He was right. It was warm inside the cabin. Very warm. She'd noticed the heat as soon as she'd stepped through the door. Her thoughts flashed to Tucker's cynical view of this meeting. Perhaps there was a reason the room was so warm.

"It's nice to meet you," Lawrence continued, taking her hand.

Lawrence's hand was as smooth as Tucker's had been rough. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Lawrence."

"I appreciate your coming all the way out here from the East Coast on such short notice, Ms. Day. I know it was inconvenient, but this arrangement worked out best for me. And I wanted to get together with you as soon as possible. So, thank you."

"Certainly," she replied. She'd promised herself she wouldn't be impressed with Jake Lawrence, but now, in his presence, she found it difficult not to be in awe of him. He was one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the world. Earning interest on interest faster than he could spend it, and influencing the decisions of world leaders from behind the scenes. She'd grown up digging for nickels and dimes beneath the cushions of the double-wide's ratty sofa. "I appreciate all the hospitality your staff has shown me, especially John Tucker's." She felt Lawrence's hand subtly contract around hers at the mention of Tucker's name. "I like John," she continued. "He's one of those people you trust right away, you know?"

"John is a good man," Lawrence agreed quietly, his demeanor chilling slightly. "A dedicated employee."

"I have to tell you I was nervous coming up here on horseback, particularly when we got to the narrow part of the trail. But it was no problem for John. I get the feeling he could handle almost-"

"Yes," Lawrence cut in curtly, "we are fortunate to have a man like Mr. Tucker managing the ranch."

For a moment there was no sound in the room except the crackle of fire.

Angela cleared her throat. "Well, I just want you to know that I've been treated like a princess since boarding your plane in Richmond yesterday," Angela said.

"Standard operating procedure." Lawrence slowly allowed her fingers to slip from his. "Especially for a creature as lovely as you."

"Thank you," she murmured self-consciously, glancing up. Lawrence was about the same height as Tucker, but he was slimmer, so he seemed taller. Instead of a flannel shirt, dusty wool-collared jacket, frayed jeans, and muddy boots, Lawrence wore a stylish white turtleneck sweater, pressed, pleated pants, spit-shined brown boots, and a sharp, fawn-colored Stetson. His face was intricately sculpted and, when he smiled, small lines formed at the corners of his mouth and a distinct dimple appeared in each cheek. His smile was warm, but his dark, dead eyes were decidedly not. Though she didn't get a long look at them, she saw instantly in the large black pupils that he was a man who expected immediate compliance with his orders, was accustomed to and comfortable with wielding power, and had little tolerance for opposing opinions. She found herself pulling down the zipper of the borrowed jacket. He was used to getting his way, Tucker had warned.

"Let me take that for you," Lawrence offered, slipping the jacket off her arms from behind. "If you don't mind, please remove those wet boots, as well." He hung up her coat in a nearby closet. "Leave them by the door," he suggested, returning to his chair.

She slipped out of the boots, then followed his gesture and padded to a couch along the wall near his chair.

"Have some coffee," Lawrence offered, nodding at the pot and cups arranged on a long, low table in front of the couch.

"Thanks. I will." She poured herself a cup, then sat back. After the cold ride up the mountain, the coffee tasted delicious.

"I'm sorry if Bill Colby and his deputies offended you in any way. I asked him not to put you through the standard inspection routine, but he's very thorough."

"Thorough would certainly be an accurate description," Angela agreed.

"The thing is I have to be very careful," Lawrence explained, his voice measured. "You must understand my situation. It's difficult for me to trust anyone. There are people who, for various reasons, wouldn't mind seeing me dead."

"I'm sure you're safe here with that personal army of yours camped outside."

"I'm never completely safe, Ms. Day."

It sounded paranoid but maybe when you had more money than G.o.d-as theWall Street Journal had once described his multibillion-dollar net worth-there really was such danger. "Of course, all that money allows you to own a place like this."

"Money does provide me certain luxuries others don't enjoy," Lawrence replied evenly.

For the first time Angela thought she detected irritation in his voice, and it occurred to her that few people probably ever challenged Jake Lawrence. After all, what would be the point? There could be no upside in making an enemy of him. Perhaps now wasn't the time to let her trailer park bitterness rear its ugly head. Or allow her penchant for putting a poor little rich boy in his place boil to the surface either. "I'm sure you deal with circ.u.mstances and pressures I could never understand, Mr. Lawrence."

"There's nothing I can't handle." He waved, as though swatting at a fly. "But enough about me," he said. "Let me hear about your background."

Angela ran her tongue along her upper lip. She'd noticed a strange flavor to the coffee, not an unpleasant taste, but one she didn't recognize. She glanced over into Lawrence's dark eyes, barely visible beneath the brim of his Stetson. She was thinking again about Tucker's inference that this wasn't a legitimate business meeting. That Lawrence had other motivations.

"Something wrong?" Lawrence asked, watching Angela place the cup down on the table.

"No."

