White Rabbit
Page 11
Anywhere other than here in the state of New York where he had finally decided to lay down some roots.
The city wasn’t big enough for the two of them.
“Uilleam, you can’t keep running from me every time I get near you. One day we’ll have to talk about it.”
The reminder brought the mental image of the day Kit left to the forefront of his mind, the flames of anger flickering at the edges.
“No,” he said, tone a touch darker now. “Some things are better left in the past.”
Though he would be loathed to admit it, he wasn’t ready to discuss it or the years that followed it. Especially not with Kit, the lone person he had carried so much anger and resentment toward.
It didn’t matter that it had happened more than ten years ago, the hurt and betrayal was still there, and he was in no way ready to let go of it.
“If you’ll be staying, what’s your first order of business?”
“There’s a restaurant in Manhattan in need of a buyer.”
“Very well. I know where to avoid for the time being.”
It would also give him enough time to figure out how he wanted to approach this because if there was one thing he knew, his brother was as stubborn as they came. And if he made it a point to break into his suite just to ask about the woman in his life, he wouldn’t care what Uilleam had to say about it.
Kit fully intended on meeting Karina whether he liked it or not.
Uilleam was mere seconds from warning him against that course of action when the door swung open, revealing the man with silver hair standing on the other side.
Zachariah looked from one brother to the next, his expression remaining neutral. “Good, the gang is all here.”
Uilleam frowned. “Kit was just leaving.”
“Was I?” his brother asked, looking far too curious for his own good.
He realized if he had just kept his mouth shut, then perhaps Kit wouldn’t have been interested in what they had to say, but it was too late for that now. But on second thought ... perhaps it would be in his best interests if he did know Uilleam’s intentions. At least that way, he would be able to potentially garner assistance if he needed to.
“Should I ask what you’ve gotten yourself involved with this time?” Kit asked, looking at Uilleam first before turning his attention to Zachariah. “And with your involvement, apparently.”
Uilleam steepled his fingers and considered his words carefully. “We call it the Den. An organization unlike any other you’ve ever seen.”
Kit didn’t respond immediately. He merely arched a brow, waiting for him to continue.
He, for one, knew all about secret organizations and just how powerful they could be, considering he had been a part of the Lotus Society—an organization of assassins that was as secret as it was vast—for quite some time now.
There were others, of course, ones that bore different names but followed the same concept—rumored to be just as powerful as all the others. Better than, on occasion.
But Uilleam didn’t care about the competition because not one of them would compare to what he intended to create.
Kit looked from their uncle back to Uilleam, his good humor fading. “What have you done now, Uilleam?”
Trying and failing to conceal his smirk, he shrugged. “You always believe the worst in me, brother. I’m starting to get offended.”
Not fazed in the slightest, Kit shook his head. “I’ve learned quite well over the past few years that your depravity knows no bounds. If there’s ever any noise to be made, you’re usually the one behind it.”
Uilleam couldn’t disagree. It wasn’t as if his brother was wrong. He aspired to be the thing everyone feared, and one didn’t achieve that feat by being nice.
“Well?” Kit asked with an arched brow. “Care to explain?”
“After the incident in Paris, I thought it best to expand my security.”
“Oh?”
“I have Skorpion, of course”—who’d worked for him for the better part of two years now after his stint in the Army, and he’d come back to the States looking for a different sort of job—“but one man can’t fight an army.”
And Uilleam wasn’t naïve enough to believe there wouldn’t be another attempt on his life—it was the cost of attaining power.
The more he gained, the more enemies would come for him.
He understood it—business was business.
But next time, he intended to be prepared.
“You’re building an army ...” Kit said dryly as if he wasn’t sure he was hearing correctly.
“An army of mercenaries, yes.”
Had he not specified that they would be mercenaries, Uilleam was almost sure his brother wouldn’t have looked as disgruntled as he did at that moment.
“Mercenaries are soldiers of fortune—loyal only to the highest bidder. If you intend to recruit them in hopes that they’ll follow you solely because of the name you bear, I would rethink that strategy.”
“It isn’t always money that determines a man’s allegiance. After all, you didn’t agree to become an assassin for the Lotus Society simply because our dear uncle paid you to.”
