Chapter 17: Chapter 17

Max tore a sheet of paper off the notepad by the telephone in the living room, flattened the paper on the coffee table, and wrote a short note.

Normal conversation. Suggest we get a drink downstairs.

Regan nodded.

"I thought this was a good beginning for us with this group," she said in an even tone. "Don't you agree?"

"I do. Jed Whitlow seems to have his act together, and Bernardo told us the others were the same. I'm looking forward to this meeting at the lodge."

"Yes. I'm anxious to hear the final details of the plan." She studied his face, watching for clues as to what to say next.

"We have a little time before we have to meet Jed for dinner. How about a drink downstairs?"

"Sounds good to me. We can leave right from the bar."

The first thing Max had done when they arrived at their suite was to check every inch of the place for listening devices. Jed Whitlow owned the hotel, he wasn't too happy with this substitution, and they fully expected he'd bug every inch of the place. Si had given him a sophisticated piece of equipment that could locate anything, and, sure enough, they'd found seven of them scattered in the living room and bedroom. The bathroom seemed to be the only place they'd have any privacy.

He motioned with his hand for her to keep talking.

"Let me just get my things, and I'm ready."

"Great."

Max stuffed his cell phone as well as the tiny electronic detecting gadget in his pocket then opened the door for her. They took the elevator downstairs and went into the bar located just off the lobby. Max guided her to a table in a far corner. Even though they thought it might be impossible, he pulled out this little gadget and took a slow stroll around the room, checking for listening devices anyway. At last, Max put away the device and sat down.

"We're all clear. Let's order our drinks."

"You really think he'd bug the bar?" Regan asked in a low voice.

"He owns the hotel," Max reminded her. "No telling what he'd do. And there are probably people staying here now and then whose conversations he really wants to listen in on."

"What a way to live," she commented, her voice still pitched low.

They ordered their drinks and made small talk until the waiter served them and moved away.

Max took a swallow of his and set the glass down. "So what did you think of this afternoon?"

"You first," Regan said. "Impressions, please."

A woman who likes to be in control, Max thought. But not in an offensive way. She had a quiet strength and a sense of self-worth he didn't find very often in women. Except maybe in those his friends had been lucky enough to marry. Maybe he'd been looking in the wrong places. No, he hadn't been looking for quality at all, except in bed. And what did that say about him? All these years he'd been trying to convince himself he couldn't give everything to the SEALs and still have anything left over for a relationship. That his friends who married were the exception rather than the rule. Now he wondered if Fate had been saving him for Regan Shaw? And if so, would she be pleased or threaten to cut off his balls? More importantly, would she think he was nuts for having these feelings in the middle of an op that meant the future of the United States?

Hell! He probably was. He just couldn't win. Anyway, he was a SEAL first, and he needed to remember that. But he should at least put her on notice, in case he behaved in a weird way.

Weird. Yeah. God, Max.

"Max?" Regan's voice cut into his thoughts. "Did you go somewhere without me?

"No, just thinking." He took another swallow of his drink. "I've met too many men like Jed Whitlow in my lifetime. Too much money gives him too much power, makes him think he's unstoppable. Reminds me of some of the warlords we took down in the sandbox. Men like that are dangerous because they wield their power with the force of their egos."

"I got the same impression," she agreed. "He didn't seem too anxious to give us any more details than he thought we'd learned from Bernardo. He just kept saying it would be better for us to get the rest all at once along with the updates."

"I wonder who's controlling the flow of information and how close to the vest heor shelet's not forget Lorena Alvarois playing it."

"A very good question," she agreed. "And did you notice those little questions he kept sliding in? Questions I'm sure he thought would trick us. Catch us off guard."

Max nodded. "I'm pretty sure he wasn't prepared for two people slicker than he was. But if nothing else, he knows we aren't idiots or pushovers."

"He could also think we're dangerous to him," Regan pointed out. "It's obvious he's a man who likes to control things, and we already know Lorena Alvaro is pushing his buttons. I can't wait to sit at the table with him. With all of them."

"I'm surprised Bernardo didn't have much more information than the target date. Along, of course, with the materials he was supplying and what the ultimate goal is."

"That one is enough to scare the crap out of me." He took a swallow of his drink. "I'd bet my next fresh catch he knows a hell of a lot more than he's given us but thinks playing dumb is his best bet. I need to mention that to Si."

"He's already there." Regan laughed. "Bernardo Ferren has no idea who he's dealing with. Si isn't going to leave him alone. Except to go to the bathroom. He's got two of his best men guarding Bernardo and 'coaxing' more information out of him."

A corner of Max's mouth hitched. "Of course he does. I wouldn't expect any less."

"We both have met too many people just like Jed Whitlow and I'm sure, based on Si's profiles, the others in this group are the same." She reached out and paced a slim hand on his wrist. "Analyzing is my business, Max. We'll be in control. Just remember that." She grinned. "As long as we stay alive."

"Yeah. Not funny, Regan."

"I know. But we can use a little levity right now."

Speaking in low tones, they sipped their drinks and continued to dissect the rest of the conversation with Jed. To anyone observing them, they looked like any other man and woman having a pleasant drink together.

"Well, I think we've dissected this body as much as we can," Regan teased. "We left hardy any flesh on it."

"I'd like to take the flesh off all of them," Max growled. "I never can figure out how people with obscene amounts of money can turn on the countries that allowed them to make that money in the first place."

"Power," Regan told him. "I have an acquaintance I used to have this argument with all the time. Put three little kids in a sandbox I used to tell her. It's a great sandbox, painted and with the finest white sand. Give them each an equal number of toys and tell them they can swap if they want, but they must share. In fifteen minutes, you have one kid hogging most of the toys and ordering the other two kids around."

"That's the damn truth," he agreed. He drained his glass, set it down in front of him, and leaned across the table so his face was closer to Regan's. Might as well put it out there and get past it. If this was a problem, they should deal with it now.

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