Treasured by Thursday
Page 40

“He never wagered on the people losing their desire to own weapons. By the time the people made a run for ammo . . . there wasn’t anything available for them to buy.”
“Because of your contracts with the government.” It made sense now.
“Blackwell isn’t the only ammunition manufacturer.”
His defensive tone made her pause. “No. I suppose you’re not.”
He frowned, kept drawing circles. Some took the shape of bullets.
“Do you sell to offshore buyers?”
He shrugged. “I’m not in daily contact with Blackwell/Carlton Ammunitions.”
Translation . . . yes.
“Doesn’t that bother you?”
He set his hand in the sand and caught her gaze. “Does your brother offer a vacation destination exclusively to Americans? Italians?”
Her jaw dropped, and she promptly closed it.
“It’s business, Gabi. Toyota sells to America, McDonalds sells in India.”
“We’re not talking cars and burgers. We’re talking bullets.”
“If the country is an ally, what’s the problem?”
Alonzo popped into her head. As much as she’d love to forget the man, she couldn’t. “An ally today can be an enemy tomorrow.”
He paused, waited for her to look his way. “I don’t know the future of our world affairs any more than you do.”
That was fair . . . she supposed. “You still managed the merger right as the political winds shifted.”
“I read the papers. Carlton didn’t. Sue me.”
“You rolled your millions like dice on a craps table. Pulled out of real estate months before the crash. You took less than a five percent hit with the stock market crash.”
He smiled. “Four point—”
“Six two . . . I know.” Down to the penny, she thought. “You were up two point eight in eleven months. While everyone else was trying to keep their companies from capsizing, you thrived.” She’d be impressed if she didn’t wonder how. The numbers were there. What she couldn’t find was all the backing behind them. Many folders were simple headings of names of countries and companies in languages she didn’t know.
Her mind shifted, thinking in numbers. “You have offshore accounts.” It wasn’t a question.
“I have a branch in London.”
“Not London.” She waved in his direction, her head ticking. “Of course. That would make sense.” Money converted from more than two currencies lost weight by the time it met the US. Yeah, the government wanted its share. But how much could Blackwell hide before Uncle Sam caught on?
Too bad Gabi hadn’t followed this train of thought before meeting with Hunter the first time. Then again, what did it matter? He still had something on her.
She’d be better off working on her own offshore accounts. The ones she knew very little about instead of the ones Hunter had.
“What makes sense?” he asked.
She settled her eyes on him . . . daring him to call her on what she was about to say.
“Your numbers don’t mesh, Hunter. I know it, you know it.”
His hand stopped playing in the sand. His eyes didn’t leave hers. “My accounts are legit.”
Gabi pointed to her chest. “We all have one thing we’re good at, Hunter. Numbers are my thing. Yours aren’t right. Yeah, you’re worth more than most people can count. But there are discrepancies.” Discrepancies that would feed villages.
“My company has many legs. I wouldn’t doubt there are a few thousand—”
She laughed. Couldn’t help the burst of noise from her throat. “Don’t insult me.”
His relaxed pose on the beach shifted to a sitting position, arms resting on his knees. “How are numbers your thing?”
The question struck her as odd.
“They just are.” That and languages. Well, not many languages, but she was working on expanding her foreign tongue.
“How is it I don’t know this about you?”
“There are many things you don’t know about me,” she told him.
His eyes moved down her body, making her realize she wore next to nothing. He derailed her thoughts with only a look.
Gabi closed her eyes and tried to keep her hands at her sides and not cover her bare midsection.
“My numbers don’t balance and this is why Alliance rejected me?”
“Alliance has many levels one must pass. Everyone has financial secrets. That isn’t a complete deterrent.”
“It’s one. You believe my financial balance isn’t zero.”
“It’s way far from zero. But again. Whose isn’t?”
Hunter glared now. “What else?”
“There are foreign meetings . . . men from questionable backgrounds.”
He nodded, as if her words meant nothing.
“And then there is the jerk factor.”
A lift to his lip was slow in coming. “The jerk factor?”
“Arrogant. Egotistical. Jerk . . . I think Meg would classify you as an asshole.”
“Meg?”
“She may not live in California, but she still works with and for Alliance.”
Hunter grinned as if she’d just complimented him. “I’m an arrogant asshole whose billion-dollar company has divisions where the numbers don’t balance.”
When he said it like that, it sounded trite. “You blackmailed me,” she reminded him.
He glanced around the empty beach. He lowered his voice. “I suppose there are things we both regret from our past.”