community to the south, the change had taken some getting used to, but Dar had finally decided she liked the island. It was accessible only by car ferry.

She could get away from the city there and spend some time in quiet solitude without fights, and crime, or even noisy neighbors. Five million dollar apartments had thick walls.

The maintenance fees were outrageous, and accounted for all the island’s amenities, but they were less than the rent she’d been paying in the Grove, so it had worked out for her in the end. She found herself enjoying a lifestyle she’d never considered attempting, and even had fun watching the upper crust socialites who populated the island at their strange social rituals.

The sun turned the horizon coral pink, and before her eyes, the sea slowly moved from inky black, to fluttered dark gray, to a deep, rich green. The offshore current was lightly choppy, breaking the surface up into ripples, and she took a breath of the sea air with a sense of pleasure.

Its ever-changing, elemental nature had always appealed to her, and she often spent her early mornings in the peace of its uneven rhythm before she went on with her problem-filled, hectic days.

“Well, time to get moving.” She finished her coffee, then slipped inside the glass doors, moving from the warm humidity to chill air conditioning with a tiny shiver. The tile floor was cool against her bare feet, and she went quickly to the walk-in closet, shedding her T-shirt and exchanging it for her workout gear, which consisted of a pair of running shorts and a snug sports top.

She pulled her hair back and put a band around it, then sat down to put on her shoes, tugging the laces and tying them with efficient fingers. “I don’t think your wife would like my fitness secrets, Alastair,” she remarked to herself wryly. “They involve sweat, and lots of it.”

With a sigh, she stood and walked over to the small closet just inside the alcove where the stairs came up. She ducked inside to pull out a set of wrist and ankle weights, which she fastened into place carefully. Then she slipped down the stairs and unlocked the front door, locking it behind her as she emerged onto the small porch outside the condo. A dozen stairs led down to 6 Melissa Good the underground parking. She dodged underneath, ending up on the path that meandered down towards the water.

The island was about a mile across and roughly round in shape. She made it her habit to circle it four times, rain or shine, even in the wicked downpours subtropical Miami sometimes provided. With a sigh, she began to jog and headed off around the path.

It paralleled the Atlantic, at first, going on in front of clusters of condos much like the one her own was in. The architecture was mellow Mediterranean, with barrel tile roofs and adobe-style walls, and the buildings seemed to blend in to the surroundings. The landscaping, rich with salt-tolerant bushes, was neatly kept and perfectly trimmed, and she could see where beds of winter flowers were being planted to give a bit of variety to the scene.

Artificial variety. Winter had little meaning here, the one or two months of relief from the tropical heat and constant thunderstorms rarely providing more than a day or two of mild sweater weather. Seasons didn’t truly exist.

Once past the condos, she was moving in front of the beach club, with its rustic-style restaurant, and the small, if pristine, white sand beach that bordered it. Chaise lounges were already set up, the beach boys sweeping sand off their surfaces; the workers waved a familiar hello to her as she passed.

Then up onto the coral deck and past the old mansion, once owned by the Vanderbilts, which housed the main restaurant and club bar, its coral-surfaced saltwater pool glinting in the dawn light. Peacocks wandered over the pool deck and ruffled at her as she passed, letting out an occasional startled cry which split the air at odd intervals.

More condos next, then the triple-slipped marina, at this time of year crowded with boats bobbing gently on the waves. Some were sailboats, their sails furled under cover, and some were large motor yachts, ships really, which had multiple decks edged out in polished mahogany.

The back side of the island wasn’t so glamorous, since it faced the long series of piers that made up the Port of Miami, where trade from all over the Caribbean and South America docked long barges and cargo ships, and the towering rows of unloaders clanked gently in the breeze, as yet inactive.

That led around to the side, which faced Government Cut, the main shipping channel into the Port, where the car ferries had to cross to get to the terminal on McArthur Causeway. It was also the main entrance for all the cruise ships, and as Dar rounded the corner, she found herself passing Sovereign of the Seas on its way into port, its green glass windows reflecting the dawn light back at her. A few early risers on deck waved at her, but she kept her eyes forward and didn’t acknowledge them.

It was all familiar, all part of her routine. By the time she hit her fourth lap, the sun was peeking over the horizon, painting the sky in peaches and cream as the clouds hung over the ocean, and the humidity was rising as well, drenching her in sweat.

Dar slowed as she ended up where she started, and as she halted and paced slowly around to cool off, a boy with curly blond hair skimmed up in a golf cart, the words Beach Club blazoned on its fiberglass front. “Morning, Tropical Storm 7

Carlos,” she said between breaths.

“Morning, Ms. Roberts.” The boy hopped out, straightening his white linen short-sleeved shirt neatly, and lifting a gently steaming cup from a tray on the front seat. “Here you go.”

Dar gave him a half grin and took the cup of café con leche. “How do you manage to time this just right?”

The boy smiled. “Not me, ma’am, it’s you. Like clockwork—six-forty-five, here you are.” He paused. “Unless it’s raining, of course, and then it’s six fifty-five.”

She laughed and took a sip of the beverage. “Mm...lots of sugar and cream. Just how I like it,” she complimented the server, who sketched a quick bow in response. “Thanks.” Dar started up the stairs as he turned and scooted back into his cart. Turning the vehicle deftly, he zipped back up the path.

