effortlessly and carried her into the bedroom.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE JAGUAR DROVE SLOWLY Up THE LONG DRIVE, STOPPED, and two people got
outJack turned up the collar on his coat. The evening was brisk as
rain-heavy clouds marched into the area.
Jennifer walked around the car and settled in next to him as they leaned
against the luxury car Jack looked up at the place. Thick sheets of ivy
swept across the top of the entrance. The house had a heavy substance to
it, real and committed. Its occupants probably would absorb a good
measure of that. He could use that in his life right now. He had.to
admit, it was beautiful. What was wrong with beautiful things anyway?
Four hundred thou as a partner. If he started bringing in other clients,
who knew? Lord made five times that, two million dollars a year, and
that was his base.
Compensation figures of partners were strictly confidential and were
never discussed even under the most informal circumstances at the firm.
However, Jack had guessed correctly on the computer password to the
partner comp file.
The code word was “greed.” Some secretary must have laughed her ass off
over that one.
Jack looked over a front lawn the size of a carrier flight deck. A
vision galloped across. He looked at his fiance.
“It has plenty of space to play touch football with the kids.” He
smiled.
“Yes, it does.” She smiled back at him, kissed his cheek gently. She
took his arm and encircled her waist with it.
Jack looked back at the mansion, soon to be his
threepoint-eight-million-dollar home. Jennifer continued to look at him,
her smile broadening as she gripped his fingers. Her eyes seemed to
glisten, even in the darkness.
As Jack continued to stare at the structure, he felt a rush of relief
This time he only saw windows.
AT THIRTY-SIX THOUSAND FEET, WALTER SULLIVAN LEANED back in the deep
softness of his cabin chair and glanced out the window of the 747 into
the darkness. As they moved east to west, Sullivan was adding a number
of hours to his day, but time zones had never bothered him. The older he
became the less sleep he needed, and he had never needed very much to
begin with.
The man sitting across from him took the opportunity to examine the
older man closely. Sullivan was known throughout the world as a
legitimate, although sometimes bullying, global businessman
I_,egitimate. That was the key word running itself through Michael
McCarty’s head. Legitimate businessmen typically had no need of, nor
desire to speak with, gentlemen in McCarty’s profession. But when one is
alerted through the most discreet channels that one of the wealthiest
men on earth desired a meeting with you, then you attended. McCarty had
not become one of the world’s foremost assassins because he particularly
enjoyed the work. He particularly enjoyed the money and with it the
luxuries that money inspired.
McCarty’s added advantage was the fact that he appeared to be a
businessman himself. Ivy League good looks, which wasn’t too far afield,
since, he held a degree in international politics from Dartmouth. With
his thick, wavy blond hair, broad shoulders and wrinkle-free face he
could be the hardcharging entrepreneur on the way up or a film star at
his peak. The fact that he killed people for a living, at a per-hit fee
of in excess of. one million dollars, did nothing to dampen his youthful
enthusiasm or his love of life.
Sullivan finally looked at him. McCarty, despite an enormous confidence
in his abilities and a supreme coolness under pressure, began to grow
nervous under the billionaire’s scrutiny. From one elite to another.
“I want you to kill someone for me,” Sullivan said simply”Unfortunately,
at the present time, I do not know who that person is. But with any
luck, one day I will. Until that time comes, I will place you on a
retainer so that your services will always be available to me until such
time as I need them.”
McCarty smiled and shook his head. “You may be aware of my reputation,
Mr. Sullivan. My services are already in great demand. My work carries