It would have been impossible not to feel the shift in the room—the way both men’s gaze came to him and lingered.
Gesturing to his brother, Uilleam asked, “Am I wrong?”
They didn’t talk about Kit’s decision to become an assassin at seventeen any more than they discussed the day he murdered their father.
He could almost see the question swimming in the other man’s eyes: Why are you asking?
“My point is,” Uilleam continued before Kit could voice that thought, “sometimes you have to offer a man something they want more than money.”
Hopes.
Dreams.
If it was tangible, and sometimes even if it wasn’t, so long as you could offer a man their deepest desire, they would hand you everything in return.
“You’re preying on the weak,” Kit said after a moment, managing to sound as disapproving as their father used to when he wasn’t pleased. “That should be beneath you.”
“Trust me when I say that those who join the Den aren’t weak at all.”
Not with the training they would inevitably have to endure. Tasks that would ultimately test their bodies and even their minds until the only thing left was a killer capable of greatness the likes of which no one had ever seen before.
“You two can go on about this later,” Zachariah interrupted, silencing the pair of them as only he could.
“Certainly,” Uilleam agreed, knowing this wouldn’t be the last of what his brother wanted to say on the topic. “What do you have for me?”
“A potential recruit.”
Very similar to the manila folder Skorpion had given him on Bishop Amell, Zachariah passed him another, this one labeled confidential.
“A teenager out of Northern Ireland,” he said, nodding for him to open the file. “He’s worth looking into.”
“Is he?” Uilleam asked, sounding skeptical. “I can’t imagine he’ll be what I need. I want someone who longs for vengeance.” Those sort of men were hard to find.
Because only so many were willing to do whatever they had to for their retaliation. He couldn’t very well count on someone as young as this, surely …
“Come see what he’s capable of,” Zachariah suggested, sounding sure of himself. “Then you’ll see what I do.”
Kit shook his head, looking disapproving as always. It was because of that expression Uilleam grinned and nodded.
8
Interactions
As she dressed early the next morning, Karina didn’t bother with one of her favorite pencil skirts. Instead, she chose a pair of jeans and a trusty pair of sneakers that ensured her feet wouldn’t be aching by the end of the day.
Today was all about being practical—of blending in and not calling attention to herself. It wasn’t often that she actually went out to do what she was intendi
ng. The majority of her meetings were usually pre-scheduled, and the people she actually sat down with were used to a certain decorum, but this wasn’t like her other stories.
With Paxton, there had still been something to look into whether or not she had aimed her focus on him. Even if it had been an accident or a suicide rather than the murder that it was, the story could have been framed differently. She could have written about the perils of a city this large and the youths that came and were eaten alive. Maybe even delved further into the secret life Miranda had led that her mother hadn’t known about.
The one that afforded her the expensive clothing she’d been wearing the night she died.
Something.
Anything.
As it stood, besides her own curiosity and her editor’s encouragement, nothing was remotely newsworthy about a man going through a secret divorce.
Yet she was still committed all the same. Her burden to bear.
Which was why she’d been greatly annoyed with herself when she realized she had somehow deleted the file she had put together for the McDonalls. And no matter how she tried to find the file—thinking maybe it would be in the trash folder—she couldn’t find it anywhere.
The smart thing would have been to write it all by hand as well, or at least make a copy to keep separately for just this reason, but that was easy to say now.
But, it wouldn’t ultimately effect what she was doing—it only meant a little extra work to go back over everything she had so far.
Running her fingers through her hair, Karina walked out of her bedroom, coming up short when she caught sight of the single blue rose sitting on the counter. His side of the bed had been cold by the time she’d woken up, something she was growing used to now.
But then he did things like this.
Offering small tokens. A reminder, she thought, of how they had come together.
Of her decision to choose him over everything she knew. Even if he didn’t know about that message she’d sent to Katherine, he made it worth it every day.
The Oscar V hotel in Lower Manhattan both managed to blend in seamlessly with the buildings around it—as if it had been there for decades as opposed to the few years it had stood—while commanding attention with its name carefully scripted in wrought iron with ivy twining through its spokes.
All sorts of people walked through the revolving door—a family of five; a man in a business suit with his phone to his ear as he argued with the person on the other line; and even a young couple who looked as if they were on their honeymoon. She could see the appeal in its gold fixtures and marble floor, especially with the restaurant housed to the right of the lobby.
