Page 73 of Insidious Threats
The shops, restaurants, and cafes that made up the charming business district were dark and quiet. Soft pools of light illuminated the empty sidewalks from above. Dark, snow-dotted mountains crouched behind the town like protective parents. A pale purple sky hinted at dawn.
Stasia ran. She started at a slow jog. Then as her muscles warmed and awoke, she stretched her legs and increased her speed. She filled her lungs with the cold, crisp air and ran faster yet. The world was coming alive along with her. The light in the sky spread and intensified. She ran across the street and entered a public park with a groomed trail that even at this early hour had been shoveled clear of snow.
She rolled her neck from left to right, checked her pace on her fitness watch, then poured it on. She sprinted as fast and hard as she could for as long as she could. Then she slowed her pace, turned around, and jogged back to the private air hanger just twenty minutes from town. The airfield was ideally located so that robber barons pressed for time could jet in, squeeze in a handful of runs on the world-famous ski slopes, then fly back to their offices in time to impose the latest round of right-sizing cost-cutting measures and institute layoffs by locking their employees out of their email accounts. It also made a convenient base of operations for her purposes.
Securing an overpriced hotel room at the height of the winter season would have been an exercise in frustration. On the plane, she had every creature comfort and, most important to her, privacy. Working for Leith had its perks, there was no denying that. Even if it sometimes meant going on wild goose chases like this one.
She reached the gate, slowed her pace to a brisk walk, and raised a hand in greeting to the sleepy-eyed guard. He lifted his coffee mug in salute. She pretended not to notice the way his gaze traced the length of her body and lingered on the snug running tights that emphasized her taut butt and long lean legs. Stasia had learned to choose her battles with care. If she tangled with every random man who sexualized her in the course of her day, she’d do nothing else.
She wiped the sweat off the back of her neck. At least her meeting this morning was with another woman. Antonia Glass had been Garwood March’s direct supervisor, and, at least statistically, she was unlikely to leer at Stasia for the duration of their meeting.
Stasia entered the plane, nodded hello to Bruce, who sat at the table doing the crossword puzzle, and grabbed a bottle of mineral water from the fridge.
“I made coffee,” he said without looking up.
“Great. I’ll have some after I shower.”
“Any idea when you want to be in the air today?”
She chugged the water and calculated. “My meeting’s at ten o’clock. After that, I’ll want to poke around the building myself for a bit. Assuming I find nothing—which I think is a fair assumption—we could be out of here by mid-afternoon. I’ll know more after this meeting.”
“Okay if I head out for a few hours then?”
She eyed him. “Is there a poker room here?”
Bruce was a good pilot and an even better travel companion—quiet, easygoing, and he never left the coffeepot empty. But the gambling was a concern. He needed to be kept on a short leash. That long weekend in Monaco had been a disaster; the authorities had been closing in, and he’d been too drunk to fly. It was the closest she’d come to being apprehended. Ever since that trip, she’d made Bruce pre-clear his free-time activities with her.
Now, he shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought I’d hit the slopes.”
“You ski?”
He shook his head. “Snowboard.”
“Knock yourself out.”
She tossed the empty water bottle into the recycling bin and headed into the bathroom. She was running the water to get it as hot as possible when he called out a goodbye. She heard the clatter of his shoes on the steps as he left the plane. Then she peeled off her sweat-soaked running clothes and stepped into the steamy shower.
38
9:58 AM
Leo stopped in front of the coffee shop, rubbed his bleary eyes, and tried to focus on the letters that swam in the sign in the window to confirm he was in the right place. He was, and with two minutes to spare. He shuffled inside and glanced around the cavernous space.
The coffeehouse was buzzing with caffeinated energy. A row of men and women hunched over laptops filled the high bar in the front window. The keyboard warriors wore earphones, drowning out the very sounds they were paying to experience—the hum of conversation, clatter of dishes, and cool functional music engineered to increase focus and productivity.
He turned toward the back of the cafe, driving his thigh into the corner of the laptop bar in the process. The sharp contact sent a jolt of pain through his nervous system and, with it, a spark of alertness. He was really dragging. The delay in Denver to change out the crew had been an unexpected hiccup. The pilot and cabin crew had timed out and had to go off duty, which meant the plane and passengers sat at the gate for nearly three hours while a new crew was called in to work the flight to Sun Valley. He’d tried to nap, but it had been futile.
So now, he’d been awake for twenty-eight straight hours, had changed time zones twice, and, in lieu of a shower, had stuck his face into a stream of cold water in a public restroom sink.
He trudged to the counter and ordered a large coffee.
“What kind?”
He eyed the barista. “Regular coffee. Black. Strong.” He almost laughed at his words. He sounded like he was channeling Sasha.
A tap on his shoulder drew his attention as he was swiping his credit card. He turned and found himself face to face with a very young woman with jet-black hair and matching lipstick.
“You Leo?”
