Tic Tac Toe (A Suspense Novel)

by Kel E. Mitchell

  Luke nodded and Irene let out a resigned sigh as she said, “Let’s go over the plan one more time . . . just to make sure that we all understand what we’re supposed to do.”

  Chapter 78

  New Year’s Eve

  As Max stood in the center of the Paul Revere Mall, he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at those around him. He’d arrived for his appointment with Bryson early in an attempt to help steady his nerves and scope out his surroundings.

  The night was bitter cold, and he could see his breath in the air when he exhaled. He drew his coat tighter around himself and then checked his watch. It was still some time before midnight. He let out a deep sigh and then realized that, up until that moment, he’d been holding his breath. He tried to remain calm, but because of his anxiety, he found it nearly impossible. He looked once again at the people passing through and lingering in the outdoor plaza as he tried to find the one that matched Luke’s description. He started to pace slowly back and forth. Each time he saw or heard anyone approaching across the brick pavement, his pacing ceased. It only resumed once Max established that the person in question was not there to meet him.

  At that moment, Max started to doubt whether Bryson would even show up for their meeting. His theory about Bryson being the murderer hinged on his knowing where to meet. He ran his hand through his hair, and he couldn’t stop the question that kept running through his mind. “What if he doesn’t show up – then what?”

  He looked at his watch yet again and found that little time had passed since he’d last checked it. He felt impatient – he was eager for this to be over – and at the same time, strangely troubled. This feeling multiplied greatly when he noticed that the number of people at the square seemed to be steadily dwindling. He stopped pacing abruptly when he heard something that disturbed him – the sound of nothing. Max thought it odd that the closer it got to midnight, the less active the plaza became.

  The air suddenly felt leaden and oppressive. The night was so still that he thought he could almost hear the falling snow as it thinly coated the ground. Suddenly, his breathing became ragged, and despite the heavy coat he wore, he felt chills spread over his entire body. Someone was watching him. He tried to reassure himself that it was only his imagination, but he couldn’t curb his uneasy feeling that everything was not as it should be.

  Max glanced hurriedly around him and then stopped to listen. His body tensed, and he held his breath as he gazed intently out into the dark night. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, and that was what bothered him most. Frustrated, yet anxious at the same time, he let out a haggard sigh and tried to stop his mind from dwelling on what he couldn’t control. He had no choice – the only thing he could do now was wait and see if Bryson showed up.

  ***

  Max was being watched. In the distance, a dark shrouded figure stood motionless, not making a sound as he quietly observed him. His face was heavily shadowed, hardly visible in the stormy, black night. His eyes narrowed as he sized up his enemy.

  Chapter 79

  As Luke moved through the crowded room at the Richards’ New Year’s Eve party, he fixed his bow tie – which had been knocked askew from all the hugs he’d received – with one hand while holding a drink in the other. Luke set his drink down on a serving tray as a waiter walked past him, and then he scanned the room in search of Christopher Blake. At last, Luke spotted him, and he made his way over to where he stood conversing with a group of people. After a few moments, he looked up from the lively conversation and saw Luke. “Will you excuse me?” he said to the group. He walked over to where Luke stood in a more secluded area of the room. When Blake was standing close enough so that no one could overhear their conversation, he quickly asked, “Have you heard from Max yet?”

  “No. It’s not midnight yet so it could still be a while before we do.”

  Blake nodded. “Keep me posted.”

  “Will do,” Luke said. He started to weave back through the crowd when he suddenly felt someone pulling on his sleeve. His glance moved in that direction, and he saw that it was Tweed who was detaining him. She was wearing a short, spaghetti strapped, pink, satin gown. It clung to every curve, and Luke had no doubt many of the men in the room had enjoyed staring at her ample display. He had to stop himself from laughing. It looked to him like she had purchased her dress in the lingerie department rather than the evening gown section. As usual, her choice of attire was lacking in good taste.

  When Tweed spoke, she didn’t even try to hide her loathing for him. She looked him up and down and said mockingly, “Well, Luke, don’t you clean up pretty. I didn’t know you owned a dinner jacket – let alone a tie.”

  He smiled broadly. “It’s nice to see you too, Tweed. Oh, and by the way . . . nice slip,” he said gesturing to her revealing dress. Her cheeks turned red with rage, and Luke left her standing there, alone and speechless.

  He had walked halfway down a sparsely populated hall when her voice stopped him in his tracks. “So, how’s your girlfriend, Luke? I heard she had an unfortunate accident. What a shame.”

  He turned to face her, his eyes bright with anger. His jaw flexed involuntarily, and his whole body became rigid. When he spoke his voice sounded sharp, “What did you say?”

  “I asked how your girlfriend’s doing,” she taunted. Tweed was so enraged with him that she forgot herself and continued to antagonize him further. “I heard she got messed up pretty bad. Is she going to make it?”

  Luke moved so quickly it startled Tweed and made her jump. He reached her in seconds and took her firmly and none too gently by the shoulders. “What do you know about it?” he questioned angrily.