Lawrence grinned. "It's Irish whiskey. My staff knows that I always take Irish whiskey in my coffee. I should have warned you."

"No, no, it tastes good." A remote cabin. Heat turned way up. Whiskey in the coffee. An army of men outside. John Tucker had known Lawrence for twenty years. How could she have doubted his judgment? She crossed her arms tightly over her chest.Well, if that's what Jake Lawrence has in mind, he's going to be very disappointed.

"Pleasetell me about yourself, Ms. Day."

"Do you mind explaining why I'm here?"

"We'll get to all of that," he a.s.sured her. "But I want to hear about you first."

At eight thousand feet even this small amount of alcohol in the coffee was affecting her. She could feel it seeping into her system. "I'm a vice president at Sumter Bank, which is headquartered in Richmond, Virginia," she began. "I make loans to Old Economy manufacturing and retail companies mostly in Georgia and Alabama. That's my territory, so I travel down there quite a bit. Sumter isn't as big as the New York banks but, with thirty billion in a.s.sets, we're not small either. We certainly wouldn't have been able to get that big just making loans to companies in Virginia. I've been with the bank for almost six years, and in my current position for four." She watched Lawrence pick up a gla.s.s resting on a small table beside his chair. "But you already know all of that."

He froze, the gla.s.s just short of his lips. "What do you mean?"

"A man like you wouldn't fly a n.o.body like me across the country without a purpose. And purpose implies a certain level of knowledge."

"You're starting to sound more like a lawyer than a banker, Ms. Day."

"The flight out here was obviously arranged with me in mind. Crab imperial for dinner,Erin Brockovich for me to watch, the books, the magazines: all my favorites. Same with my room at the lodge: my favorite shampoo, my favorite soap, little Brach's peppermint candies by my bed instead of the standard hotel chocolates. You researched me. Candidly, it was a little unnerving."

"Of course I researched you," he answered. "Actually, it was a woman on my staff who did all the legwork," he admitted. "She prepares me for all my meetings. Preparation is one of the most important success drivers. Wars are won or lost before they're ever fought, and the deciding factor is always preparation."

"I didn't know we were talking about war."

"Don't kid yourself," he replied quickly, nodding at the door. "Every day there's an economic war going on out there. Everybody is constantly battling for their piece of the pie."

"Yes, and some people have bigger forks."

Lawrence smiled. "Keep taking me through your background, Ms. Day. You said you worked for Sumter Bank in Richmond."

"Yes, a bank you own 8 percent of, Mr. Lawrence. Which, I have to believe, has something to do with why I'm here." She saw that he was about to speak up. "I checked Free Edgar and the 13-d filings," she explained, antic.i.p.ating his question. "The 13-d is the report that requires investors like you to inform the Securities and Exchange Commission that he or she has acquired 5 percent or more of a public company. There were a couple on file. You're up from owning 6 percent of Sumter two months ago." She shook her head. "I did a rough calculation. As near as I can tell, you've got about $450 million tied up in Sumter stock."

"Actually, it's closer to $490million. Almost five hundred."

"Wow." Angela couldn't help reacting aloud. It wasn't just the amount of the investment that impressed her. It was the fact that Lawrence would invest that much inone stock. She a.s.sumed his financial advisors would keep him widely diversified, so even the liquid portion of his net worth had to be huge if he could devote almost half a billion dollars to a single investment. Even if he was using margin.

"I've spent $490 million so far," he continued, "but you are correct in that my investment is only worth $450 million. The stock has dropped a few points over the last couple of months, even as I've been buying. Usually, the price of a stock rises as word gets out that I'm acc.u.mulating. The press calls it the 'Lawrence Effect.' My investment bankers are curious about why the Lawrence Effect isn't kicking in this time. I always said h.e.l.l would freeze over the day an investment banker didn't have an explanation for something. Maybe it has. I don't know. I hope I never find out. But I do know I'm down $40 million."

Down forty million.The amount was mind-boggling.

"I don't like losses, Ms. Day. In fact, Ihate them. Even small ones like forty million."

"Do you mind if I ask why you're so interested in Sumter Bank?"

"Not at all. Sumter has a strong market position in the Southeast, and the Southeast is one of the fastest-growing regions of the country. Its earnings, and therefore its share price, have a lot of room on the upside."

"But Sumter's shares already trade at almost two times book value, even with the recent decline in the stock price you mentioned. Isn't that pretty good for a bank? I mean, it's not as if we're going to discover a cure for cancer or invent the next white-hot wireless device. When you get right down to it, bank stocks are pretty boring."

"You have your opinion," he replied stonily, "and I have mine."

Angela cleared her throat, realizing how arrogant she must have sounded. Jake Lawrence and his people were probably in and out of world stock markets on a minute-by-minute basis, trading millions of dollars worth of securities every day. She executed a couple of transactions a year in her tiny portfolio. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lawrence. I-"

"Don't ever be sorry, Ms. Day. It's a certain sign of weakness."

She looked up and saw that he was smiling.

