Page 3 of Masquerade

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Liam waited for thesnickof the door closing. He’d work better without the face of George’s hotshot researcher clouding his vision. Unsettled after reading the contents of Kate Turner’s report during his flight to Sydney, the Genosearch billboard had appeared like a mirage at the side of the traffic-choked road to the city. The image was incomplete except for a closeup of a woman looking into a mirror.

The model had mesmerised him. Hair the colour of rich, decadent toffee brushed her shoulders in soft waves, framing an oval-shaped face with finely drawn features. Her smile rivalled the Mona Lisa’s for mysteriousness. Her eyes—a brilliant, robin-egg blue—held a promise for him alone. And damn his slow-to-learn heart, he’d wanted to make promises in return. He blamed TV and movies for the style; tricking viewers into thinking facial expressions are the only body language worth attention.

The shot had to be airbrushed, right?Liam knew he was a victim of slick marketing. But his fingers had itched to trace the flawless ivory of her skin, to linger on the sexy freckles smattered across her nose. Maybe the overwork was getting to him?

Belatedly, he’d tuned in to the cabbie’s chatter. Some jumbled story about an advertising exec with a clever idea becoming the female model for the billboard. When Liam had scanned the rest of the billboard, he’d been catapulted into a parallel universe. The male model’s face was a charcoal outline with only the eyes showing. The same steady grey eyes Liam saw reflected every morning in his mirror.

Sweet Mary and Joseph—Niall?

Liam’s brother had shared art history classes with a twin at university. He’d talked about her because of the coincidence of her also being identical. Turner—a common enough name. What was her first name? Abi—Ali—Anna. Liam’s instincts were screaming that Niall and his friend were the billboard models, and Kate Turner was the model’s sister. Weird, but on a par with everything else in this bizarre day.

“What’s going on George?” Since when did Clelland and Associates, intellectual property specialists, have an interest in environmental law? Asking the obvious question risked implying George was barking mad. After this morning’s multiple shocks, Liam wasn’t sure he gave a damn. George’s move upended all past certainties, threatening established rat runs to the top of the company. The other three lawyers sharing this table were as hungry for promotion as Liam was.

The older man’s eyebrow shot up in amusement. Liam was positive that’s what was behind George’s look, but he’d seen law interns’ knees knock when first spotlighted by that cryptic expression.

“What’s it look like?” George’s fingers steepled against the table.

“Like you’re making a move into the political, financial and emotional quagmire of environmental law.” His boss was the one person in the company who knew Liam wouldn’t touch environmental law and why.

“It’s a broad and interesting field.”

Stuff niceties.With his backside rooted to his chair, Liam was free falling through his known world.

“Crap. As you said, you’ve made your fortune and your reputation through intellectual property law.” Liam gestured to the three silent lawyers. “That’s why the rest of us are here.”

“The cases are current with environmentalists pitted against big companies, often transglobal companies,” piped up one of Liam’s colleagues. The young gun had been busy in the few hours they’d had the report. “In most cases, the greenies are struggling to fund legal representation for their cases.”

“Yes, and we could help,” George said, blindsiding his team.

“Why?” Liam asked.

“My daughters have convinced me it’s my responsibility to do something real about climate change if I care about their futures.” George ranked his daughters’ wants and needs higher than any profit margin.

“Make a donation to Greenpeace or Sea Shepherd or any one of a dozen other charities.” Liam glared at George. His boss knew what he was asking, and Liam didn’t know if he had it in him to venture back into that fire.

“My girls are looking for a more personal, tangible commitment.” George was unfazed while Liam’s colleagues left him to pose the tricky questions. “We’ll pilot one case”—George held up a hand—“then decide on next steps.”

If Liam didn’t put forward a project, he could kiss his partnership dream goodbye for the next few years. He’d also have to play junior to a successful colleague. Stuff that.

“Company profits will fund the pilot case.” George lobbed a bouncing bomb into the mix with predictable consequences. Liam almost grinned at the dismayed expressions on his colleagues’ faces.

“My share of company profits.” George was committed to this decision.

The collective release of breath told Liam his boss had been testing them.

“Participation in the project is voluntary and won’t impact your job. However, I expect absolute confidentiality. If there’s a leak, I’ll make sure you never work at this level again.” George’s basilisk stare underlined his threat.

“We’re picking four cases at random from a list this Kate Turner has supplied. By the way, who is she? What are her qualifications?” Liam asked.

“A librarian and researcher. Only does a finite amount of research. A close friend recommended her—described her as meticulous, discreet and creative. She doesn’t advertise what she does. Word of mouth only.”

Liam’s mind filled with the image of the prim researcher. Her horn-rimmed, round spectacles accentuated her eyes. He’d been jolted to find his mouth watering when she’d pushed them back up her nose. He’d watched her through the meeting, following the arguments and getting pissed off when he’d wanted her out.

“You trust her?” Liam searched George’s face for the slightest hesitation.

“Do you know a reason why I shouldn’t?” George countered.

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