Mako (The Mako Saga: Book 1) (21 page)

Then, with a cool, unfazed expression that seemed to ooze with indifference—if not outright resentment—Reynolds leered down at her hand, which remained captured in Danny’s grasp.

“Actually… Mr. Tucker,” she corrected him—her shimmering blue eyes narrowing to slits. “It’s Dr. Reynolds, and if it’s all the same to you, I’ve got rounds to finish, which means I’m gonna need that hand back.”

A whistle chirped from the back, followed by a crashing sound.

Suddenly self-conscious, Danny smiled once more to save face, then released her hand and stepped away as the chorus of snickers subsided behind him.

“As I was saying,” Reiser continued. “Dr. Reynolds here is PGC’s primary care physician, and on the side, she consults for the programming staff on all things medical as they pertain to the game.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you all,” she reiterated before turning to her colleague. “Listen Jon, I hate to jump right back to business, but I reviewed the files you sent me; and… well, I have some questions when you get the chance.”

“Absolutely,” Reiser acknowledged, returning to the assistant. “Tori, how are we on the accommodations for our guests?”

“The beach house is all set, sir, and the car is already waiting outside to take them into the city. Also, I took the liberty of making dinner reservations for eight o’clock at Mike’s, if that’s okay.”

“Excellent,” he said, then looking back to Reynolds. “Let me see off our guests, and I’ll meet you in the lab.”

“Thanks, Jon,” she agreed with a quick glance back to the group. “I sincerely look forward to working with all of you. Enjoy your stay in San Diego, and I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”

Then, firing a final stare at Danny—who averted his eyes—Reynolds scooped a stack of forms off Tori’s desk and vanished back down the hall.

Once she was gone, Reiser returned his attention to Lee. “I’ve got some loose ends to tie up around the office, so why don’t you and your team go get settled in the beach house and enjoy the rest of your afternoon?”

“Sounds great,” Lee agreed.

“Excellent. Tori here will escort you out to the car, which we’ll send back to pick you up for dinner—say around 7:15?”

“We’ll be ready,” said Lee, “and thanks again for everything.”

Reiser placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’re glad to have you here… all of you. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

****

A half an hour later, the freshly waxed limousine halted in front of the lavish entrance to the Washburn Condominium & Marina, an 18-story luxury living complex located just down shore from one of San Diego’s most popular tourist zones. Hopping out of the driver’s seat and stepping to the rear door of the passenger compartment, the appropriately suited driver gave a quick adjustment of his short-brimmed hat as he reached for the door, which was already in the process of being opened by the giddy occupants inside. All but tripping over each other to exit the car, the group stared in awe of the towering, cylindrical building, its glassy reflective exterior glistening to a near-orange in the bright California sun.

“Welcome to the beach house, Dr. Summerston,” the driver said as he removed their bags from the trunk.

“Some beach house,” Danny noted, grabbing his suitcase and starting for the door.

While the building’s exterior and surrounding scenic beauty were impressive enough, its elegant, tropically themed interior was equally grand. Filled with sweeping marble floors, cream-colored walls capped with hand-carved crown molding, and elegant archways surrounded by vibrant green plants, the place offered the perfect blend of a high-end, executive lifestyle and the livelier atmosphere that the group preferred.

Leading them into the elevator at the lobby’s far end, the driver punched the button for the 14th floor and seconds later, the group found themselves face to face with the immaculate five-bedroom suite that they would call home for the next few days.

“Yeah, I could get used to this,” Mac cooed, surveying the poshly decorated, sunken living room and the ocean view beyond the sliding glass doors in the back.

“
Dude
, Hamish!” Link growled, tilting onto his toes for a peek over Lunley’s shoulder. “Move your ass already!”

As the driver stepped aside, the group pushed through the door, dropping their bags in the tile foyer and scrambling to check out their swanky accommodations. Naturally, Link darted to the veranda for a smoke while Mac rushed to stake her claim on the master bedroom. Danny and Hamish, meanwhile, headed straight for the living room sofa while Lee made a pass through the condo’s deluxe, gourmet kitchen.

“Can somebody explain to me why we’re here again?” Danny marveled, kicking his feet up on the oak coffee table and flipping open the newspaper that’d been left outside the door. “Because I was under the impression it was to work, and maybe I’m wrong, but this isn’t exactly what I’d define as strenuous.”

