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industry was already headed toward naked monopolization. Someone had to take the reins.
    Might as well be Horizon .
    “Anything else?” she asked.
    “Yes, one more item on the agenda.” He stood up, crossed around the desk, and took her hand. “You’re everything to me, you know that, Laura, don’t you?”
    She smiled. “Of course. I love you, too.”
    “I’m worried that you don’t take enough time for yourself. Rumor has it you’re here ninety hours a week.”
    “Dad, that’s no different than a lot of people here.”
    “You’re not people . You’re my daughter .”
    “And I love my job. I can handle myself.”
    “Of course you can, but it’s a father’s prerogative to worry. Besides, with your mother—”
    “I know.” Her mother had died of ovarian cancer when Laura was fifteen. It had broken both their hearts, and in the mending, the two of them had become even closer. She squeezed his fingers. “You’ve done a great job, Dad. I’m a well-adjusted, average thirty-something.”
    “You’re anything but average, Laura.”
    She patted his hand in thanks, stood up, and smoothed her pencil skirt. “I should get going. I saw your bulldog waiting outside. He had that steely eyed stare that didn’t look like good news.”
    That would be Raphael Lyon, the head of his personal security team.
    Before she turned away, he wagged a finger at her. “Once this wiretapping nonsense is put to bed, you’re to take a vacation. That’s an order from your CEO.”
    Laura gave him a salute. “Yes, sir.”
    As she exited, Lyon entered in her place, striding stiffly forward into his office. The bulldog analogy was not unwarranted. The man was squat and heavily muscled. His hands were huge and armored with calluses. His face was permanently tanned from years in the desert. Every movement as he crossed to the desk screamed ex-military.
    Rafael Lyon was formerly with the French Special Forces—Brigade des Forces Specials Terre. Six years ago, he had been facing capital war crimes charges for actions in Chad. At the time, Pruitt had found it advantageous to intervene on Rafael’s behalf, mostly because Horizon-run newspapers had been implicated in riling up opposition forces in that country, stoking the fuels that ignited the country into a civil war. Still, when Pruitt spared Lyon from a long prison sentence, the man had become his most loyal asset, one who was not above getting his hands dirty, even bloody.
    Pruitt knew better than to exchange small talk with the man. “So where do we stand with Garrison?”
    Senator Melvin Garrison chaired the Committee on Energy and Natural Resources, which was currently studying a bill that would allow American defense manufacturers to use imported rare-earth elements in their products. Through a series of agents, Pruitt had been encouraging Garrison to ensure the bill never got out of committee.
    Lyon shook his head. “He’s not budging.”
    Pruitt smiled ruefully. “Is that so? Tell me about him.”
    “No vices or skeletons that I could find. Divorced, never remarried.”
    “Children?”
    “A son and daughter. She’s at Harvard premed. The boy is spending the summer backpacking across Europe. He’s currently in. . . .” Lyon took a notebook from his pocket and flipped a few pages. “In Rome.”
    “Do you have anyone out there?”
    Lyon thought for a moment, clearly knowing what was being asked of him. “I do.” His gaze hardened on Pruitt. “How bad do you want him hurt?”
    “No permanent damage, but enough that Garrison doesn’t mistake the message. Let me know when it’s done, and I’ll call the good senator with my sympathies.”
    Lyon nodded.
    “Good. Now where are we with the last of our wayward geniuses?”
    “Snyder and his wife went off the road outside of Asheville. Faulty brake line. Not so original, but effective.”
    “And the last two?”
    “We’re closing in on one of them as we speak. The other—Sabatello—fell off the grid for the