Poisonfeather (Gibson Vaughn #2)(8)

“What’s it going to be, friend?” the guard asked.

That made Gibson laugh. “I’m everybody’s friend today.”

“I’m trying, but you need to go home. There’s nothing in there for you.”

That was becoming abundantly clear. Gibson walked back to the street and turned around to stare at the building. Was Nick Finelli staring down at him? Did he feel like a big man hiding up in his office? How many times had Gibson covered his ass? Debugged his elementary-school coding? He tried Nick’s number. It rang until it went to voice mail. Gibson hung up and dialed again. The fourth time, the phone rang once and a prerecorded message told him that the number he was dialing was unavailable. Nick had blocked his number rather than give him an explanation. So that was how it was going to be. They’d see about that.




Nick Finelli’s white Lexus pulled into his driveway a little before seven that night. It was a large, modern house in a development in Fairfax. Bigger by half than Gibson’s ex-wife’s house. Toys littered the deep-set front yard, and Gibson watched Nick tidy them up. He’d had time to cool off, and the urge to wring Nick’s neck had passed. Whatever was happening wasn’t Nick’s doing.

Gibson crossed the street and called out.

Nick did not look happy to see him. His old friend unbuttoned his jacket and ever so slightly turned his right hip away from Gibson. “What are you doing?”

“I tried to talk to you at the office, but your five secretaries said you were in a meeting.”

“You can’t be here.”

Gibson looked at the ground for confirmation. “And yet here I am.”

A car passed, and Nick watched it until it was out of sight. “I can’t talk to you. You know how much trouble I’d be in? I have a family too, you know.”

“So? You know where this leaves me.”

Nick put his hands on his hips and nodded his head glumly.

“Why’d they pull the plug on the polygraph?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I don’t know. They didn’t see fit to enlighten me.”

“Who?”

“My boss. His boss. Christ, the CEO called personally.”

“And that’s unusual?”

“Are you serious? My boss has six bosses between him and the CEO. He’s never even been on the same floor as the CEO. So, yeah, it’s unusual as hell.”

“What do you think happened?”

Finelli looked up and down the street. “All I know is, I’m in my supervisor’s office. We’re talking when the phone rings. He answers it and sits bolt upright like it’s Ronald Reagan’s ghost. Goes sheet white.”

“And?”

“Cease all contact. That was the word that came down.”

“With me?”

Nick Finelli nodded. “I don’t know what you’re into, but for the CEO to call down personally and halt a routine hire? Christ, I’ve never even heard of such a thing.”

“What the hell is going on?” Gibson asked no one in particular. Lombard was gone. This blacklisting was supposed to be a thing of the past.

“I don’t know, but you’re radioactive. We can’t touch you. I doubt anyone will, whatever this thing is.”

“Find out for me.”

“No can do, man.”

“You owe me,” Gibson said. “You know you do.”

“Yeah, I do owe you. But there’s a line, Vaughn, and you’re not at the front of it,” Nick said and gestured toward his house and the family inside. “So I’m just going to have to keep owing you for now. I’ll understand if you need to hold that against me.”

“This isn’t fair.”

“I don’t imagine it is.” Nick put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, man. I truly am. I know how bad you needed this.”

“Yeah.”

“Now be a friend and get off my lawn.”

The day wasn’t a total wash—everyone wanted to be his friend.




Monday nights were slow at the Nighthawk Diner. Gibson sat at his regular booth in the back and pushed food around his plate. His phone rang. Nicole, calling to ask how the polygraph had gone. He let it go to voice mail.

What was he going to do now?

It was a simple question, but one that he thought he’d answered at long last. Now that he knew that he hadn’t, he didn’t think he could face Nicole. The prospect of having to start all over, of needing to find a new answer, frightened him. The struggle to get himself to this day, to that interview, had been enormous, and, at this moment, he didn’t know that he had the will to keep fighting. He felt only defeat. His hand shook as he took a sip of water. He couldn’t get it to stop.

With Lombard out of the equation, this was all supposed to be over. Yet, clearly, the CEO hadn’t terminated his hire on a whim. Someone with influence had reached out to Spectrum Protection, salted the earth, and put the fear of God into its CEO. But who? Gibson had no idea. And that was what scared him. Benjamin Lombard’s crusade against him had ended in Atlanta. But someone out there was still keeping score, still determined to make him pay. One name leapt to mind—Calista Dauplaise. She was the most obvious suspect, but while she certainly had motive, he couldn’t see it. Everything Calista Dauplaise did had a purpose, calculated to advance her agenda. In a strange way, a personal vendetta seemed beneath her; she’d have considered it a waste of valuable political capital. And frankly, it would be in her interests for him to get the Spectrum job. It would have given him something to lose and taken him off the board—now, he was an angry loose end. No, this was someone else. But who?