  Her smile was malicious, her face smug. “I don’t know what you mean?” she said in a voice of pretend innocence. He had been her personal antagonizer ever since she had started dating Max, and she relished finally getting even with him.

  Luke moved her up against the wall, and this time when he spoke, it was clear that he would not tolerate a refusal. “How do you know about Sarah?”

  “Luke, if you lay a hand on me, so help me!”

  He asked the same question over again, only this time his voice was so irate that it drew the attention of guests who were standing in the hallway. “How do you know about Sarah?” Tweed started to shake. She’d never seen Luke like this before. He studied her face for a moment and then said disgustedly, “Let me guess. Bryson told you about her – about us.”

  Her eyes widened in shock, and she tripped over her words, “How . . . how do you know about him?”

  Luke’s mouth spread into a half-smile, and his confident, polished demeanor returned. “When a girl’s a tramp like you – word gets around.” Tweed’s face was indignant, but she was so taken back by what he had just said that she was shell shocked. When Luke spoke again, it startled her so badly she flinched. “You know something – you two make a perfect couple.”

  “Oh, we do?” she questioned tersely.

  “Yeah – you’re both disgusting.” Luke left her standing there and walked the rest of the way down the hall. Tweed glanced around uneasily and looked at the people who had stopped to watch her confrontation with Luke. She was unnerved by the expressions on their faces – instead of the usual awe and envy – the only thing she saw was loathing.

  Chapter 80

  Despite the fact that Irene sat in Max’s car with the heat on, her hands were cold, and she rubbed them together restlessly. Although she had parked some distance away from the Paul Revere Mall after dropping off Max, she couldn’t keep from turning in her seat to look out of the car windows. She nervously watched as the people outside passed by her and then moved on their way.

  She looked at her watch, and her heart started to race. It was quarter-to-midnight – only fifteen more minutes before they would find out if their theory about Bryson was correct. Max was wearing a wire so that Irene would be able to hear their live conversation a
nd record it at the same time.

  She looked out the windshield at the familiar area surrounding the square, and her mind flashed suddenly to the night that her father had been there – the night that he had ended up dead. She shivered involuntarily and anxiously bit her lower lip. She couldn’t help but wonder if tonight would end the same way. Would Max be taken away from her just as her father had been? The thought terrified her. Her mind started to race – her thoughts lingering on all that Max, Luke, and Sarah Jane had gone through during the past several months, all because they were trying to help her. She felt tears burn her eyes, and she leaned her head back against the headrest for a moment.

  Images passed through her mind. It almost felt like she was watching a movie of her life up to this point. It started with memories of her father when she was still young. She half-smiled when she recalled how much she had adored her father growing up and how secure he had always made her feel. As time passed, she changed, as did those around her. Her mind then skipped to the day in Paris when she’d received the phone call that her father had been murdered. She remembered his funeral, her conversation with the police just a short time afterward, and her subsequent return to France.

  There was a slight pause in the images, and then one moment came to the forefront of her memory. It was the day when Max had surprised her in Prague and asked her to come home. As she looked back on the last few months, she recognized just how horrific they had truly been. She couldn’t believe that she had made it through them, and she knew she wouldn’t have if not for Max. He was the only thing that had made this time bearable.

  Irene’s eyes opened suddenly, and she realized at that moment that as much as she wanted to catch her father’s murderer, she wasn’t willing to risk losing Max in order to do it. At that instant, everything became clear to her, and she knew exactly what she needed to do. She tucked her hair behind her ear and picked up her cell phone – the whole time her hands shaking. She glanced once again at her watch and noticed the minute hand inch closer and closer to midnight. Her concern for Max was so great that she didn’t waste valuable time thinking about the possible outcome of her actions. Without any hesitation, she dialed her phone – only hoping it wasn’t too late.

  Chapter 81

  Luke checked his watch and saw that it was nearly midnight. If everything went according to plan, he should be hearing from Max very soon. He was still furious because of his conversation with Tweed. He knew now that Bryson was responsible for Duncan’s death and Sarah Jane’s attack. There was no other way Tweed could have known about it. Bryson had nearly killed Sarah Jane, and more than ever before, Luke wanted him to pay for what he’d done.

  He looked at the time once again. The seconds seemed to drag on. He couldn’t afford to lose his head. He still had a job to do. With that, he turned on his charm once again and rejoined the large group of people in the crowded room – the whole time keeping an eye firmly fixed on Tweed.

  Chapter 82

  Max looked at his watch and then raised his head. At last, it was midnight. If Bryson was coming, he should be here any moment. Since he had been waiting outside for some time, his face was chapped from the cold, and his hair was wet with snow. He studied the landscape but found it difficult to see anything because of the fog that blanketed the historic plaza. Max didn’t hear Bryson’s approach across the brick – the snow muffling his footsteps. It was only when Max heard his voice that he realized Bryson had arrived and that he’d approached him from behind.

  “If it isn’t Max Frost, the prince of The Post,” he said smugly.

  Max was taken off guard that Bryson recognized him so instantly. He eyed him curiously but didn’t respond.

