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she had a figure that made Lang's pulse run wild. This was going to mean trouble, he thought, but he
couldn't interfere. His brother had to lead his own lile.
Lancaster, Inc., was owned by a middle-aged man and his wife, a fashion-conscious socialite. Although
public shares were issued, it was basically a family-held company, and Lang liked the owners at first
sight. They were straightforward about his duties and salary, and they made him feel welcome.
He was introduced to his immediate staff, a veteran ex-cop and a woman who was ex-military, two very
capable individuals who had been running the operation since the previous security chief left because he
couldn't take the pressure.
"Couldn't stand the sight of blood," Edna Riley said with faint contempt. She looked at Lang curiously. "I
hear you were CIA."
He nodded. "That's right."
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"And before that?"
"I was a street cop on the San Antonio police force."
Edna grinned. "Well, well."
Tory Madison grinned, too. "Sure, I remember you," he said. "I retired about the same time you joined.
But I couldn't stay quit. Inactivity was killing me. I can't keep up with the younger ones, but I know a few
things that help keep the greenhorns out of trouble. I'm administrative, but that's okay. I like my job."
Lang smiled at him. "When I've had time to look over the operation, I may have some changes in mind.
Nothing drastic," he said when they looked worried, "like sweeping the ranks clean and starting over, so
don't worry about that, okay?"
They all relaxed. "Okay."
"But we do need to keep up with new methods in the business," he added. "I'm pretty up-to-date on that
since I ve just come back from the front."
"We'd love to have coffee with you and hear all about it," Edna murmured, tongue in cheek.
"Everything I know is classified," Lang said. "But I can sure tell you about weapons technology."
"Oh, we learned all about that by watching the latestLethal Weapon movie," Edna informed him.
"Not quite." He glanced at the dilapidated coffee machine. "First thing we're going to do is replace that."
Edna spread-eagled her thin frame in front of it. "Over my dead body!" she exclaimed. "If it goes, I go."
Lang peered down at her. "Makes good coffee, does it?"
"The best," she assured him.
"Prove it," he challenged.
Her dark eyes sparkled. "My pleasure," she said, and proceeded to crank up the veteran machine.
Ten minutes later, Lang had to agree that they couldn't take a chance on a new coffeemaker being up to
those standards. His co-workers chuckled, and decided that the new addition might not be such a pain,
after all.
The next day, dressed in his best gray suit, red-striped tie and neatly pressed cotton shirt, Lang made a
tour of the five companies under the Lancaster, Incorporated umbrella.
The first was Lancaster, Inc., itself, which owned and was located in a huge office complex that served
as headquarters for several other San Antonio companies. There were ten security people, five day and
five night, who looked after the safety of the various buildings. One did nothing but assure the safety of
the parking garage adjacent to it, and inspected the parking permits of the complex's occupants. The
others patrolled in cars and on foot, maintaining a high level of security.
He interviewed the personnel and found one particular man not at all to his liking. There was something
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about the security officer that disturbed him, more so when Lang caught him calling out a very personal
remark to one of the women who worked in the building. Perhaps they were friends, because the woman
smiled wanly and kept walking. But Lang remembered the incident later, when he was talking to the
building's main security officer.
Two of the headquarters' offices located in this complex one a canning concern and the other a meat
packer had been targeted by protestors from various radical groups, Lang was told by the main
security officer, a man younger than Lang. Security was responsible for seeing to it that none of the
tenants got hurt. Lang asked casually if the man had any problems with his personnel. There was a
pregnant pause, and he told Lang that he'd had a complaint or two about one of the men, but he was
keeping a close eye on him. Lang didn't like the sound of that.
Lang's second charge was a department store of vintage age, where two stories of fine clothing were
under the care of two day-security people and one night guard. The younger of the three was a little
cocky until he learned Lang's background, and then it was amusing to watch him backpedal and try to
make amends.
The third of the businesses was a small garment company that manufactured blue jeans. It had only one
security guard for day and one for night. Lang liked the night man, who was a veteran of the Drug
Enforcement Administration. He'd have to make a point of stopping by one night to talk over old times
with him.
The fourth company was a licensed warehouse where imported goods were brought and stored until
they cleared customs.
And the fifth company under the umbrella of Lancaster, Inc.'s security network was a new and thriving
company called Contacts Unlimited. It boasted six executives and ten employees in the Lancaster, Inc.
office complex where Lang had started out investigating his security force that morning.
Lang spoke to the company president, Mack Dunlap, about any complaints he might have with the
company's security. It was a follow-up to the talk he'd already had with the complex's main security
official, who was under Lang's authority now.
"Not me," Mack, a tall balding man, said brightly. "But one of our vice presidents says that one of the
day-security men made a very suggestive remark to her."
Lang's eyes narrowed. "Did he, now?" he asked. "I'd like a word with her. Naturally I'm going to take
such complaints very seriously."
Mack's eyebrows went up. "That's new. Old Baxter, who had the job before you, just laughed. He said
women should get used to that sort of talk. She had words with him, let me tell you."
"I can't do anything about Baxter, but I can promise you that a new yardstick will be used to measure
our security people from now on."
Mack smiled. "Thanks. Uh, right down there, second door to the left. She's in this afternoon."
"I'll only take a minute of her time," Lang said with formal politeness.
He went to the door, not really noticing the nameplate, and knocked.
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"Come in," came a poised, quietly feminine voice.
He opened the door and froze in the doorway.
She was dressed in an off-white linen suit with a pea green blouse that just matched her eves. Her blond
hair was cut short around her face, curling toward high cheekbones and a bow-shaped mouth.
She was looking down at a spreadsheet, her thin eyebrows drawn into a slight frown as she tried to
unravel some figures that had her puzzled.
"What can I do for you, Mack?" she asked absently, without looking up.
Lang's hand tightened on the doorknob. All the memories were rushing back at him from out of the past,
stinging his heart, his mind, making him hoarse. Bob's grinning face flashed in his mind, and now he knew
why his brother had reacted so strongly to news that Lang was going to work for Lancaster, Inc.
"I said..." Kirry looked up, and those green eyes went from shock to fascination to sheer hatred in a split
second. She stood up, as slender and pretty as ever, but with a new maturity about her.
"Hello, Kirry," Lang said quietly, forcing himself to smile with careless indifference. "Long time no see."
"What is the CIA doing here?" she wanted to know.
Lang looked around. "What CIA?"
"You!"
"Oh. I'm not CIA. Well, not anymore," he replied. "I just went to work for Lancaster, Inc. I'm their new [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]