Arrow's Rest by Joel Scott (best books to read all time .TXT) 📗

Albright had looked at the paper and grinned. It was at that point that Sullivan fully understood what he had gotten himself into. Albright might actually be certifiably crazy. The lawyer had mumbled something about being late for another meeting and got up and left the room, stifling the impulse to break into a sprint.

Later that evening he’d dropped into the yacht club for a drink and seen Bill sitting with Albright’s lieutenants at the bar. He wondered what in the hell they found in common to talk about. The brothers had been around since the very beginning, when there were still a lot of rough edges on the young politician. But Albright had the pure fire, even back then. The first time Sullivan heard him speak was long before he met him, at the old football stadium, in front of twenty thousand people, and he’d been stunned by his power and charisma. It was what he imagined an old-fashioned gospel revival meeting would have been like, spell-binding, almost hypnotic, the air around Albright crackling and so charged with electricity that even a hardened cynic like himself was caught up in it all. He’d almost stood up and hallelujahed with the rest of them.

And the women. Christ, it seemed like he could have had any woman he wanted, any woman there. They seemed mesmerized by him. It was as if the sweat that flew off him when he was on fire and prancing the stage was full of pheromones and the air around him was sexually charged. The lawyer knew how crazy that sounded. What sounded even crazier was if a guy with that kind of sex appeal was abducting women, assaulting, and discarding them half dead on West End park benches.

If Albright was doing that, then he was as crazy as a shithouse rat, and the lawyer was now damn near certain that was exactly what was going on. He finished his drink and considered having another one, but decided he’d better wait until after he’d made the call. These were tricky waters he was about to navigate, and he’d best have his wits about him. He sat there thinking everything through for another few minutes, then he picked up his cell phone, took a deep breath, and dialled.

“It’s me,” he said. “Richard Sullivan. Can we meet? It’s urgent.”

Chapter 21

The note card was embossed gold script on a charcoal backing with a simple border. Classy. The Right Honourable James Albright M.P. With a phone number and email address. On the back, in an upright flowing script, written in ballpoint, no doubt, but using gold ink, the message:

I was very impressed by your work at last week’s event. Would you care to meet for a drink? I think our organization could find work for someone with your talents.

Regards,

James.

Cat held the card in her hand and studied it. Points for the card, in good taste although the gold script might be a bit much. The James signature definitely subtracted points. Jameses tended to be stuffy twits in Cat’s limited experience, whereas men she’d come across called Jim were, by and large, regular guys. And they all had a choice of which name to go by. Or did they? Maybe they didn’t. Now that she thought about it, Cat wasn’t really sure.

Anyway.

If it was just a straight-out invitation for a drink, she would probably have had to decline. Although she and Jared were not — what? In a monogamous relationship? Jesus, how old-fashioned did that sound? — they were sort of a couple. A thousand years ago, or so it seemed, they might have said they were going steady, although Cat wasn’t sure if anyone used that expression anymore. Maybe nowadays the equivalent was some kind of special friending announcement on Facebook or something like that. She should ask Jared about it. Cat smiled at the thought and took another satisfied sip of her grande latte.

Anyway.

It wasn’t social, there was kind of a tentative job offer in there. So definitely not a date then, and she could accept the invitation with a clear conscience if she so wished. The fact that the man was hot as a firecracker was irrelevant; she owed it to herself to explore the possibilities of a gig. Cat picked up the phone and then set it back down again. No. Too soon. Mustn’t appear eager. She’d let him wait a few days.

Smiling to herself, she picked up a brush and began to work the frizz out of her hair in preparation for the evening ahead. Reese had been positively ecstatic about her shoot at the political rally and had given her the first choice of upcoming assignments for the next fortnight. She’d picked Sally Owens’s latest catwalk show for starters and had two hours to kill before it got underway. Afterwards maybe she would head out for a few drinks with Rob and Sally. Cat was becoming very fond of the girl. Once you got past the salty language and rough edges, there was a pretty nice kid hiding inside there. Given her childhood and the overwhelming success that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, it was something of a miracle that she wasn’t completely screwed up. Never mind that pretty much every man she met hit on her, regardless of their age. She’d idly asked Jared if he found Sally attractive, and he’d been deeply offended. “Do I look like a pedophile?” he’d huffed.

Rob had told Cat that night at the club that Sally was nowhere as tough and experienced as she’d like to seem. In fact, when she was out of the lights with her defences down, she was almost shy. Cat would not be at all surprised if Rob himself wasn’t more than a little taken with her. She picked up James Albright’s card again and studied it once more before returning to her brushing.

She’d give it three days, she decided.

Chapter 22