“At this point, ma friend, does it matter?” Hamish replied, grabbing the remote to flip on the TV. Having always been a bit more reserved than the others, Lee’s response to their surroundings may have lacked the bubbling exuberance of his friends, but even he had to admit to being somewhat overwhelmed by it all. First the consulting gigs and the money, then the Gulfstream, and now a limo to a posh beachside condo and dinner at one of the ritziest steakhouses in the city? Talk about first class, and for what? Beating a video game?

Still, remembering Lunley’s sage advice earlier about the gift horse and the mouth, Lee decided to put his overly analytical nature on hold and simply enjoy the weekend for what it was—a remarkable opportunity to do something fun for a change and spend some much-needed quality time with his friends. Besides, it wasn’t as if Jacksonville, Florida or his job at Layne were going anywhere—not anytime soon, anyway.

“Man, this is better than Vegas!” Link exclaimed, sliding the glass door closed behind him and joining the others in the living room. “BTW fellas, we’ve got some Grade-A, USDA Choice California honeys down there on the beach right now, and all I’ll say about that is, god bless the guy who invented the thong!”

“Be careful Link,” Mac warned, emerging from her bedroom to take a seat beside Lee, who had moved to the couch. “I seriously doubt any of those girls charge by the hour, which means you might have to rely on your award-winning charm and pleasant personality to… oh, wait…”

“What?” Link said through a mouthful of peanuts he’d swiped from the Gulfstream’s mini-bar. “I can do pleasant!”

“And to think,” Danny said to Lee, “if you hadn’t have had the stones to switch up and go after that prisoner transport, we would’ve never gotten a taste of any of this.”

“I’ll second that,” Link agreed, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “I thought you were nuts for making that call so close to the finish. But knowing what I know now about just how screwed we’d have been otherwise, I’ll give it up to you, man. You figured it out and that’s why you’re the Top, and I’m not.”

“Agreed,” Hamish added. “If these aren’t truly the spoils of victory, then I’ve never seen them.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Mac groaned, draping a lazy arm around Lee’s shoulder. “Enough with the praise for our fearless leader, already. His head’s big enough as it is.”

“
Dude!
” Link howled. “Let’s talk about how Danny totally crashed and burned with that redhead back at the PGC office!”

“How about we don’t and say we did?” Danny suggested.

“Seriously, Danny,” Link pressed, “they didn’t see flames that high in frickin’ Pompeii! That chick was straight evil to you, man! She’s like… my new hero!”

“Eat me, Short Round.”

“He’s got a point, Danny,” said Lee. “I ain’t seen you take a fall like that since high school, brother.”

Danny’s face twisted. “So is everybody jumping in on this little dogpile, or what?” he crowed.

“Easy there, champ,” Mac said, stifling a snicker. “It’s just the laws of probability at work here. Bottom line: you can’t win ‘em all, but just remember…” She paused, her momentary straight face faltering. “The lap dance is always better when the stripper is cryin’!”

The group exploded into laughter as Danny slammed his arms together over his chest and fumed.

“Whatever,” he said with a huff. “I’ll leave the computer nerds, the academic snobs, and the Royal Ice Princess to you idiots. Rumor has it there’s a tiki bar downstairs by the pool, and I’m sure there’s
plenty
there to keep me busy!”

“Outstanding call, Crockett!” Link agreed, launching to his feet. “Quick! To the Hoochie-Mobile!”

And with that, he, Lunley, and Danny bolted for their respective bedrooms to change into swimwear.

“Boys, boys, boys,” Mac called after them. “How about we
not
act like a bunch of soccer hooligans and try to at least pretend that we’ve got some semblance of class?”

A rumbling, wet belch erupted from the back bedroom.

“I knew it,” she sighed, eyeing the wine rack in the kitchen. “I’m surrounded by heathens.”

Chapter 12: Table Talk

Following three hours of beer and sunshine on the Washburn’s poolside deck, the group scrambled back up to the condo to shower and get ready for dinner with the PGC staff at Mike’s, a locally owned seafood-and-steak place they’d heard was a hotspot for much of San Diego’s high society.

“Everybody set?” Lee asked, rolling up the sleeves of the one collared shirt he’d bothered to pack as he stepped out to join Danny, Link, and Hamish in the main common area. Strangely, he got no reply, and looking up to see the trio of stunned expressions before him, it didn’t take him long to figure out why.

