Page 3 of Deadly Pride

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He watched the news unfold on his television. Watched the haughtiness on the face of Lance Richardson's sister. The diamond ring glittering on her finger as she waved it dramatically in front of the cameras, faking grief over her dear brother's violent death.

The woman wasn't capable of sadness. After the death of her parents five years earlier, now her brother, the woman couldn't spend her wealth in her lifetime.

He smiled, steepling his fingers. No, she wouldn't live long enough to spend even a portion of her inheritance.

He pressed a button on his phone. “Get me Sarah.”

A few minutes later, a woman in a black skirt and white blouse, hair pulled into a severe ponytail, entered his office. A chameleon capable of beauty or melting into the background unnoticed. He'd used her beauty to lure Lance. This time he needed her ability to be invisible.

He pointed at the TV. “Your next target. I don't care how you get rid of her, only that it happens soon. The world will be a better place without such a prideful spirit. And cut off the finger sporting that ring. Leave it lying in the dirt next to her.”

“Yes, sir.” She bowed her head and backed from the room.

He'd surrounded himself with people of the same mindset as himself. Not as brilliant, but willing to make the world a better place. He dug his fingernails into the palm of his hands hard enough to draw blood in punishment for saying his followers weren't as brilliant as he was. Fighting the very things he wanted to rid the world of was a daily struggle.

Fifty years ago, his father had started the quest for a Utopian world. Cancer had stopped him before he could get his vision going, but Lance had spent hours listening to his father's dream and cursing the doctors who couldn't save him. Doctors that didn't care for the unwealthy, only concerned with patients who could help line their pockets.

Well, he'd taken care of them, and now he planned on finishing what his father had only dreamed of accomplishing. He'd worked hard to build an empire, make enough money to do what needed doing.

Imagine finding out that their only surviving family members were involved in law enforcement. He laughed, the sound ringing against the words. Now, he'd pit his wit against theirs in a game of who would be the victor.

His nails dug in deeper as pride once again started to rear its ugly head. He needed a distraction. He pressed the button on the desk phone again. “Send Lana to my room.”

He had followers to satisfy his every whim. To kill, for sex, to do his shopping. Whatever he wanted, they'd do without question if it meant a world that had treated them unfairly would pay.

Once he'd fulfilled his father's dream, they'd all reap the benefits. He saw in their eyes the same drive, the same hunger for justice. He lived simply, requiring them to do the same. A few luxuries, but nothing extravagant, nothing to make the guilty take notice of them. No, they'd stay in the shadows until it was time to show their faces, to present their ideals to the world.

He got to his feet, wiped the blood from his palm on a cotton handkerchief, and marched from his office. He climbed the stairs to the room where Lana waited in a simple cotton gown. No need for trashy lingerie to create lust in his eyes. He didn't need anything more than the basic act between a man and a woman to regain his focus.

She looked up at him and smiled, her hand beckoning him forward. “My lord.”

Chapter 2

Harper pulled infront of Liam's room at exactly nine p.m. Some people might think her obsession with punctuality a fault, but to her it was a virtue. She'd been told she was wound as tight as a watch spring before. Maybe, but she didn't think there was anything wrong with focusing on her career with everything she had. It wasn't as if she had family to spend time with.

Liam stepped out of his room on the bottom floor at five after nine when Harper laid on the horn. There would be problems if he ran late all the time.

He exited his hotel room and jogged toward the jeep. “Hold onto your hat,” he said, sliding into the passenger seat. “I was finishing up.” He frowned. “You look like law enforcement.”

“I am.” She eyed his jeans and polo shirt. “You don't.”

“I thought it would be better if we blended in. You need to look like arm candy. A woman that might frequent a strip bar with her man. Not like someone getting ready to raid the place.”

She rolled her eyes, untucked her blouse from her slacks, tied the ends high enough to expose her mid-section, and unbuttoned a couple of top buttons. “This is as good as it's going to get.”

“Looks good to me.” He winked.

For crying out loud. She shook her head and backed from the spot. “Try to focus on the job at hand. Have you received any more messages?”

“No. You?”

She shook her head. “I'm not expecting one before morning. He, or she, usually sends one a day.”

“To make it easy, let’s call the perp a he. Take your hair out of the ponytail.”

The man was impossible. “Stick to the case.” She pulled her hair free.