Suddenly, Gabriel became all business. He seized her hand and shook it in a firm grip. “I appreciate you telling me all this, Bea. It’s best if you go home now.”
“But what about…”
“I’ll handle this matter.” His tone was firm. He didn’t sound like he wanted to be argued with.
“O-okay. I’m just…worried.”
“I know. I assure you, Alex will be happy to know that you’re worried for him.”
Huh? Oh. As a dedicated employee, of course. “Okay.”
Gabriel stood. “Are you going to be all right, or shall I have MacGee drive you home?”
MacGee? Was he talking about Mr Cold? Oh, no, thank you. “I’m fine, sir. I’ve got my van.”
Gabriel ushered her to the elevator. “I’ll see you in the office.”
“Good evening, sir.”
As Bea rode down to the lobby, she couldn’t shake the image of Gabriel being a lion. Were all Larousses lion-shifters? Or was it only Alex? He could have been bitten by a lion during his safari vacation in Africa—or perhaps he had stood too close to the lions’ cage in the Brooklyn Zoo—and it had changed him somehow, allowing his body to transform into a lion at certain times. Like werewolves. Only lions.
Okay, the theory sounded ridiculous.
And too many unanswered questions right now were driving her insane.
When Bea shuffled towards where she had parked her van, she suddenly remembered about Alex’s wallet. Luckily, she had hidden it in her bra. She didn’t know why she’d done it, it had just come as an instinct. If Mr Cold had seen it, he probably would have taken it. And the pat-down guy hadn’t discovered it because, well, he hadn’t groped her chest. She would have screamed for sexual harassment if he had.
Bea pulled the wallet out. She examined the contents and looked around.
Did Alex have to go through his security people every time he went home?
Did he have a private life?
Wouldn’t it be awkward if he brought home some lady friend who had to go through jerks like Mr Cold?
Hmm.
And why had she met Gabriel on Alex’s floor? Were they living in the same place? Bea pulled out the contents of Alex’s wallet and placed them on the hood of a nearby sedan. She examined the plastic cards critically. Among his strewn IDs, she saw a plain black card with a silver magnetic swipe. She knew rich and famous people prized their privacy. Like at the office, where the Larousses had their own private elevators, bathrooms and parking spots. It was possible that Alex had his own personal elevator to his apartment.
If he did, then why had Gabriel gone through the security on the sixtieth floor?
Maybe it was because he had guests with him?
Bea scooped everything into her purse but saved the black card and headed to the elevator area. She walked back and forth until she discovered what she was looking for—a secluded wing with an elevator for the building’s VIP residents. She pushed the button and gingerly stepped inside.
Unlike in any common elevator, she didn’t see a panel with the buttons for the destination. All she saw was an ID reader with a slot similar to an ATM. She fed the card into the slot. The door slid closed as the reader vomited the card out. The elevator hummed quietly as it took her back to the sixtieth floor. Only this time, when the door opened, she didn’t see Mr Cold manning the reception area. She saw an entirely different hallway.
Alex’s apartment.
Bea was too chicken to step out and quickly left the building.
“Mr Alexandre Larousse. It’s a pleasure to see you.”
The woman, dressed all in black, greeted him by the gate of the maximum security facility. Her name was Sonja Buckhard, the client specialist from Hydra Securities, a high-profile security company Alex planned to hire. Hydra Securities was a rival of Whitewater International, the security agency that he currently used for the firm and on his and his brothers’ personal business. Since Alex suspected the leak had come from higher up within the contracted Whitewater personnel, it was reasonable to hire Whitewater’s competitor to find the blackmailers. Looking for the suspects from a new pair of eyes.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Ms Buckhard.” Alex shook Sonja’s hand. Her handshake was firm, brimming with confidence. Sonja was in her early forties, with dark eyes, dark hair and pale skin. She looked quite shrewd. He could guess she was ex-military from the way she carried herself.
“Mr Dahl is waiting for you.” Buckhard issued a visitor’s pass for him. “Also, the team researcher you’d asked for.”