“Let’s go.”
Without another word, Gage walked out of Daisy’s place and climbed into the waiting limo parked across several parking spaces, and most definitely deserving of a ticket. Main Street in Shiloh Springs wasn’t designed for limousines, and Gage settled himself against the plush leather seat, wondering what Sandoval wanted with him.
The taller of the two men climbed into the back with him, while the other got into the driver’s seat. Within a minute or two, they were headed south and out of town.
“Where exactly am I meeting with Sandoval?”
“Mr. Sandoval had some business in Austin this morning; otherwise, he would have met with you in your home town.”
Gage stiffened slightly, hoping the other man didn’t notice. He didn’t like that Gustavo Sandoval knew about the connection between Gage and Shiloh Springs. That meant that Douglas and Ms. Patti, heck, all the Boudreaus were now firmly within the crosshairs of Sandoval and his good squad.
“Any idea why Sandoval wants to talk to me?”
“Mr. Sandoval does not apprise me of his reasons or his business. I simply follow orders.”
“Somehow I doubt that. You don’t look like his typical flunky. I’ve dealt with those types before. You actually seem to have a brain in your head, which means you are higher up in the food chain.”
He could see the other man battling back a smile, knew he’d pegged him right. While he probably wasn’t Sandoval’s right hand man, he might be the next in line. Which meant he knew a whole lot about Sandoval and the inner workings of his organization. Any way he looked at it, if he worked for Sandoval, he was on the wrong team.
“Ms. Sandoval trusts me to see that his wishes are carried out, this is true. And he wished to see you, Mr. Newsome. Hence, this unscheduled trip to Austin.” He studied Gage, taking in his casual dress of worn and faded jeans and a flannel button front shirt over a gray T-shirt. There had been a slight chill in the air when he’d left his hotel room that morning. He’d slipped his feet into a broken-in pair of Adidas instead of the cowboy books he usually wore, so all-in-all he was comfortable but also ready for a fight to defend himself.
The drive from Austin was pretty silent after that, and Gage wondered what Suzanna’s meeting with Elizabeth Blackstone might reveal. He knew she’d be safe; Ranger was accompanying her to the restaurant and he’d be hypervigilant, knowing the possibility that somebody might still be after her high. And neither he nor Ranger trusted the Blackthorns. Talking with Donald Blackthorn hadn’t alleviated any of his suspicions; in fact, it had brought up more questions. Especially about their association with Gustavo Sandoval and his connection with Dawkins, Inc.
They finally pulled up in front of the Four Seasons Hotel in Austin, and Gage climbed from the limo, glancing around. This certainly fit Sandoval’s style. Only the best. The two men flankedhim on either side as they crossed the lobby and headed straight for the elevators.
Guess we’re not meeting in one of the restaurants. Too bad, because now I’ve missed breakfast and I need about a gallon of coffee.
The elevator climbed higher and higher, finally opening onto the ninth floor and the Presidential Suite. The view when he entered the suite was stunning, with the sun shining bright onto Lady Bird Lake. Seated on the large sofa in front of the fireplace sat Gustavo Sandoval.
He hadn’t changed a bit since the last time Gage had seen him. Maybe a few more gray hairs at his temples, which only made him look more elegant and distinguished. Nobody who didn’t know the man’s history would believe that he’d grown up dirt poor to a drunkard father and an abused mother. He’d managed to drag himself out of the ghetto, scratching and clawing his way to the top, not letting anybody or anything stand in his way. Legal or illegal, Sandoval didn’t care, and he didn’t care who got hurt along the way, as long as he gain money and power from his endeavors.
Gage had been caught in one of those ‘endeavors’ during his time with The Agency and had the scars to show for it. Though Sandoval never got his actual hands dirty, he had hired goons to do that nowadays.
“Mr. Newsome, thank you for agreeing to join me. Can I offer you anything? Coffee? Something to eat perhaps?” He gestured toward a veritable smorgasbord of breakfast delights that made his mouth water.
“Tell me why I’m here, Sandoval. Your associate mentioned Suzanna Dawkins. Obviously, you know I’m looking into her husband’s death. What do you know?”
Sandoval sighed, the sound long and drawn out. Gage couldn’t help noticing what he hadn’t earlier. Maybe it was atrick of the light, or maybe he’d been preoccupied with hating the man, but Sandoval looked off. His skin had a slightly pallid cast, a grayish tone beneath the normally healthy Hispanic visage. The grooves around his mouth were pronounced, too, like he was fighting back pain. Was he sick?
Walking over to the buffet, Sandoval poured himself a cup of black coffee, then filled a second, bringing it over to Gage.
Oh, yeah, he thought, something’s definitely off. Never in a million years would Gustavo Sandoval serve him coffee or anything else—except maybe a bullet between the eyes. What the heck is going on?
“You are aware that I had a business connection with Steven Dawkins and Donald Blackthorn via Dawkins, Inc. We were in contract negotiations for my company to provide secure transportation for their new line of microchips.”
“That’s what Blackthorn told me. Said you were on the brink of signing a contract worth quite a lot of money.”
“True.” Sandoval took a sip of his coffee, contemplating the dark brew in his cup. “Dawkins was the brains of that organization. Man had a mind like you wouldn’t believe. He could give you any information on any project at the snap of his fingers. Could tell you the name of every employee who walked past in the hallway, didn’t matter if they were executives or low-level inventory packers. There wasn’t a project going on in that company that Dawkins didn’t know the details of, the status of where they were with the technology, and how it would affect the consumer.”
“I know he was excited about the particle light microchips. Suzanna said Steven told her it would be a revolution in the way data is transported. While I’m not all that tech savvy, even I know something like that could change the technology industry, turn it on its head.”
Sandoval smiled. “Exactly. Dawkins was the visionary. Blackthorn did the day-to-day dealings with the IT department, worked closely with the specs. Knew how long it would take to manufacture and distribute the microchips.”
Gage let that sink in. Blackthorn had been excited when talking about the particle light microchips when he and Suzanna met with him in his home. He’d been hyper-talkative, happy to throw the blame onto Sandoval, said he’d made threats to Dawkins. Might be a good time to go straight to the source.
“Blackthorn said you threatened Steven Dawkins.”
“Actually, it was the other way around. Any perceived threats were against Donald Blackthorn. I had the utmost respect for Dawkins. Throughout our negotiations, he’d been upfront and honest. The same cannot be said of Donald Blackthorn. He came to me—outside of the original negotiations with Dawkins, mind you—and wanted to strike a separate deal.”