“What?” Mac wondered aloud—her expression obtuse as she leaned against the doorframe of her room.

Exquisitely dressed in an elegant black, long-sleeved top, matching black heels, and a pair of dark blue, designer jeans that fit her like a glove; she gave a final inspection of her hair in a nearby mirror before exiting her room. Gracefully styled, and free of the ballcap, it flowed in a silky cascade of blondish-brown across her slender shoulders, highlighting both the striking natural beauty of her olive skin and the endless depth of her sea-green eyes.

“
Good Lord
,
Mac!
” Link blurted from the kitchen. “Where have you been all my life?”

She shot him a smirk; meanwhile, across the foyer, Lee broke free of his trance and shifted to the living room.

“Seriously, Mac, what is that? Dolce?” Danny observed from the couch, impressed. “And Jimmy Choos to boot? Nice, very nice.”

“Only you would know that, Crockett,” Link snorted.

Shunning off the outpouring of wolf whistles and ostentatious cheers that followed her past the kitchen, Mac glided through the living room and dropped down on the loveseat beside Hamish.

“C’mon boys,” she simpered, kicking her feet onto the coffee table and snaring an airborne beer from Link with an effortless, one-handed grab. “Somebody’s gotta add a little A-lister quality to this motley little crew of ours, right?”

Watching her pop the top and take a glug, Lee couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. Stunning new look or not, she was still the same old Mac—always had been, always would be—and nothing or no one would ever change that. He loved that about her.

“Alright folks, I’ve got 7:10,” Lee said, glancing to his watch. “How ‘bout we kill these drinks and get down to the lobby? The car oughta be here to scoop us up in five minutes.”

“Most definitely” Hamish agreed, rubbing his hands together. “I don’t know about the rest of ya, but I’m ready to set up shop on a seriously rare ribeye and a loaded potato.”

“I can get onboard with that,” Link announced. “Given the choice though, I’m more of a Porterhouse man, myself.”

“Dude, how does someone so small manage to pound down the single biggest cut of meat on the menu,” Danny asked in amazement, “much less the chocolate monstrosity that you always order for dessert?”

“We all have our unique skills in life, Danny Boy,” Link grinned with a hand on Danny’s shoulder, “and since we now know that Ol’ Red obviously has no interest in yours, let’s hope she can appreciate someone else’s, shall we?”

Danny threw him a look. “Link, I’ve seen you eat… it’s like something out of
The Fly
, bro. FYI, most chicks don’t go for that.”

****

Not long after, the limo arrived at the front entrance to the restaurant—a trendy, wood-paneled structure built to resemble the theme of its Texas ranch-house roots. Hopping out into the night air, the group made its way up the wooden plank steps and into the rustic main dining hall, where the low murmur of a crowd and the spicy, sweet fragrance of grilled onions and sizzling fajita meat filled the room.

“Good evening and welcome to Mike’s,” a formally dressed hostess smiled from her stand with a well-rehearsed greeting. “May I have the name on the reservation?”

“Reiser, party of seven, I believe,” Lee replied, uncertain of which PGC personnel would be in attendance.

Running a glossy red fingernail down the list on the podium in front of her, the young woman paused for a moment before finding the notation.

“Ah yes, here we are,” she noted. “Right this way, please.”

Pulling five menus from her hostess’ station, she led the group through the main dining hall and to a private table in the back where Dr. Reiser—plainly dressed as always in a white shirt and burgundy blazer—sat alongside Madisyn Reynoles, wearing a classic, deep-blue cocktail gown. Each nursed a glass of red wine. Per his usual cordiality, the PGC founder rose to greet them.

“Dr. Reiser,” Lee said, shaking his hand and taking a seat directly across from him at the long, white-clothed dining table.

“Welcome, Lee. I trust that the lodging accommodations are adequate?”

“They are outstanding, thank you very much,” he responded.

“Excellent, the five of you are our honored guests, and we simply wished to make sure that you were comfortable while you were here.”

“That’s real gracious of you, Dr. Reiser, but I can assure you that a couple of standard rooms at a decent hotel woulda been perfectly sufficient. Besides, we still don’t quite get why we’re such honored guests.”