An awkward void in conversation filled the room. Only the steady crackle of the blaze persisted. Fiona pressed, "Now that I've conveyed my meaning adequately, I assure you, it is far better to work in concert with me than against my wishes. So do we have ourselves a bargain?"
"Do we have a choice?" Detective Mackenzie's resentment was unmistakable.
"None, actually. I'm glad you've seen the light. I'm sure your delightful Chief Markham will be most happy. He and I have known one another for years." She reminded them of the political pressure she wielded.
Breaking the stalemate, Benjamin entered the room with a silver tray, setting down the coffee and tea service on the table in front of the detectives. "Is there anything else, madam?"
"Everything looks lovely, Benjamin. Thank you. Detectives, please. Join me." In a peace offering, Fiona extended her hand, then reached for her cup of tea. Detective Rodriguez poured some coffee, with his partner eventually following his lead.
"So who is our new comrade in arms?" Detective Mackenzie asked, stirring a spot of cream into her coffee. "And he'd better like long hours and lousy coffee. We can't use an eight-to-fiver."
"Christian Delacorte is head of Dunhill Security, and I can assure you he is strictly twenty-four/seven. I wouldn't have it any other way. He's more like family. And as for his cultivated taste in coffee, I'm sure you'll find he doesn't compromise."
"Great! Nothing like breaking in a rookie. So where can we find Juan Valdez, connoisseur of Java?" The young woman's wit amused her partner. The man nearly choked on his coffee. But Fiona suspected her security head would find difficulty tolerating it. Especially given the fact Raven Mackenzie carried a badge.
"I am certain at this hour, Christian is working off some steam with his men. He won't be pleased with his new assignment. So I'll have to finesse his cooperation. Maybe even order him to work with you, if it comes to it."
Seeing a spark of hope in Detective Mackenzie's eye, Fiona interceded, "Before you ask the obvious, Detective. Let me clarify. If Christian chooses not to take this assignment, I won't force him. But you won't get my cooperation, either."
"But you're his boss. Ordering is what bosses do. Only they call it delegating or a paradigm shift in responsibility—whatever the new corporate buzzword," Raven asserted.
"Let's just say that Christian is his own man. And I trust him implicitly. He always has my best interest at heart. He's been a part of this family since he was a boy of ten. But you should be aware he has a past where law enforcement is concerned, I'm afraid."
"A criminal record?" The young woman's eyes flared.
"No, Detective, nothing so mundane. And I won't be talking out of school. Not about that. He is a deeply private man." Images of Christian emerged in Fiona's mind, flashes of him as a child and the man he'd grown to be. "You'll discover his nature soon enough. I've had the pleasure of getting to know him better over the past twenty-five years, and he's still a fascinating puzzle."
"You said he was blowing off steam. Where is he? The spa? The tennis court, maybe?"
Taking a sip of her tea, Fiona hid her enjoyment of Detective Mackenzie's assumption. She ignored the implication that Christian was a kept man.
"I shall escort you to the war room, so you can see how he amuses himself with a few of his men. Christian constructed it for his use, and named it appropriately. I have to warn you. He's not expecting you. I'll have to convince him to do my bidding. But I can be most persuasive."
"Yes, ma'am, we can attest to that." Detective Rodriguez nodded.
"Persevere, Detectives, and he'll cooperate when he's ready." Fiona stood, allowing them to set down their coffee cups. "Follow me."
"This way, Detectives." Mrs. Dunhill directed them with a wave of a hand. Her genteel voice echoed down the long corridor.
Oversized tapestries and ornately framed oil paintings adorned paneled walls on the second floor. Raven hadn't seen anything like it. The extravagance took her breath away, but the theme displayed in each piece disturbed her. Ancient battles and death were forever frozen in time. The art of warfare commemorated in exquisite colors and gilded frames, as in a museum.
"Charming. Who did the art selection? Attila the Hun?" Raven muttered to her partner, but her hostess must have heard.
"Christian selected each piece. Once you see the war room, you will understand completely. He has a sense of humor, albeit black as coal." Mrs. Dunhill had been reserved until now. But when the woman raised a corner of her lip into a quick show of cordiality, Raven got the distinct impression Christian Delacorte had earned her respect.
"After you." Their escort smiled and held a small door open to usher them inside. Built into the wall at the end of the hallway, the door's dimensions were dwarfed in comparison to the grandeur of the rest of the manor.
"Why do I feel like Alice looking down a rabbit hole?" Raven whispered as she stepped across the isolated portal.
"And Fiona Dunhill is beginning to look an awful lot like the Cheshire cat," Tony mused. "Minus the furry striped tail. I hope."
Once inside the strange room, Raven's eyes adjusted to the murkiness of dimmed recessed lighting. Steps descended along four rows of stadium-style seats. A focal point of the room was the wide window down front. And a cavernous antechamber lay below, just beyond the glass. A door on the left connected to stairs leading to the floor of the gymnasiumlike chamber. Raven saw the interior of the larger room strewn with barricades, hulls of old cars, and walls of sandbags, looking like a war-ravaged village.
"This is our observation room. Please take a seat in the front row, Detectives. It looks like we haven't missed much." Mrs. Dunhill's voice was mixed with pride and fascination.
Faint voices sounded on the overhead speakers within the confined space. Drawing her attention to the floor below, a group of uniformed men circled a shirtless man, clad only in his black uniform pants and military-style boots. The group seemed oblivious to their presence. One of the five men blindfolded the man in the center. With a hood placed over his head, he looked like he would face a firing squad, minus the last smoke. His tanned muscular torso glistened with sweat, but the others looked well-rested. Their uniforms were impeccably creased. What had this poor man been put through before she'd entered the room? He must have drawn the short straw and would pay for his bad luck.
Transmitted over the speakers above, a guard's voice penetrated the quiet space of the observation deck. "If you're ready, lights out."
After a nod from the hooded man, the overhead light extinguished. Blackness filled the large chamber. Raven couldn't see a thing below. Her hands tightened on the armrest. Edging forward, she peered through the dark.
"I'm turning out the lights here as well, but the glass is equipped for night vision. You'll be able to see everything, just like the guards. Only they'll be wearing night-vision goggles," Mrs. Dunhill explained. "The window is a mirror into the chamber. They can't see us, but we can see them."
The small space went pitch-black for only a second until the viewing window activated. Raven's eyes adjusted to the crimson glow cast into the room.
"Speaking of Disney, our new partner must be Goofy," Tony whispered for her alone. "The man's gotta be twisted. What sort of guy orders his men to go through this kind of abuse and calls it training?" He shook his head. "That poor hooded bastard is like a lamb bein' led to slaughter."
In awe, Raven's jaw dropped. Realizing what was about to happen, she spoke aloud, "What the hell is going on down there? Is he insane?"
"Most probably." Fiona spoke in a hushed tone. The pale red glow cast an eerie shadow on her face. "But watch. This is remarkable."