"By the way, do you mind if I call you Angela?"

"Of course not."

"Good. And I want you to call me Jake. All right?"

"Sure." But she wasn't. "Mr. Lawrence" seemed more appropriate, and she didn't want him thinking she was getting comfortable.

"So, Angela, where did you grow up?"

"Asheville, North Carolina."

Lawrence snapped his fingers. "I remember now. And you are the product of an Italian-Irish marriage, correct?"

Angela bit her lip. "The product." He made it sound so clinical, as if she'd been born on an a.s.sembly line. "That's right."

"It seems like there are so many of those marriages," Lawrence observed, as if he found the combination odd.

"It's the Catholic commonality."

"You're probably right, but I-"

"And the overpowering s.e.x appeal of the Italian woman," she continued. "The poor Irish guys don't stand a chance when they see a woman as beautiful as my mother."

Lawrence chuckled. "Yes, I can see how that might happen." He paused. "You were . . .poor growing up."

"We were." Her gaze dropped into her lap. "We didn't have many extras, but we had each other. And that was enough."

"Your father couldn't hold a job for very long."

"My father was a decent man."

"He was an alcoholic."

"Mr. Lawrence, I don't think you have the right to-"

"You earned your undergraduate degree in political science," he continued quickly, not giving her a chance to object. "Yes?"

"Yes."

"And I think I remember from my information that you worked two jobs while you were in college. Night shift during the week at a convenience store near the dorms and as a counselor at a school for underprivileged kids on weekends. Very impressive. From what I understand, you've carried that solid work ethic with you into the business world. You are proof of what can be achieved with hard work and determination, even without a slew of high-level, blue-blooded connections."

Her annual salary at Sumter was forty-eight thousand dollars. Decent, but hardly worth jumping up and down about. So she wasn't certain she was proof of any great achievement. However, there weren't many employment options in Richmond, Virginia, and shehad to be in Richmond. "The woman on your staff did her research very well, but my world must seem pretty unexciting to a man like you, Mr. Lawrence."

"Please, Angela. Call meJake ."

"Okay."

"Were you ever robbed while you were working at the convenience store?" he wanted to know.

They were thorough,she thought to herself.They must have found the police report. "Yes. Once."

"What happened?"

She hesitated, replaying the horrible events of that night in her mind. "It's three in the morning and there's no one in the store except me and a stock boy. I'm sitting behind the cash register reading a book and he's in the back. I come to the end of a chapter, look up, and I'm staring down the barrel of a .357 Magnum. On the other side of the gun is a green ski mask. The guy inside the mask grabs the cash from the register, then he forces me into the back behind the cold drinks and ties me up." She shut her eyes, remembering those awful seconds. "While I'm lying there on the floor with my wrists tied to my ankles, he makes the stock boy, who's black, get down on his knees and beg for his life, yells at the kid that 'every n.i.g.g.e.r ought to beg for his life at least once.' When the kid refuses, the guy in the ski mask shoots him in the face. Kills him instantly. Then he kneels down next to me, puts the gun to my head, and tells me he's gonna kill me 'just for working with a n.i.g.g.e.r.' " She swallowed hard. "He pulls the trigger, but it only clicks. I guess the chamber was empty, or the gun misfired."

"Or he was just trying to scare you."

"Maybe. But I'll remember that sound for the rest of my life. And I'll remember what he said to the kid before he killed him."

"Did the police find the guy?"

"Of course not."

"Did you show up for your next shift?"

"I was there the next night," she said. "I needed to buy textbooks. I needed to live." It had been the longest night of her life. She hadn't taken her eye off the door the entire time.

Lawrence took another sip of his drink. "You graduated c.u.m laude from college, yes?"

"Yes."

"Then you got your M.B.A. from Duke."

"That's right."

"Which is where you met Samuel Reese, your thenfuture and nowformer husband. You were divorced from him six years ago after only a year of marriage." He hesitated. "What happened?"

"Mr. Lawrence, that's a very personal question, and I don't-"

"Angela, if you help me, I'll help you."

She glanced over at him, trying again to see beneath the brim of the Stetson. But he tilted his head forward slightly, blocking her view. "What does that mean?"

"I told you. We'll get to that," Lawrence said, standing up. "Your ex-husband is from a wealthy family?"

"Yes," she replied uneasily as Lawrence walked around the table and sat down on the couch beside her. She was relieved when he kept his distance. He had turned toward her, putting his right arm on the back of the couch and resting his right ankle on his left knee. He was several feet away, but her entire body was tense. It had not occurred to her when her boss had told her to make this trip that Lawrence might want something not of a business nature, that in some way she was a p.a.w.n in a $500 million investment. "Based on their lifestyle, I believe my husband's family had a great deal of money, but I was never allowed to know how much." If Lawrence did make a move, what was she supposed to do? Scream? Tucker was out there, but he'd worked for Lawrence for twenty years. What was his incentive to helpher ? Besides, the men with the guns would keep him at bay, even if he did try to come to her aid.