Carlos was a pre-med student, working his way through one of the local colleges by waiting at the Beach Club during the early hours and going to afternoon classes. He was a friendly kid, local, as most of the day servers were, and Dar liked him a lot. He took extra effort to find out things his regular customers—and Dar certainly was that—liked and gave it to them, no questions asked.

She finished the coffee as she padded around the condo, pulling out clothes and starting the shower running. Fifteen minutes later, she was drying her hair and pulling on the tailored gray skirt suit and black blouse she’d chosen to wear, buttoning the cuffs and laying the top button open to expose the thin golden chain holding up a tiny teddy bear, her only jewelry save the diamond studs perched inconspicuously in her ears. Company dress code: no danglies.

Dar gave her reflection a once-over, running her fingers through her neatly cut and feathered hair to settle it, then adding the barest touch of makeup. Her skin was already sun-darkened, a legacy of a lifetime in the subtropics, and she hated the mess of putting on and taking off the stuff, so it was a bit of gloss, a hint of eye shadow, and that was that. No one ever notices anyway, she wryly admitted.

Not these days, anyway. Dar could look back with not quite fondness over a time when she’d played that game in the office and gotten stung by it, but now she took pains to keep everyone at a distance, more fitting in any case to her executive status.

Look, but don’t think about touching. Dar met her own gaze and acknowledged the sardonic expression with a wry twist of her lips.

Her most striking features were her pale blue eyes although most people expected hazel or brown to match her coloring. Some people suspected she used colored contacts, others openly speculated about her having Irish or Danish somewhere in a Hispanic ancestry.

Dar wished they’d find something more interesting to speculate on, but everything was fair game in office gossip. She sighed and picked up her briefcase, slung it over her shoulder, then headed for her car.

She waited until they’d loaded the Lexus LX470 onto the ferry before she dialed the office, leaning back in the leather seat and waiting for her secretary to answer.


8 Melissa Good

“Dar Roberts’ office, how may I help you?” Maria’s precise, Castilian-accented voice issued from the cellular speakerphone mounted in the dash.

“Morning, Maria,” Dar responded, watching the waves of Government Cut splash over the low deck of the ferry.

“Ay! Good morning, good morning,” the middle-aged woman replied.

“Dios mío, Dar, half of the earth is here looking for you already. Did something happen this weekend?”

“Associated Synergenics happened,” the tall woman explained. “The boys in Houston have their rocks in an uproar.”

“Tch… ay, no wonder.” Maria rustled some papers. “I have three folders with tons of things in them, and a stack of phone messages for you.”

“Great.” Dar sighed. “Schedule me out this afternoon to Synergenics, and call a staff meeting of the prelim account team for ten AM, all right?” That would toss her schedule out the fourteenth floor window her office was on.

“This is a hot one; Alastair is sitting on it.”

“Ayeyiyi!” Maria made some quick notes. “You had a doctor’s appointment this afternoon.” Her voice held a gently chiding tone.

“Cancel it,” Dar replied, getting the expected silence in return. “Can’t help it, Maria. A checkup can wait a few days, this can’t.” The headaches that had prompted the appointment had tapered off during the weekend anyway, and with any luck, it would stay that way for a while. “Don’t worry, I took it easy this weekend. I feel great.”

“I’ll call that secretarita of your doctor’s and get another appointment,”

Maria replied stubbornly.

Dar relented. “All right, gotta go. I need to call Mark.”

“Oy.” Even through the phone, Dar could sense her assistant’s rolled eyeballs. “You tell him, okay for me, Dar—no more little pink rabbits on my screen, all right?”

The tall executive stifled a chuckle. “All right. Talk to you in a bit.” She disconnected and dialed another number, watching idly as the ferry nestled into its dock. The phone rang twice, then a gruff voice answered. “Yeah?”

“Good morning, Mark.”

“Who in… Oh, uh, yeah. Right…Monday morning. Who else would be calling me at seven thirty? Hi, Dar.”

“I need Synergenics, Mark.” Dar released her parking brake and eased the Lexus up the metal gangplank, as the dockers washed the car down with fresh water to remove the salt spray from the ocean. “Now.”

“Aw…for chrissake, Dar, it was closed last friggin’ night!”

“I have a meeting there this afternoon, and I need the info, Mark. Get in there and get it, no whining,” she crisply told the manager of Information Services. “They have a bullshit system; it shouldn’t take you more than fifteen minutes to get in, if your reputation is up to it.”

Mark Polenti had been, in his younger years, both a hacker and a cracker.

That is, he raided computer systems and cracked security codes in devices such as long distance boxes. Now, he served as part of Dar’s advance team, which went in and got information on an acquisition, information that the new account usually didn’t want Dar to have. Things like personnel reports, workman’s compensation claims, insurance statistics…things she needed to Tropical Storm 9

base her slice-and-dice decisions on.

Only good, low-maintenance people would be candidates for transitioning, and that kind of information was usually kept back. For good reason. But Dar’s job was to incorporate the new account into the infrastructure as economically as possible, thereby making the account as profitable as possible. It was a simple formula, and relied on her ability to shift work from the new company to existing agencies within the corporation, thereby rendering the newcomers superfluous. They never saw it that way, though. They viewed her swooping in as a shark circling defenseless fish, and tried to hide in any nook and cranny they could to escape her teeth.