As they entered the elevator, Kerry straightened her shoulders in reflex, drawing the eyes of the occupants already inside, her wine-colored shirt with its tiny embroidered flowers contrasting neatly with her pale hair and fair complexion. “Evening.” Kerry returned the quiet murmurs with a brief smile, acknowledging the slightly uncomfortable silence from the marketing clerks who were years older than she was and probably aggravated beyond words that someone who looked just about Mayte’s age of low twenty-something had been promoted to vice president, regardless of what her qualifications were.

Or, she admitted wryly, they could also be fundamentalists who disapproved of her very publicly known alternative lifestyle. The doors opened on the bottom floor and the other women moved out quickly, heading across the huge brass and marble lobby toward the front doors of the building.

“Ms. Kerry?” Mayte murmured as they followed more slowly. “I do not think those ladies like you.”

“Nope.” Kerry gave the security guard a smile and received one in return as they exited the building. “There are people out there that don’t.” She led Mayte over to the dark green Mustang convertible and unlocked the doors, popping her hatch to set her laptop bag down inside. Then she got in and fastened her seat belt, watching her assistant do the same. “You know how it is.”

Mayte was quiet as Kerry started the car and backed it from its spot. The space next to her was conspicuously empty in the full lot, having been filled with Dar’s Lexus until the CIO had left for the airport. An irrational desire to have left right along with her flared suddenly, but Kerry suppressed it and turned her attention to the traffic as she pulled out of the parking lot.


6 Melissa Good

“Did la jefa get to New York all right?” Mayte inquired shyly.

“Mamá was worried; she said there was a big storm somewhere.”

“Yeah.” Kerry nodded. “She called me just before we left. It took them forever to land, but she’s there, safe and sound.” Her brow contracted. “I should have called your mother and told her. I know she was concerned.” She turned west, and winced as the sun invaded the car. “Whoops.” One hand fished into the center console and emerged with her sunglasses, which she put on, cutting the brilliance and restoring her vision.

“I will tell her when I get home,” Mayte reassured her. “I think you were worried too...you did not eat your lunch.”

Hmm. Kerry’s nose wrinkled. Busted. “Well, everything turned out okay, so I’ll just make up for it at dinner.” She chuckled, then considered her choice of streets. “Listen, I have to go downtown anyway—why don’t I just drop you off at home?” she offered. “No sense in you having to grab a bus at this hour.” Normally, Mayte rode home with her mother, María, who was Dar’s assistant, but the older woman had left early for a doctor’s appointment after Dar had gone to the airport.

“You don’t have to do that.” Mayte looked shyly pleased at the offer, though. “You’re so busy.”

“Nah.” Kerry produced a grin. “Besides, after what I’ve heard about the Metro buses, I’d be a nervous wreck until I saw you again tomorrow morning.” She pulled out onto the highway decisively, almost cutting off a huge truck as she ducked nimbly across two lanes of traffic.

“Oh. Sí. ” Mayte closed her eyes resolutely and grabbed for the overhead handle. “I am feeling much safer already.”

IT WAS, AFTER all, New York City, and here she was, dining out at night, with the CEO of one of the largest IS firms in the world. Dar crossed her ankles and reviewed the dark fabric covering her legs. At least he gets the jeans without the rips. She gazed across the table at her boss, who was watching her with a bemused expression. “Am I ruining your image?”

Alastair laughed. “Who, me? Just because half the people in here know who I am and are dying of curiosity as to where I picked up the beautiful vagrant I’m eating dinner with?” He poked a fork at Dar’s sweatshirt sleeve. “They’ll find out soon enough.”

Dar returned the chuckle. “Sorry. I would have changed, but I fell asleep after you called and barely had time to get my head on straight before you knocked.” She stretched and picked up a fragrant garlic stick, nibbling its end appreciatively. “I was at the office at four AM.

Needed to get that new contract squared away before I left.”

“Ouch.” Alastair winced. “How’s that going?”


Red Sky At Morning 7

“Not bad,” Dar replied. “I’ve got a meeting scheduled next week with the top brass down at Southeast Command...that’s where Gerry wanted me to start.”

“Close to home.”

“Mm,” Dar acknowledged. “They’ve been getting a pile of complaints about the training programs down there. He wants me to go in and do a complete systems and processes evaluation.” She carefully ignored her salad and dipped the breadstick into the spicy Italian soup.

“Gonna be a little strange. One of the bases he wants me to review is the one I mostly grew up on.”

Footsteps closed in, and they both looked up to see a sharply dressed man standing at the tableside. “Hello, Al.” The man had a slight accent, but it was hard to tell exactly what kind. “I was hoping I’d get a chance to see you before the meeting.” He flicked a lazy glance over Dar’s body, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

Dar considered the repercussions of stabbing him with her fork and weighed the amusement value of hearing the scream versus the certain lawsuit she’d have to deal with. She sighed and just continued eating.

The food was excellent, and she’d missed both breakfast and lunch, which hadn’t helped the headache flying had given her. “Nah, go ahead. I’m just his new intern,” she commented lightly, sucking in a strand of spaghetti.

Alastair exhaled and hid a smile behind his hand. “Good evening, Bob. Sit down, will ya? What can I do for you?” Bob Trancet was the head of corporate sales for the New York office, which handled a good deal of their international business as well.

The tall man sat down and folded his hands, ignoring Dar now. He was clean-cut and good looking, with silvered black hair and a strong profile. His athletic body was balanced, and he had a very self-assured air. “Nothing major. I was just hoping to put a bug in your ear about a possible new alliance. Datacom contacted me today and started sniffing around the edges of suggesting they want us to take over their network ops.”“Really?” Alastair propped his chin up on one fist. “They’re big competitors of ours in some places.”

