliseo Daisani. It’s made you high-profile.”

      “You put me on the Daisani case, Russell. That was your decision, because the clemency case had gone so well. If I’m high-profile it’s in part because of choices you’ve made.”

      “It’s an observation, Margrit, not an accusation. But I’m curious. Everyone here knows Mr. Daisani’s been wooing you toward his corporation, and this—” he tapped the society page of the paper “—is professionallevel glad-handing. You’re too young to be bucking for my job. I’d like to know where you see yourself going over the next few months and years.”

      “I’ve been thinking about a vacation to Bermuda.” Margrit held up a hand to ward off Russell’s displeasure. “You sound like Mr. Daisani, Russell. He thought I’d get one or two particularly attractive cases under my belt and bail for something with better pay and an office with a view. I’m not planning on leaving Legal Aid anytime soon, but don’t get me wrong.” She sat forward to plant a fingertip against the photograph. “I like this kind of exposure. I didn’t go to the party last night to hang out with the governor, but I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. I had a great evening with a powerful man, and if something positive comes out of it, I’m not going to reject the possibility out of hand.” She sat back again, putting on a smile she didn’t entirely feel. “Do all your employees get this kind of hands-on career counseling?”

      “Only when they appear to be on the verge of becoming a shooting star. Why did you go, Margrit?”

      She leaned forward again, glancing over the photograph until she found the man she was looking for, his face mostly obscured by someone standing in front of him. “That’s Tony, Russell. He’s on Kaaiai’s security detail, and he got me an invitation to the reception. That’s all.”

      “Really.” The fine skin around Russell’s eyes tightened. “That’s all?”

      “Scout’s honor.” Margrit held up three fingers in a pledge as she sat back again.

      Russell nodded slowly. “Then would you like to tell me why Mr. Kaaiai has specifically requested a meeting with you this morning?”

      Margrit laughed out loud, hoping surprise was more attractive in laughter than in jaw-dropped gaping. Russell’s expression tightened again, Margrit’s burst of humor unexpected and clearly unwelcome. “I’m sorry,” she said, genuinely meaning it. “I have absolutely no idea why he wants to see me. Are you sure?”

      “His secretary called my private line a few minutes before you got in. Margrit, far be it from me to stand in the way of your ambitions, but—”

      “I’m not leading you on, Russell.” Margrit heard her voice go flat. “I know it’s hard to find good people for Legal Aid, and you want to hold on to me. I think if I intended to leave I’d have the courtesy to tell you early enough to allow you time to find a replacement. But I honestly have no plans to leave, and I really have no idea what Kaaiai wants to talk to me about. If he makes me an offer I can’t refuse, you’ll be the first to know, all right?”

      Russell’s mouth pursed before he sighed and nodded. “All right. He’d like you to meet him at ten-thirty.”

      “Where?”

      “He’s staying at the Sherry. Suite 1909.”

      Margrit twisted her mouth. “His hotel. Maybe there’s a perfectly disgusting animal reason he wants to meet with me.”

      “Business meetings at reputable hotels, Margrit, are not—”

      “That was a joke,” she said. “A joke, Russell. Sorry. I won’t make one again.” She collected her coffee cup as she stood, glancing down at herself. Taupe skirt with a matching jacket, white blouse. Flats instead of heels; her feet still hadn’t forgiven her. “Will I do?”

      Russell looked her over critically, then nodded. “Go on, Counselor. You’ve got worlds to conquer.”

      Margrit took a gilded elevator to the nineteenth floor, trying not to laugh at herself as she all but tiptoed down the silent hall. She felt like an intruder into a private world as she tapped on the door to Kaaiai’s suite.

      A plain woman with rich brown hair opened the door, stepping out of the way to invite Margrit in. Margrit smiled her thanks and absorbed the room at a glance—two sets of doorways leading to other rooms; overstuffed couches; a bar of beautiful glossed wood—before Kaimana Kaaiai was on his feet, striding across the lush carpet to clasp Margrit’s hand in his. The woman who’d opened the door became part of the background, ready to be called on without being obtrusive.

      “Ms. Knight. Thanks for coming on so little notice.” Kaaiai sounded genuinely glad to see her.

      “It’s my pleasure, Mr. Kaaiai. I didn’t imagine I’d get another chance to speak with you.”

      “I bet you didn’t.” Despite his easygoing lilt, he seemed to select his words with care, as if trying to leave an impression of being one of the boys. He carried his weight as if it were comforting, tailored suit adding to his imposing size without making him seem fat. “Tea or coffee? I only have half an hour to give you right now, but there’s no point at all if we can’t sit down and have a drink.” He motioned her to one of the couches, settling down on its far end with a grace that belied his size. His assistant went to the bar unbidden.

      “Just water would be fine, please. Even tap water. I’m a native. I can take it.” Margrit offered a smile to the woman, who opened the bar refrigerator and took out a bottle of water without changing expression.

      “She doesn’t smile,” Kaimana confided. “I try to break her resolve, but it only works on bank holidays and leap years.”

      Margrit laughed. “We don’t have bank holidays, Mr. Kaaiai. Or has Hawaii adopted them without telling the rest of us?”

      “Sadly, no, so you see my problem. Thank you, Marese.” He accepted a cup of coffee from his assistant, who nodded gravely as she offered Margrit a glass of water and the half-empty bottle.

      Margrit murmured thanks as well, then brought her attention back to Kaaiai, who regarded her steadily over the edge of his cup.

      “I saw you speaking with Eliseo Daisani last night, Ms. Knight. You’re friends with him?”

      Margrit blinked, reaching for the coffee table to set her water aside. “I’m acquainted with him. The idea of being friends with Mr. Daisani is alarming.”

      “How closely acquainted?”

      Caution held Margrit’s tongue as she studied the man who questioned her. Thick black hair, sun-browned skin and dark liquid eyes made a reassuring package. “We’ve spoken in private a handful of times,” she said carefully. “Why do you want to know?”

      “Someone suggested you might know more about him than he’d want made public,” Kaaiai said easily. “That might be useful if it’s true.”

      Margrit’s thigh muscles bunched, announcing their readiness to run. She relaxed them deliberately, as much because she was on the nineteenth story of a hotel with nowhere to go as the sheer impracticality of running in slip-on flats. “Who told you that?” She kept her voice light and curious, noncommittal.

      “A girl named Cara Delaney.”

      “Cara! Do you—you know—do you know where she is? I’ve got her—I need to see her immediately, if you know where she is.” Margrit came to her feet, hands clenched with passion. “Please, she disappeared weeks ago and I’ve been trying to find her. She was a—” She broke off, searching for the right descriptor.

      “A friend?”

      “A client. A confidante, maybe. Please, if you know where she and Deirdre are, it’s imperative I see them. At the very least I have a delivery for Cara, something of hers I’ve been waiting to give back.”

      “How well acquainted with Mr.