Nickel City Storm Warning (Gideon Rimes Book 3) by Gary Ross (100 best novels of all time txt) 📗

looking into them and had no expectation anyone at this gathering would provide a link to the men who attacked Bobby, or to Dr. Lansing, unlikely to crash a private meeting. But I believed in being sure. Ten were present, with five more still to arrive. One of those who had not yet come was Judge Marlo Vassi. With all the faces she must see in court, I wondered if she would give me the same uncertain look I’d got from Mrs. Cathcart.

Rory opened the meeting by welcoming everyone and stating for the minutes how pleased he was to see Dr. Chance. Using only my first name, he identified me as the family member driving the still recovering Bobby to appointments. When all eyes turned to me, I lowered my pen and nodded a silent greeting, pleased to see an Aha! on Mrs. Cathcart’s face. Then Rory called on each one to share any personal news that had come about since the last meeting. Someone had celebrated a birthday, someone else the birth of a third grandchild. Other news included two forthcoming vacations, a promotion at work, an engagement, a grant to support a library program, an anniversary, and the sale of a home.

When they were finished, the rectangular clock face I had drawn on a blank notebook page had a name beside ten numbers to indicate table position. With Rory at 12:00, late arrivals would be assigned remaining hours or half-hours as needed. In addition to Bobby, Rory, and the Cathcarts, there were Christina Donohue, host of the TV show Morning in Buffalo; Ann Marie Marciniak, director of the public library system; Will Johannes, owner of Talking Leaves Books; Buffalo State VP for Academic Affairs Migdalia Ramirez; UB Law Professor Brendan Downey; and Carly Flood, director of social work at Neighborhood Services United. Flood took the minutes on an IBM Surface Pro. Still to come were Judge Vassi, bank executive Bart Novak, billionaire James Torrance and his son Randall, whose namesake hotel would host the conference, and representatives from the offices of Erie County Executive Alvin Zachritz and my old friend, Buffalo Mayor Ophelia Green.

As the meeting turned to committee reports on conference logistics, I shifted my gaze from those seated around the board table to the people on the Canalside boardwalk below—pedestrians, cyclists, dog-walkers, parents with children too young to be in school. I was here today to have Bobby’s back. My interest in the particulars of banquet halls and meeting rooms would come later, as I was mapping details for protecting Sam’s cousin Drea during her stay. Floor plans and occupancy capacities meant nothing until I could inspect the site myself. Raising my eyes, I looked beyond KeyBank Arena at Torrance Towers, with part of its footprint in the Cobblestone District where two twenty-story towers were connected by a ten-story central building with an event hall, meeting rooms, shops, and luxury suites above underground parking. It wasn’t the Atlantis in the Bahamas but it was damned impressive.

Ten minutes later, Bart Novak opened the glass door and apologized as he shrugged off his spring topcoat. A large man with crewcut gray hair and broad shoulders, he squeezed in at 8:00. After him came the very pregnant Amari Lockwood, chair of the Erie County Legislature, and Judge Vassi. Lockwood took 9:00 and made room for the judge at 9:30. Before sitting, Judge Vassi looked over her shoulder at me for a few seconds. Then her lips parted in recognition and she smiled at my faint nod. Next came the mayor herself, a young female aide in tow. Ophelia Green wore a beige skirt suit that complemented both her figure and the glow of her bronze skin. For a moment, standing beside Rory and gesturing her aide into the shell chair behind the 12:30 slot, she looked startled to see me in the corner. Then she flashed me Buffalo’s most famous political smile, made sensuous by the beauty mark just above one corner of her mouth, and took her seat.

The room was crowded when James Torrance arrived. With a bespoke blue suit, styled white hair, emerald eyes, and a perfect tan, Torrance was a refined-looking man who was accompanied by a dark-haired fortysomething version of himself in a gray suit and two large bruisers in black blazers—their personal security team. One bodyguard stood outside the room, back to the frosted glass. The other stepped inside ahead of the Torrances and locked eyes with me. He held up a hand to stop father and son behind him. Eyes fixed on me, he angled his head to whisper something to them. Then he cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention.

“The gentleman in the corner is armed,” he said. “Under the circumstances, I will not permit my employers to remain here.”

“Good eye,” I said, meaning it because my jacket was still buttoned. “I see the line of your shoulder rig too. You might try a looser blazer next time.” I hated pissing matches but wasn’t afraid of them. I was about to close my notebook and get to my feet when Mayor Green held up her hand and stood.

“Mr. Rimes is retired law enforcement and a licensed investigator,” she said. “He’s done contract work for City Hall but he’s here today for personal reasons.” She gestured toward Bobby. “You all know Dr. Chance was assaulted outside Temple Beth Zion. Mr. Rimes is his godson—here, I’m sure, to guarantee his safety as he recovers from injuries that required surgery.” Now she looked at Torrance. “Full disclosure, Jim. Mr. Rimes served with my husband in Iraq. Gideon was even one of Danny’s pallbearers.”

The senior Torrance touched the security man’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Matt. If the mayor vouches for him, this fellow isn’t here for us.”

“No sir,” I said. “Just protecting my family.” I hoped a gesture of polite humility would defuse things. Still, I held the bodyguard’s piercing blue gaze. Broad forehead, jaw set in determination, fullback shoulders, massive hands, middle-aged but young enough