In This Together

That made Daniel stop. “Elena. I can’t today. This isn’t an ordinary crisis. If we can’t get the new power plant on line, on schedule, it will cost us millions of dollars. And if this is more than a gauge malfunction—well, it could be a lot worse.”

Logan Energy’s foray into alternative energies was a gamble, but Daniel thought it unwise to keep all his eggs in the fossil fuel basket. He wanted to do his part to reduce carbon emissions, too. Naturally he was more anxious than usual.

“Tell this man that if he can’t manage the form on his own—though frankly a trained monkey could do it—he can ask for assistance. If someone really needs Project Justice’s help, they’ll persevere.” With that, Daniel strode toward the stairs, leaving her in his wake. “Call Randall and have him get the Town Car ready.”

Clearly this conversation was over.

She hated the thought of going back to Travis Riggs and telling him that a meeting with Daniel was impossible. It made her boss sound so unfeeling, when really he wasn’t. He just had so many demands on his time that he couldn’t accommodate everyone; he had to set priorities.

Well, Elena wasn’t going to give Travis the bad news over the intercom. That was just too cold. She understood what it was like to be desperate. At a tender age, she’d experienced the real risk of her father going to prison simply for speaking his mind. How much worse must it have been for Eric Riggs’s little girl to lose her father to incarceration?

Brandon, one of Daniel’s security guys, had come back from lunch, and now she could take her lunch hour. She threw a blazer on over her dress and exited the house through the massive front door. She made her way down the driveway, belatedly recalling that cobblestones and high heels didn’t mix very well. She ended up taking off her shoes and walking in her bare feet. As she approached, she saw he was still standing there. How long would he have waited?

* * *

TRAVIS WAS GETTING himself worked up. Who did this guy think he was, making him stand at the gates like this, not even letting him onto the property? Travis wasn’t some criminal planning to steal the silverware.

Daniel was probably inside his climate-controlled mansion finishing off his filet mignon and caviar lunch, planning whether to spend his afternoon playing polo or tennis. Travis had heard that he actually owned his own string of polo ponies, like freaking Prince Charles or something.

Who cared about some poor schmuck standing out in the street? Let him wait. How long did it take to ask someone whether he could see a guy for five minutes? If Daniel was going to turn down Travis’s request, why couldn’t he just do it already? Then Travis could move on to his next strategy.

He wasn’t sure what that strategy would be, but he wasn’t giving up. Maybe he would go to the media, point out how cold and heartless the supposedly philanthropic Daniel Logan really was.

He saw a flash of blue coming toward him and refocused his eyes. It was a woman in a blue dress and a blue jacket. Carrying her shoes. A tall, shapely woman with long, golden-brown hair and the bearing of a queen. Could it be? Could this be the owner of that incredible, exotic voice from the intercom?

The closer she got, the more sure he became. Her looks were as exotic as her voice. Was she Brazilian, maybe?

She raised her hand in a little wave, but he was too transfixed to wave back.

“Mr. Riggs?”

“Still here.” He was amazed his voice sounded so normal. “You’re letting me in?”

“No. I’m letting myself out.” She unlocked the gate with some kind of magnetic card plus a numeric code she quickly typed in on a keypad. The gates began to open, swinging almost silently inward. As soon as the gap between the gates was wide enough, she slid through. The moment she was through, the gates halted and then reversed direction.

“What’s going on?” he asked. Her behavior seemed strange, to say the least.

“I wanted to talk to you face-to-face. I’m Elena Marquez, Daniel’s personal assistant.”

“You could have let me in, instead of walking all the way down here. What is it, a quarter mile?”

She ignored the question. “The staff isn’t allowed to let anyone onto the property who doesn’t have security clearance.”

That told him all he needed to know. “Son of a bitch. He’s not going to listen.”

“Please, try to understand. He’s got a lot on his plate right now.”

“Oh, and I don’t? My whole family’s been torn apart.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Some lowlife is out there walking free while my brother rots in prison. His little girl is so traumatized she won’t talk about what happened, and she’s about to be adopted by a couple of loons who actually like it that she hardly talks. I think the only reason they want her is because she’s going to inherit a bunch of money from her great-grandmother.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? Well, sorry doesn’t cut it. I’ll stand out here all day and all night. I’ll chain myself to these damn ridiculous gates.” He gestured toward the wrought-iron monstrosities. “What kind of egomaniac has front gates with their six-foot initials worked into the design?”

“Daniel didn’t do that—his father did. Look, Mr. Riggs, I wouldn’t recommend that you take up some kind of vigil here. It won’t work. Daniel takes a dim view of people who use extreme tactics to try to pressure him into doing something. The result will be the opposite of what you want. He’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

Travis was so frustrated that he could have easily put his fist through the stone column he stood next to. But all that would accomplish was a broken hand, which would mean he couldn’t work. He settled for giving one of the shrubs a vicious kick. It broke off at the ground, leaving a raw stub.

Elena’s eyes widened. “Excuse me, but there’s no reason to destroy private property.”

“Will you have me arrested for that, too? Why don’t you go back to your insulated little world with your manicured shrubs and your Rolls-Royces?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. He wasn’t exactly in a financial position that he could afford to throw money around, but there was the matter of the bush he’d just killed.

He held it out to her. “This ought to cover the dead shrub.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“Take it. I don’t want it on my conscience.” After he’d left prison, he’d sworn he would never break the law again.

Not unless he had no other choice.

Hell, he shouldn’t be taking this out on Daniel’s underling. It probably wasn’t her fault. Unless...unless she’d never actually talked to him in the first place. With that thought, his frustration rose again. What did it take to get his message across? All he wanted was an audience. A few minutes. He didn’t think he was asking too much, yet this woman did.

He had to get out of there, before he said or did something he’d regret.

Travis had parked his truck on the street. Although it was in top running condition, it was old, and there was so much paint spattered on it that the original color was impossible to tell. He’d parked off to the side because he hadn’t wanted the high-and-mighty Daniel Logan to see it, to realize Travis was a working-class guy. How stupid, to be ashamed of his truck.

“You haven’t heard the end of this,” he said as he pulled his keys out of his pocket. “Maybe the Chronicle or one of the TV stations will be interested in how Daniel Logan acts when he’s not in the public eye.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Riggs, please, please don’t do that.” She hobbled after him, still in her stocking feet. The concrete was strewn with sharp gravel, and it must have hurt, but she didn’t seem to notice. “You really don’t want to get on Daniel’s bad side. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good man—compassionate, really—and he helps a lot of people. But if you cross him, he can be a dangerous enemy. Bad publicity only harms Project Justice’s reputation, and then everyone has to waste resources doing damage control. It won’t help anyone, least of all you.”

“Did they teach you that speech at spin school?”

“I... Excuse me?”

“I was just thinking you sounded a lot like a PR spokesperson just now, spouting some carefully worded sound bite intended to appeal to my emotions. Well, lady, I’m not getting help anyway. What have I got to lose?”

“Just don’t do anything rash,” she begged as they reached his truck. “Think about it overnight. You do have other options.”

“Oh, really? What might those be?”

“Well, the online form—”

“I tried that, remember?”

“You didn’t try hard enough, apparently. People fill that form out every day. Somehow, they manage to do it.”