Chapter Two

Boy's Club

After the meeting, the team dispersed. Nora and Peter continued the conversation in Peter's office. "You're gonna be interviewing with a guy named Brad," he explained as he put on his jacket.

"Of course his name is Brad," she joked. "You think I can keep up with these guys? Peter, I'm flattered. If Landry's girl didn't manage to get in, why do you think I'll do any better?"

"Give me a break," he huffed. "You could sell light switches to the Amish." They sat down. "Madison Cookler, that's our girl on the inside."

He handed her a photo. "Wow, she's gorgeous." She had long, blonde hair and a radiant smile.

"Yeah," Peter agreed idly. "She won't know who you are."

"What's her role in all this?"

"The guys transfer the calls after they make a sale to her. She takes down all the buyers' information. But thanks to her, we know exactly what kind of stocks these guys are looking to hock. We went fishing with several of our own front companies." Nora nodded, reading as he spoke. "They took the bait on that one. Rhymer Pharmaceutical.

"You got a tap on every phone in the place," Nora read.

"Yup. We're recording every call. But the sales are real. We just want to know who's behind it all."

"So do I," she muttered, not really talking about the case. She'd barely realized she'd spoken aloud.

"What's that?"

She snapped her eyes up to him, sucking in a breath. "Nothing." She cleared her throat. He let it go, pulling something off his desk. It looked like a pen. He came around, sitting on the edge of the desk for her to see. "For me? Peter, I didn't get you anything."

He pressed a button, and her own voice mimicked what she'd just said. She grinned. Okay, that's cool. "We call it an Eagle," he explained. "Recorder, transmitter, GPS." He handed it over, and she rolled it around in her fingers. "Keep it on you at all times."

He headed out of the room. "Love it," she muttered as she stood to follow him.

They headed down the stairs. "We need to cut your anklet on this one."

"Love it even more."

"No, you don't." He dropped his voice down low as they crossed the bullpen. "After your last escape, we need a home run." Her grin faded, and she nodded soberly. "A lot of people think I made a mistake."

"Let's prove them wrong," she challenged, stepping into the open elevator.

Peter stopped outside the door. "Yeah," he sighed. "Or else you headed back to maximum-security."

Naturally. She slapped the file against his chest. "Glad some things never change."


Nora changed at home. Since the case was off-anklet, she opted for a maroon pencil skirt and a matching blouse, taking the opportunity to soak in the last of the summer sun. The anklet was cut in the van, and Nora made her way toward the boiler room.

She went over in her head all the ways she knew to break into boy's clubs. Crime in general tended to be a bit like that. A lot of men underestimated her abilities because she was a woman, and she had to work twice as hard to prove herself to be just as capable as any man doing the same work.

She strolled in confidently, eyes raking over everything as she went. Desks with computers were spread across an otherwise barren room. The exterior of the room was all windows, and provided a nice view over the city.

She marched up to the man she presumed was Brad, with blond hair and an impish face. He does look like a Brad. His desk was nicer than the others, set farther away. He leaned back in his chair, drinking an energy drink. The woman from the photo Peter had shown her, Madison, walked up to him.

"Madison," he said cheerfully, "give me some good news."

"Two closes, thirty-two hundred shares." She smiled, handing him a slip of paper.

"Yes!" He took the paper. "That is what I like to hear." He signed it and returned it to her.

Nora saw him staring at Madison's butt for a moment as she retreated. Then his eyes locked on Nora, raking her up and down. She kept a pleasant expression plastered on anyway. "Well, hello. Can I help you?"

"You're Brad?" she guessed.

"I am. Who are you?"

"Natalie Halden."

His face went blank for a moment, then sparked with realization. "You're the N. Halden here for an interview?"

"Unless you know another N. Halden." She offered out her hand, and he shook it. "My friends call me Nat." He stood up and came around the desk, briefly referring to a sheet of paper before speaking.

"Right. Nat… You're U5 says you were terminated from Lehman Brothers."

"Oh, yeah," she sighed. "The market crashed. Wasn't feeling the love." She patted her purse pointedly.

"Oh, you couldn't find a job working anywhere else?" There was a note of superiority in his town. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"I wasn't interested," she corrected smoothly. "I want to make some real cash."

