The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection. Kelly Hunter

open-plan kitchen that backed on to the living area and the pool. ‘You take your coffee black, right?’

      Her coffee at the farmhouse had been black.

      She nodded. ‘With one.’

      He diligently added sugar to her cup. ‘I hope you like Turkish? Lena found it for me in town on Saturday. It’s good. I had to promise not to mainline it.’

      He lit a flame beneath the skillet and waited for it to get hot. He poured her some coffee and set it in front of her. Added butter to the pan and enjoyed the faint sizzle as he pushed it around with a knife. He added the batter next, before turning back to face her.

      ‘What did you want to see me about?’

      ‘Do you always do two things at once?’

      ‘Keeps me from climbing the walls.’

      She smiled at that. ‘Say you came across some information that connected a now-deceased illegal arms dealer to a respected worldwide charity organisation …’

      ‘In what capacity?’

      ‘They fed Antonov money and within six months he quadrupled it for them.’

      ‘Did they know who they were dealing with?’

      ‘Does it matter?’ She eyed him curiously. ‘Do you think it matters?’

      ‘Yes. Intent matters. Maybe they didn’t know who he was or what he did. Maybe they were naive.’

      ‘The charity’s intention was to make money. They succeeded well beyond what any regulated money market could ever do for them. Hard to believe that they thought their investment strategy legitimate, but let’s ignore that for a moment. What might Antonov’s intention have been?’

      ‘What was the charity?’

      ‘They fund medical research.’

      Jared frowned and glanced back to see if the pancake batter in the pan had bubbled up yet. Nope.

      ‘When it came to arms dealing Antonov was a coldhearted businessman who dealt with the highest bidder and cared nothing for cause,’ he offered. ‘At first glance no one would mistake him for a philanthropist.’

      But Rowan Farringdon would already know that from the reports other people had done on the man. She wanted more. She wanted to know if Jared had ever seen into Antonov’s head.

      ‘He was also father to a very sick son. I could see him helping out some research foundation in the hope that their research might some day benefit his kid.’

      ‘They say you played chess with the man?’

      Jared nodded.

      ‘Did you win?’

      ‘I grew up with a brother and sisters with genius IQs. They used to play each other and sometimes I’d play the winner. Occasionally I even managed to hold my own. Antonov was bright, but he wasn’t that bright. His main asset was his ruthlessness. I gave him a good game and I usually made sure he won. Are you going to shut down the charity?’

      ‘That’s not my call. Did you drink with him too? Play catch with his kid?’

      ‘Yes,’ Jared muttered roughly. ‘I did.’

      ‘Yet you still brought him down?’

      It was time to turn the pancakes. ‘I let him be brought down by someone else, yes.’

      ‘And the fallout was extreme. Antonov and two others dead. The boy—Celik—fatherless now, and returned to his high-class whore of a mother. New players fighting over Antonov’s turf. Tell me, Jared—do you sleep?’

      ‘Do you?’ He tried to keep his voice low and his temper in check. ‘What do you want from me? A confession that I have regrets? Yeah, I do. Would I have gone about things differently if I’d known some of the things that I know now? Yes. But what’s done is done and I sleep better for it.’

      ‘I don’t think you sleep much at all.’

      She was too observant.

      ‘I didn’t kill them. That was never my intent. Intent is important.’ It was all he had left. ‘What’s your background, Rowan? Why do you sit in a director’s chair? What’s your intent?’

      ‘How about you call me Director?’

      ‘In a workplace situation that requires it, I solemnly swear that I will never call you anything else.’

      ‘You really are used to getting your own way, aren’t you?’

      ‘Firstborn child,’ he murmured. ‘It’s in my file. What about you? Any brothers or sisters?’

      ‘No. My parents were diplomats—children really didn’t fit their career plans, so they made do with one. I was raised by my grandfather. He was an Army general.’

      ‘How’d you get your director’s chair?’

      ‘Drive, forward-planning and connections. I decided I wanted to run my own covert operations team when I was fifteen.’

      ‘If I told you that I joined the secret intelligence service with all the forethought of an adrenalin junkie in need of his next fix would you smack me?’

      ‘Yes. Please tell me you planned at least some of this?’

      Jared grinned at her censure. She was a strategist—no question. His skills ran more to being pointed in the right direction and doing what was needed. He’d had no problem with his approach whatsoever at first. Right up until he’d realised that he no longer had complete trust in the people doing the pointing. And then life had got increasingly difficult.

      ‘You could smack me. We’ll see how we go. I might even like it.’

      ‘The way I read it, you have a certain innate …’

      ‘Charm?’

      ‘Cunning,’ she corrected. ‘A wariness that stems from your lack of trust in others. And you have no small amount of luck. You’re tenacious and a natural-born leader. Corbin has a vacant sub-director’s chair. He’s put you up for consideration.’

      Jared set his coffee down abruptly. ‘What are my chances of getting it?’

      ‘Corbin’s pushing hard. A few of the other directors have questioned your maturity and your ability to plan ahead. No one’s blocked you outright yet. That’s down to Corbin’s political clout, by the way—not yours. You’ve done no political manoeuvring whatsoever for over two years.’

      ‘Been a little busy elsewhere …’

      ‘We know.’ Rowan watched him steadily. ‘Do you want it?’

      The pancakes were ready. He fished two plates from the cupboard, loaded hers up and took it to the counter. He pushed the sugar bowl towards her and swiftly quartered a couple of lemons. He added more butter to the pan. More pancake mix.

      ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘Where do you see yourself in five years?’

      ‘If I’d known this was a job interview I’d have worn a shirt.’

      She let her gaze drop to his chest, but it was hard to tell whether she was admiring his physique or cataloguing the bruises on it.

      ‘You could always put one on now.’

      ‘How do you sleep?’ he asked abruptly. ‘How do you smile when people go down and don’t get up and it was your call that put them there?’

      ‘You’re talking about your sister getting shot?’

      ‘I’m talking about dead men and belief. How do you know that you’re doing the right thing? How do you know when you’ve chosen the lesser of two evils?’

      ‘Intel