“Mm. But they can’t compete with the new network, and they know it.” Bob smirked. “They’re talking strategic partnership now—trading off them selling our net in exchange for us getting a lot of their South American stuff.”

“Not worth it,” Dar commented, biting a meatball in half. “They’ve got twenty-year-old infrastructure, and it’ll cost us over a million bucks to upgrade their nodes to our spec.”

There was absolute silence for a moment, giving Dar some peace and quiet in which to slurp her pasta.

“Spunky intern,” Bob remarked dryly. “But all of a sudden, I’m 8 Melissa Good realizing that voice is familiar.” He waited for Dar to lift her eyes and met them with a twinkle of amusement. “I finally get to meet the infamous Dar Roberts. That was outstandingly stupid of me, wasn’t it? I should have figured it out from the start.” He held out a hand, which Dar reached over and clasped. “Intern, eh?”

Dar smiled at him, and their eyes fenced briefly, two very strong wills gently testing each other. She could feel the intense magnetism he was putting out, and as his glance drifted over her and showed a distinct admiration, her ego pricked its little bat ears right up. “Well,”

she drawled, “it was better than the other obvious conclusion.”

He grinned right back. “Better for who? That would have done wonders for Al’s reputation.”

Glancing between the two, Alastair cleared his throat. “I hadn’t realized you’d never met Dar, Bob. I know you’ve spoken on the phone, though.”

“No, no.” Bob slowly shook his head, still apparently fascinated by Dar. “Never had the pleasure; and I do mean pleasure.”

Dar took a breath and went back to consuming her dinner. “If Datacom wants to deal, they have to pay for their own upgrades before we sign anything. I don’t want them bottlenecking us,” she stated, then sighed as her cell phone rang. “Yeah?”

“Dar, it’s Mark. We’ve got a situation.”

Figures. “Hang on.” Dar stood and tucked her napkin under her plate. “Be right back.” She edged around where Bob was sitting and headed for the door, out of the noise, where she could hear better.

Alastair took a sip of his wine and gazed drolly at his longtime associate. “Put your tongue back in your mouth, will ya?”

“Son of a bitch.” Bob laughed, shaking a finger at him. “You told me she was smart, tough, and stubborn. How come you never mentioned she was gorgeous?” His eyes stayed pinned on the tall, lanky figure leaning against the door outside, phone pressed to her ear. “That is a serious hunk of woman, Al.”

Alastair rolled his eyes. “You never change,” he snorted. “Wipe your chin. You’re drooling.”

“Hell yes, I am!” Bob asserted. “That’s one sexy item I intend to get a closer look at.”

Alastair held a hand up. “She’s taken.”

“Bullshit. Nobody owns her—not in this lifetime, Bucko.” Bob shook his head firmly. “Don’t get so serious, Al. I just want to have a drink with her, not get married.”

Alastair threw his trump card. “Bob, she’s gay.”

“And? Your point is what?” his chief salesman replied. “Who cares? I sure don’t.” He balled up the napkin he’d been playing with and straightened. “I’ll just in—hey!”

Alastair had reached across the table and fastened one hand on his wrist. Now he bore down and pulled, a suddenly serious, intent look on Red Sky At Morning 9

his face. “You listen to me, mister. Don’t fuck with her.”

A tiny pocket of shocked stillness surrounded them. Bob blinked and stared at his boss, nonplussed. “Hey, c’mon, Al,” he said, softly.

“Take it easy.”

“I mean it,” the CEO stated flatly.

The younger man drew in a breath and held out his other hand, palm up, in a gesture of conciliation. “Okay, okay, boss. I hear you.” He gathered his composure and sat back as Alastair released him. “Is it okay if I just talk to her? She’s very bright, and I’d really like to spend a few minutes doing that.”

A finger pointed at him. “If you go a step further than that, I will personally fire your ass. Understand?”

“Understood,” Bob acknowledged quietly, as Dar reentered the restaurant, moving back toward them and taking her seat. Alert blue eyes flicked first to Alastair, then to him, and he got the curious sensation of being analyzed like a faulty piece of code by the raw, potent intelligence lurking just behind Dar’s now watchful gaze.

“Trouble, Dar?” Alastair took a gulp of his wine and swirled the remainder around his glass. “Didn’t think we had that much going on this week.”

“Ah.” Dar twirled a forkful of spaghetti and munched on it, swallowing before she answered. “It’s that damned conversion in Chicago. They’ve been trying to tie in that big ATM pipeline up to Canada for two weeks, and every time they do it, they take down half the Midwest.” She took a sip of her own wine. “I may have to send a team out there.”

“Lousy time to be traveling,” Bob ventured. “Holidays and all.”

“Mm,” Dar agreed, meeting his gaze. “Comes with the territory, though. My people know that. Work comes first.” She finished off her meatballs and sat back, crossing an arm over her chest as she sipped the wine. The problem was aggravating, for sure, and she wasn’t entirely convinced she wasn’t going to have to go there in person to take care of it.

Which truly, truly sucked.

“Hey, Dar?”

She looked up to find Bob leaning forward with a look of friendly interest on his face. “Mm?” Something had gone on between him and Alastair, that much she knew, but what that was... Probably didn’t involve her. “Something on your mind?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Get to the city much?”

That surprised her. “No. I try to not cross the Mason-Dixon unless I have to,” she replied dryly, giving Alastair a look. “Why?”

Bob folded his hands together. Dar noticed they were nice, strong ones, with well-tended nails and just a hint of callus along the top of his index fingers. “I’m pretty proud of the place. I’ve lived here since I was shorter than the fire hydrants outside. Will you let me give you a quick tour?”