Brad shifted uncomfortably. "We've kind of got enough ladies to take the transfers-

"I didn't come here to clean," she said firmly, crossing her arms, and Brad's eyes grew wide. "I came here to work." He glanced around, licking his lips nervously. She grinned, crossing her arms. "Oh, I get it. You don't want to get shown up by a woman."

"No, no!" He held up his hands defensively. Works every time. He started walking toward the desks. "Nothing like that. It's just, most women aren't as… comfortable doing this job. Listen, our turnover rate it huge. High volume, high money. You make sales, you get paid."

"Okay." She flashed a cocky smile. "Let's do this."

"Hang on a second, I haven't hired you yet." He turned to a man at the nearest desk and tapped him on the shoulder. "You, take a break." The man walked away. "Let's start your interview."

Nora took the man's spot and picked up a headset. "Want to give me some numbers?" Brad pulled up a list, and Nora scanned it quickly.

"Take your pick, sweetheart."

Ignoring that, she picked one of the numbers. "This two-one-six area code feels lucky," she decided.

Brad pulled on his own headset. "Come on, newbie. Mr. Charles Fairweather is waiting for the deal of a lifetime."

She started dialing. "What am I selling him?"

"The dream," Brad offered vaguely. "Which today is Rhymer Pharmaceutical."

The phone started ringing. "Hello." She wasn't surprised to hear Peter's voice on the other end.

"Mr. Fairweather?"

"Speaking."

"Hi, my name is Natalie Halden, and I want to be your broker," she said smoothly.

"I've already got a broker," Peter said flatly. Good, Peter, don't give me an easy sell. Make me work for it.

"Really? How's he doing for you? Make any money last year?"

"Nobody made any money last year," he scoffed.

"That's not true," she argued. "If you were with me, you'd have netted three percent. And that's after the crash."

"I don't believe you."

Brad laughed under his breath, thinking she was going to crash and burn. "You got an email address? I'll send you my earnings report right now," she bluffed. "Biotech and alcohol were up."

Peter switched gears. "How did you get my number?"

"Your old broker," she lied. "He's not smart enough to keep you to himself. What do you do for a living, Charlie?"

"I'm a history teacher, but I'm not interes-"

She spoke over him. "'The only history worth a damn is the history we make today,'" she quoted. "You know who said that?"

"I believe Henry Ford said that." Very good, Peter.

"Yes. Yes, he did. And he was right. Have you heard of Rhymer Pharmaceutical?"

"No."

"Of course you haven't, because your job is to teach, and my job is to know about companies like Rhymer before everyone else. You know when you don't buy a stock? When your cab driver tells you about it." She took a breath. "Now, if you'd known about IBM before the invention of the microchip, would you have bought in?"

"Of course."

"Well, Rhymer is poised for a breakout on the same scale," she lied. "Monday, the FDA will approve them to begin clinical trials on a quantum-confined nanotechnology that has the potential to transform cancer medicines." She glanced at Brad out of the corner of her eye. He was clearly enjoying the show. A crowd of guys had gathered around. "And I can get you in on the ground floor."

"That sounds like insider trading," Peter protested.

"Not at all. No, it's completely legit. Look, I pour over a thousand pages of scientific, technical BS so I can make you rich at three bucks a share." She slowed down. "Let's start small, okay? A thousand shares. I double that for you next week, and then we get serious."

"Sounds nice," Peter allowed. "But I'd have to ask my wife."

Brad sucked in a breath, covering his mouthpiece. "Your sale just died, rookie."

Don't count on it. "Mr. Fairweather, if you invest with me, the only question you'll have to ask your wife is what kind of hardwood floors does she want in her new house."

"I don't know..."

"Life comes down to a few moments, Mr. Fairweather. This is one of them."

Peter was silent for a long moment. It seemed like no one was daring to breathe. Brad's eyes were wide as they waited. "I'm in," Peter decided, "but let's make it five thousand shares."

Nora grinned broadly up at Brad. "Thank you. I'll transfer you over to one of our lovely ladies, and she'll take your information." She transferred the call, and pulled the headset off. "So, how did my interview go?"

Brad was speechless for a long moment. "Yes!" he decided, raising his hand for a high five. She met it. "Yes!" Nora shrugged, still grinning. He'd eaten his words, and Nora had made it into the boy's club.