Griffin stood on the deck of the impressive house, gazing at what appeared to be endless miles of untouched land. Damn, Magnus was correct. His long-time associate and lead attorney had convinced Griffin, sight unseen, that the land that had become available in Cochise County was a prize Black Enterprises would be crazy to pass up. Drinking in the sight of endless rolling hills and mountains to the west, Griffin was glad he’d agreed to put down his marker. He’d stayed away from Arizona lands in the past because so much of the state was either government controlled or owned by the tribes. In fact, a measly eighteen percent of Arizona land was privately owned. But the offer from one of the major landowners in the county combined with an agreement from the federal government for a contiguous piece made his decision to invest in the pristine property a slam-dunk.
“What do you think, boss man? Did I exaggerate or is this land the sweetest acquisition we’ve ever acquired?” Magnus added with a grunt, “Granted, we did have to pay Sledge Perkins a hefty price, but given the price of the federal land, which was amazingly inexpensive, we made a great deal. Although I have to admit that, as usual, it was you who made this deal as attractive as it is. If you hadn’t convinced the feds to throw in that area by the ridge, I would have recommended we turn Sledge down.”
Griffin shrugged. “Let’s just say that our projects in other states that earned us the approbation of the tribes we worked with put us in good stead with the feds. It was worth those months, hell, those years of negotiation that we did. We convinced some damn tough negotiators that the developments could be as efficacious for their tribes as it was for us.” Griffin sipped on his Glenmorangie and said with a frown, “But I have to tell you, Magnus, under ordinary circumstances, I would have stayed as far away from Sledge Perkins as possible. The last thing I thought I would ever do was get in bed with an openly racist white supremacist like Perkins.” He put up his hand when Magnus started to interrupt. “It’s okay, Magnus. I concede. You were absolutely on-target. That piece of property beside the ridge that we convinced Perkins to sell to us is golden. It will be the showplace of the development. I’m glad you talked me into it.”
Topping off his glass and Magnus’s, Griffin went back to the altercation at the Whispering Pines Motel. “That was quite a scene at the motel. Is that what we can expect going forward?”
Magnus shrugged. “I wish I could say that everyone in this community is as excited as the city fathers are about our development. But that is far from the truth. Under ordinary circumstances, I would tell you to ignore the rabble-rousers. We’ve always been able to wear them down in the past. But we’ve never run up against naysayers who not only control the only newspaper in town and a hell of a lot of the other media but also head up the most significant branches of law enforcement. As I told you, while that stunning editor is truly a bitch on wheels, her prominent father is a hell of a backup. Between the two of them, they present a multi-faceted force to be reckoned with.”
Remembering the irate woman at the motel, Griffin nodded in agreement. “If the father is anything like the daughter, I would have to agree.”
Magnus added with a grin, “But you have to admit, Griffin, as obnoxious as that newspaper editor was, she is a hell of a looker.”
Griffin took a long pull of his whiskey, then said with a dispassionate shrug, “That goes without saying, Magnus.” Thinking about the extraordinarily beautiful woman who’d taken him on, Griffin acknowledged how inadequate his cohort’s description of the newspaper editor was. A “looker” didn’t begin to describe the tall, blonde woman. In that he was well over six foot, Griffin appreciated taller women. They seemed sturdier, not as crushable as petite women. Considering the sun-streaked hair that she’d pulled into a casual ponytail, Griffin couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to take down that thick, golden mane and let it flow over her shoulders. Preferably her naked shoulders, he thought with a soft smile.
He realized his expression must have given him away when his astute ally chortled. “Be careful, boss man. From everything I hear, that babe is a ball buster if there ever was one. Nope, as righteous as you admittedly are, I think the most you and I are going to be able to do is wonder if that centerfold body of hers looks as inviting naked as it does clothed.”
Griffin grinned as he walked into the house to convene their scheduled staff meeting. Glancing over his shoulder at his smiling partner, he said with a wink, “Speak for yourself, Magnus. Without seeing it yet, I can assure you that editor’s bod is Hustler-worthy—and then some.”
****
Tara glanced around the table, determined to make her colleagues understand. She knew that she sounded shrill, but she never thought that she would have to explain to her media-savvy cohorts that they needed to take on Black Enterprises and its arrogant owner as hard and fiercely as they could.
Turning to the newest member of their team, she said, “You need to understand, Ryan. Griffin Black is a dangerous man.” At the young man’s frown, she continued. “I know you never ran into land-grabbers in your big-city milieu back East. Good grief, the robber barons snapped up all the pristine land in your neck of the woods a hundred-plus years ago. But it’s different here. We actually have beautiful, undeveloped land that needs to stay that way. That is our obligation. It is our charge.”
