Until then, she was on duty.
And the guests were arriving.
This type of high-class security while not in uniform was new to her, and she enjoyed exercising her powers of observation. While she watched and listened, the room gradually filled with polished gentlemen and well-dressed women. If half their jewels were the real thing, the Haymarket mansion would have been a bonanza for a thief. She caught a hint of gossip, mostly suggestions that the general was having an affair. The fact that Ruby had skipped this event fanned those flames.
Tony Vega’s voice came through the earpiece. “Heads up, everybody. The guru is here.”
While continuing to keep an eye on the people in her quadrant, Gennie circled around the outer tables where people were seated and surveyed the central array where others stood and drank and talked. Though many of the guests had arrived, the large ballroom wasn’t crowded. Curious, she took a position where she could get a peek at Murano. Others flocked around him, moths to a flame. In the midst of that adoring group, she glimpsed his shoulder-length black hair, heavy brows and toothy smile. He was shorter than she’d expected, probably only five foot ten. But there was something that made him seem large. His fan club would have called it charisma, but she sensed an over-inflated ego that puffed him up like a balloon. His trademark was a glittering circular brooch he wore at his throat as a bolo tie—an example of the famous Murano glass that was manufactured by his ancestors in Italy.
She spied Noah as he moved toward her. Now, there was a man who didn’t need sparkles to stand out! Her boss did nothing to attract attention, but she couldn’t look away. His stride showed a natural athleticism. Maybe she was imagining things, but it seemed like other people cleared a path for him. Gennie wasn’t the only one watching Noah. The bejeweled ladies took notice. And when he came to a halt beside her, she felt a little bit special.
“Have you seen your old buddy from Afghanistan?” he asked.
“He’s not my bud. And no, I have not.” When she looked back toward Murano, he seemed to be watching her...or not. Why would he be interested in her? “What else have you learned about Warrick?”
“He’s been working security for Murano under an alias.”
“That’s a scoop. How did you find out?”
“Anna Rose, our boss and resident cyber genius, tracked him down on her computer. I asked the head of Murano’s security about Warrick, using his alias. He’s not on the schedule for today.”
“How many guests?” she asked.
“Three hundred fifteen, including spouses.”
“And how many security people does Murano have with him?”
“Today, it’s three.”
ARC had twelve, including the guy on the roof, and Murano had three. Fifteen trained security agents to handle a couple hundred people at a fund-raiser in Denver seemed way over the top. The atmosphere felt forced, like the jazz band playing upbeat tunes. No blues for Mitch Murano. “What kind of event is this? When I worked security for the US Embassy in Kabul, we had fewer guards.”
“It’s what the general wanted. Not the way I would have handled things, but I’m not paying the bill.”
“Did you set up the metal detector?”
“Upon consideration, the general agreed with Slocum that his guests would be insulted by us asking them to disarm.”
“Wouldn’t want to upset the donors.” She felt like they were in a war zone.
“When I mentioned Warrick to the general, he denied having contact with him.”
Though she really wanted to be friends with the general again, she didn’t altogether believe his denial. “Wasn’t he the one who warned us about Warrick?”
“The instruction actually came from Slocum.”
“But the general must know that Warrick works for Murano. They golf together. Wouldn’t the general have run into him?”
“I’m not going to push. Figuring out the undercurrents isn’t our job.”
The hell it wasn’t. “With all due respect, Noah, you’re dead wrong. Security is about more than reacting to an overt threat. We need to be able to decipher the undercurrents and anticipate the enemy’s next move.”
She held her breath, watching him and waiting for his response. The minute she’d opened her mouth, she knew that she was being seriously insubordinate. Noah would be justified if he fired her on the spot.
“With all due respect?” He grinned. “You’ve got a real talent for making enemies.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“But I’m not going to line up against you, Gennie. I hate to admit when I’m dead wrong. So, I’ll just say that you’re right about figuring out what the hell is going on here. We need to know. In the meantime, we’ll watch over the valuables and try to keep these people from killing each other.”
“Yes, sir.”
A tall man in a rear admiral’s uniform waved to Noah. “I’ve got to meet and greet some of our past and future clients. If you see Warrick, use your mic and let us know. Hang in there, Gennie. You’re doing a good job.”
“Copy that.”
She restrained an urge to hug him or follow him across the room like a besotted puppy dog. Of the many officers and supervisors she’d worked under, very few would admit a mistake. Noah was a good leader. He made her feel valued, as though her insights mattered.
Milling around and trying to be invisible, she observed as the guests munched on native Colorado foods, including the infamous Rocky Mountain oysters, and drank Colorado brews and placed their bids on silent auction items. She’d spotted a rancher in a Western-style suit with a holster clipped to his belt and a sweet-faced lady who revealed her Colt .45 when she opened her needlepoint satchel to take out a hanky. In spite of the artillery, neither seemed prone to violence.
The crowd swelled as the band switched to a couple of John Denver songs designed for singing along. As the guests chanted “Rocky Mountain High”—officially designated as the second state song—she heard Tony Vega through her earpiece. “I need backup at the entrance to handle a couple of drunks.”
“I’m on my way,” Zoey responded. “G-Fox, you need to cover my area, as well as yours.”
She turned on her microphone with a touch. “I’m on it.”
The corridor where Zoey had been standing was a lot busier than Gennie’s area because the restrooms were down that hall. Trying to avoid looking like a bathroom monitor, she paced behind the silent auction tables where well-displayed photos showed the vacation trips, jewelry, electronics and other goodies.
Outside, the sunset was turning to dusk. Several small crystal chandeliers glimmered and artful, indirect lighting spread a flattering glow throughout the ballroom. Gennie wished the lights were brighter so she could see clearly.
After a few minutes, Tony’s voice came through the earpiece again. “All clear.”
Gennie wasn’t so sure. She didn’t feel like they were in the clear. Something was off. Though the air was still, a sudden chill sent goose bumps up and down her arms.
Then she saw him.