  Max tried to keep his face expressionless, his demeanor composed, but he found it difficult. His heart pounded in his chest so loudly that he was sure Bryson could hear it and know just how anxious he truly was. He folded his arms across his chest in a gesture of pretend confidence while he looked Bryson squarely in the face.

  “So, when are you going to tell me why I’m here?” Bryson questioned, even though he already knew the answer. “I know that you and your uncle are worth billions – so, it isn’t about money.”

  Max then spoke for the first time, his voice abrupt. “I know everything Walker. I know you blackmailed Duncan and then ended up murdering him here. It’s on the tapes!”

  Bryson had heard all about Tweed’s former fiancé, and he despised him. Max may have been with her first, but he refused to be outdone. His jealously and pride forced his control to the edge of a steep precipice. It was time Max Frost learned who the better man was. It was time that Max Frost, the arrogant, obscenely wealthy, respected reporter, found out just how much he truly didn’t know.

  “What if I killed Duncan? You can’t prove anything. I took the tape that Duncan made of that night and destroyed it! I thought you were supposed to be a great reporter Frost. If you’re as good as everyone says, then why don’t you tell me what else I took after I killed him.” He sneered, and his face looked distorted. When Max didn’t reply, Bryson mocked, “You can’t guess?” There was a pause, the silence tense. “I took his watch and his wallet. I hear the police had a difficult time identifying him without them. Apparently there was too much damage to his face.”

  “And you destroyed his watch and wallet at the same time you got rid of the tape,” Max concluded.

  Disgust filled Bryson’s voice. “You mean you don’t know?” He shook his head. “Tweed has them.”

  Max’s eyes widened in shock, and his voice sounded stunned when he repeated, “Tweed? Tweed was involved?”

  “I thought you of all people would know that she likes to play dirty.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “Because you’re a big shot reporter, and I know how much you love a story,” he ridiculed. Bryson studied Max for a moment and then continued callously, “Or are you trying to be a hero for your little girlfriend by solving her father’s murder? What’s her name again – Irene?”

  “You really should be more careful, Frost.” Bryson’s eyes blazed, his face and voice menacing as he delivered the final blow, “Who knows – one day something may happen to her too!”

  That comment succeeded in stirring Max’s anger when nothing else had. His jaw tightened, and he clenched and unclenched his fists.

  Bryson started to laugh. He’d finally succeeded in making him angry. “You don’t have a story Frost, and you never will!”

  Max tried to steady his breathing. He was still seething because of what Bryson had threatened about Irene. “What makes you think I won’t write a story, Walker? You told me everything I need to know.”

  “But, you’re the only one who knows it!”

  Suddenly, before Max knew what was happening, what was left of Bryson’s thinly veiled control snapped. He lunged at Max and tackled him to the ground. They struggled with one another, and soon Bryson had the upper hand. He punched Max in the face and then grabbed him by the scalp, slamming the back of his head into the brick plaza. “You should have stayed out of this!” Bryson warned.

  Bryson reached into his coat and removed a gun. He pistol-whipped Max across the head with the gun and then grabbed him again by his hair. He began to unleash his rage violently and relentlessly. When Max no longer put up a struggle, Bryson raised himself up off the ground. He looked around quickly and saw that there was no one around at the moment – no potential witnesses. He then glared down at Max. His motionless body was sprawled across the wet ground – the snow mixing with blood on the brick pavement. Bryson aimed the gun at Max’s head. He paused for a moment and then said triumphantly, “Goodbye, Frost.”

  He pulled the trigger as a bright light and a loud voice ordered him to the ground. Startled by the police, Bryson jumped – shooting Max in the shoulder, rather than the head. The police repeatedly ordered him to the ground. When he turned to
face them, his gun still drawn, an officer fired – shooting him in the leg. Enraged with sudden and acute pain, Bryson opened fire on the police. Before he could get more than two shots off, he was thrown back onto the pavement from the force of the ammunition his body had sustained.

  Several police officers stood over Bryson’s dead body as they surveyed what had just taken place while several others focused on Max. Just then, Irene pulled up in Max’s car – not bothering to park it properly – and rushed onto the plaza. She ran frantically to Max’s aid and knelt down on the brick. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she gently picked his head up and held it in her lap. His eyes were closed. Irene was now covered in his blood.

  Max could hear voices, but they sounded cloudy and vague as though they were from a great distance. He heard Irene’s voice saying, “Is he all right? Do something! Max . . . Max, can you hear me?” She sounded distraught as she pleaded, “Please, please help him.”

  Another voice answered, “The paramedics are on the way.”

  Irene smoothed her hand gently over his forehead. His eyes flickered open, and he found himself looking up into her beautiful, tear-drenched face. He wanted to reassure her that he was all right, but when he opened his mouth all he could say was, “Don’t leave me.”

  She wasn’t able to speak for a few moments, so intense were her emotions. When she finally got them under control, her voice was full of feeling, and she replied, “I won’t.” Max closed his eyes once again, and Irene leaned down and kissed him softly on the mouth.