Ryan Fowler put up his hands and said tentatively, “I know you feel strongly about this, Tara, but I’m gonna be honest. From everything I’ve read about Black, he’s richer than God and as powerful. Seems that he’s one of those golden boys who gets what they want no matter the cost or obstacles in their way. In fact, looking at some of his other deals, it seems like the more challenging the project, the more Black himself gets involved. And it’s not as if he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Heck no. Forget Rockefeller or Carnegie or even Preston Courtland and his copper cronies in Arizona. They all came from inherited money. Black seems to have pulled himself up from the proverbial bootstraps by sheer effort. If my research is on-target, when he gets personally involved, everyone steps back. Nobody takes him on and wins.”
Blowing out an annoyed sigh, Tara pinned her colleague with a hard stare. “Assume that everything you said is correct, Ryan. What that means to me is that we have to fight harder than we ever have to make sure he doesn’t succeed.”
Hank Livingston, the editor of the Gazette and as passionate about development issues as Tara was, turned to the Gazette’s chief legal counsel. “What’s your read, Ethan? Does the Gazette have a chance to stop this land grab, or have we met our match?”
Tara wasn’t surprised when Ethan Westbrook was equivocal. Like the studious law professor he’d been before he accepted Hank’s offer to advise the Gazette, Ethan was the antithesis of Tara’s passionate rabble-rousing. When she felt like being fair, which wasn’t often and never when it came to land development, Tara gave Ethan credit for trying to put all sides of an issue on the table. Between her and Hank, who were both given to fiery opinions, she admitted that they could use Ethan’s cooler head at the table. At least she felt that way except when it came to development issues—at which point, Ethan’s evenhandedness seemed cowardly.
It didn’t help that Ethan was interested in her. In fact, he’d damn near proposed to her. It had been all Tara could do to convince the earnest man that she was the last person he would want to be involved with over the long haul. Good grief, even she found her wildly inflamed opinions challenging. She could only imagine how they would wear Ethan down over time. In the meantime, she enjoyed his company. He was pleasant, reasonably good looking, and successful. Hank had rightfully thought it was a coup that they’d been able to convince the well-regarded man to head up the newspaper’s legal department. Tara agreed. And she admitted that on a personal level, it helped to have a companion available for the many social occasions her job demanded. Unintentionally, she was sure, Ethan provided a protective barrier, shielding her from the annoying interest of what seemed to be ninety percent of the male population of Sierra Vista. Now, if she could just keep a damper on his incipient ardor and convince him that the most he could hope for was social companionship. She was grateful that so far, Ethan seemed to concede, accepting her limited engagement.
Nodding to the white-haired owner of the Gazette, Ethan shrugged. “I know you, Hank, and especially you, Tara, won’t be surprised that I’m urging caution. But Ryan is correct. Griffin Black is a powerhouse. Not only is he wealthy, which he is, but as with many self-made men, he is arrogant as hell and frankly has reason to be. His MO is simple—and radically successful. He spots a particular piece of land that no developer before him thought could be bought or successfully developed. Through vision, drive, and frankly chutzpah, he beats back the Johnny-come-lately challengers and, voilà, notches another Black success on his belt.”
“Good God. I thought Mayor Watcher was a suck up.” Tara didn’t qualify her annoyance. “Damn, Mr. Westbrook, you sound like you’ve more than drunk the Griffin Black Kool Aid. Surely you don’t buy into that old shibboleth that only men as rich as God deserve to own ninety percent of the wealth in our country. Moreover, that any project the powerful Auric Goldfinger wannabes deem worthy of their attention is certain to be a success.”
Ethan put up his hands in apparent defeat and conceded. “I hate to agree with your assessment, Tara, knowing how you feel about the up-and-coming Goldfingers. From what I’ve learned about him, Griffin Black may not be hatching a cataclysmic scheme to raid Fort Knox like the original Goldfinger did. But my sense is if that was his goal, he’d have a damn good chance of achieving it.”
Tara pursed her lips in a tight line, then shook her head in agreement. Allowing a slight smile to light her face, she said with a flippant shrug, “Well then, Counselor, if you are correct, it would appear that I need to bring out my most intrepid inner James Bond if I’m going to have a chance of stopping the fearsome Griffin Black.”
Hank Livingston rose from the table to answer his phone. Concluding the conversation that was monosyllabic on his end, he clicked off his cell phone and grinned at his waiting team. “Well, well, well. It appears as though you may have a chance to harness your intrepid James Bond, Tara. Apparently, the illusive Mr. Black has agreed to host a media event and, for some reason, they invited me.”
Tara jumped up, not hiding her excitement. “May I assume that your editor is also invited? And even if I’m not, that you have no objection to my crashing the party?”
The older man chuckled. “Yeah, like I could stop you if I wanted to—which I don’t. After all, you have better manners than me—not. But you sure are a hell of a lot purtier.”