He reached down and squeezed her plump ass, eliciting a throaty laugh. She was a rounded kind of woman, soft against his thinner, more sinewy frame. In bed, he didn’t have the stamina she had, but she suited him just the same.
And in a strange way, he trusted her. Delia was as devious and conniving as he was, ready to do whatever it took to pay for the lavish lifestyle they both enjoyed.
When he’d told Delia about the helicopter mechanic, how the guy had tried to blackmail him and Troy had been forced to kill him, instead of being appalled, she’d been sexually aroused by the story.
Delia traced a line from his chest to his groin, and lust slipped through him.
“What are we going to do about the Poseidon?” she asked, eyeing him from beneath her thick black lashes. She knew about that, too, knew he’d been trying to take over the deal. He wasn’t even sure how she’d found out. Arthur, maybe. The old man had secretly had a yen for Delia himself.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it handled. Just because Arthur managed to fuck everything up doesn’t mean I’m willing to let it go.”
Between what Arthur had told him and the questions the cops had asked when they’d grilled him about Arthur’s death and Sawyer DeMarco, Troy had been able to piece together pretty much what had happened.
“I’m not letting that prick Reese Garrett come out on top again.” Troy hated the bastard, had since their college days. Garrett always got what he went after no matter what it took. Troy was as good-looking as Reese, but he didn’t have the persistence or the drive. Didn’t matter—it galled him just the same.
With Arthur out of the way, Troy had full control of Black Sand Oil and Gas. He planned to make the company a bigger success than ever before. Yesterday, his highly paid inside man, his coconspirator on the platform, had confirmed that Garrett Resources was still planning to go through with the purchase.
Not going to happen.
He also knew Reese was planning a trip out to the rig sometime tomorrow. Hell, he even knew the prick’s schedule once he arrived.
As Delia continued to fondle him, Troy smiled. The timing was perfect. He intended to beat Reese Garrett at his own game. Troy was winning this round.
One way or another.
THIRTY-NINE
The Garrett Citation CJ4 landed at the West Houston Airport at ten o’clock the next morning. Reese led Kenzie down the metal stairs over to one of the Land Rovers parked just off the tarmac. Both of them got in and buckled their seat belts.
They hadn’t talked much on the plane. Two other Garrett employees had joined them on the flight, scheduled for meetings in the Houston office. To all outward appearances, he was CEO of the company and Kenzie was his executive assistant. For their relationship to work, they had to separate their personal lives from their jobs.
It wasn’t easy for either of them. There were things he needed to say, questions he wanted to ask, things he hoped Kenzie would want to hear. Things he hoped she would say to him.
All of that would happen tonight. He had carefully planned the evening: an intimate supper in his Houston apartment catered by Chez Julienne, one of the finest restaurants in Houston, then snuggling together on the sofa, where they could talk before he carried her to bed.
His groin tightened just thinking about making love to her. He had it all worked out, just prayed things would go as he planned.
Once things were straightened out between them, he could concentrate on finding the evidence they needed to prove Kenzie innocent of murder.
Instead of stopping at his Houston apartment, Reese drove straight from the airport south on I-45 to Galveston and the Sea Titan Pelican Island terminal. The helicopter was waiting when they arrived, an EC155 this time, a chopper big enough to hold thirteen passengers plus a two-man crew.
This was a modified version, designed for Sea Titan’s top executives, a plush, roomier interior that carried only eight people. An attempt, Reese figured, to make up for the disastrous flight he had barely survived before.
He glanced at Kenzie as they crossed the tarmac toward the aircraft. She looked luscious in a pair of snug-fitting jeans and a pale blue short-sleeve sweater that hugged her pretty breasts, while Reese wore crisp blue jeans and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
A salty ocean breeze whipped the navy blue windbreaker with POSEIDON in bold white letters on the back he’d been given when they arrived.
As the blades began to spin up, Reese felt the first twinge of nerves. He’d been expecting it, had tried to prepare himself, but as he settled in the buttercream leather seat next to Kenzie, his pulse kicked up and his mouth went dry.
He was gripping the armrest, he realized, when he felt the brush of her hand as her fingers twined with his. She knew what was going through his head, knew part of him was replaying the crash that had killed two men and put him in the hospital. Kenzie always seemed to understand.
He squeezed her fingers. “I’m okay. Just a little nervous after what happened before.”
She cast him a knowing glance. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m a little nervous myself. I’ve never been crazy about helicopters.”
Reese smiled. “Maybe the company should buy one of its own. Then we can make sure everything is maintained the way it should be.”
Her golden eyes sparkled. “Your brothers would probably approve. Especially Brandon. He seems to be up for just about anything.”
Reese chuckled. “I think Bran might have had enough of helicopter flying in the army.”
She grinned. “You could be right.”
The chopper had already lifted away, Reese realized, and was winging a path over the heliport and out over the ocean. He held on to Kenzie’s hand and began to relax.
Less than an hour later, he spotted the platform, rising like a metal giant out of the sea. Four pillars pushed the Poseidon nearly two hundred feet above the surface of the water. As the chopper circled, Reese took in the twenty-story structure that produced a hundred-thousand barrels of oil a day, and housed the eighty-plus employees who lived and worked on the rig.
The chopper continued its descent, its wheels settling lightly on the helo pad angled out over the ocean, and the blades began to slow. The doors slid open. They ducked as they ran across the pad to join the three men waiting to greet them, including Dave Pierce, Poseidon’s installation manager.
“Welcome aboard,” Dave said, the stiff wind ruffling his thick red hair. The chopper engine made it hard to hear. Reese shook Pierce’s hand and introduced Kenzie, and Dave introduced the other two guys who would be showing them around.
“Let’s get inside where it’s not so noisy and I’ll show you what goes on around here.”
* * *