She snapped a few photographs as she went, just to keep for her notes and easy recall later on—depending on whether she visited the other hotels as well just to see them—slowly making her way inside where she was greeted with warmth and the golden-lit interior.
The attendant standing behind the front desk was distracted by whatever he was reading off the computer screen in front of him, but only for so long as it took Karina to cross the floor. Then he looked up with a pleasant, professional smile—the sort that spoke of nearly a lifetime working in the hospitality business.
“Good evening, missus. How can I be of service?”
“My name is Karina,” she said, pulling out her Post lanyard with her picture and employee status. “I work for the Gazette Post, and I was hoping to do an article on the best places to stay when visiting New York.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” he said, expression brightening.
It was certainly better than the truth of why she was really there, but there were other, more creative ways of getting what she needed from them.
“I tried calling ahead, but no one was available, so I was hoping someone could take me on a tour anyway,” she said, with just the right amount of pleading in her voice. “I’d absolutely love to feature the Oscar V.”
He waved his hand. “I couldn’t possibly say no to good press. My boss would be too pleased to hear about this. My name is Earl Macintosh, by the way,” he added, extending his hand across the counter.
“A pleasure to meet you, Earl.”
“Just give me one moment, please.”
He slipped into the back room where she could hear him speaking with someone before he reappeared. A woman in her early thirties came out behind him to man the desk, Karina imagined, as Earl stepped from behind it.
She understood, within seconds of meeting him, why he was employed at the front. He had the effortless persona that made working at the front of house easy. Had she not been there for a story, she might have listened with more detail as he spoke about the hotel itself.
“We were founded in 2005 by Hugh McDonall,” he continued proudly as they exited the doors that led into the hallway where the ballroom was mere feet away, and the bank of elevators up ahead.
“He owns the Ren across the city, doesn’t he?” she asked, her phone’s vibration in her pocket going unanswered.
Earl looked pleased that she knew that—he probably wouldn’t look nearly as happy if he knew the full extent of what she knew about the owner. “Yes, you’re absolutely right.”
“And have you met him?”
He nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes. Mr. McDonall is a lovely boss. A little side note,” he said, lowering his voice as they passed two guests on their way out, “I’ve worked for his company in some capacity for more than twenty years now. His father was just as nice.”
As far as she could tell, everyone seemed to like him quite a lot. And from her own interaction with him, she could understand why. He was rather different—kinder, despite the sort of people this city bred.
“Is his wife as hands-on with the company as the interviews say? I hear she’s quite lovely as well.”
That much was a lie, but she did manage to get what she wanted by tacking that bit on at the end.
Earl’s expression shifted for a fraction of a second when he thought she wasn’t looking. He might have been willing to speak a bad word about her—she was, sort of, his boss as well—but one couldn’t help their knee-jerk reaction to something they didn’t believe.
“Mrs. McDonall doesn’t visit this particular hotel very often,” he said, an answer that made her smile.
It was the easiest way not to answer, she imagined.
He walked her across the main floor, sparing no detail, remarking on everything with such a flourish that she might have forgotten why she was here in the first place, but as they circled back around to the lobby, she asked another question.
“Why do you think Oscar V has been so successful?”
“An excellent staff,” he said quickly with a self-deprecating smile that exaggerated the wrinkles beside his eyes, “and I would be remiss to say it wasn’t also because we have an owner who genuinely cares about not just the people who work for him, but the hotels as well.”
Karina jotted down notes, nodding along with what he was saying. “It’s safe to say that the owner is a part of the brand’s appeal, I take it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then I’m glad the Oscar V has Hugh McDonnall at its owner.”
There.
Exactly what she had been hoping to get. That little flinch and pinch of his brow.
It was just the opening she needed. “Sorry, did I say something wrong?”
“I—ahem.” He cleared his throat, color quickly rising in his cheeks.
“He is the owner, isn’t he?”
“Of course. Of course. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
“Has there been any talk of selling?” she asked, and just as he started to look alarmed, she added, “I’ll keep that strictly off the record, if you’d like.”
The question now was who was he more loyal to? The McDonall family or to Hugh, himself.
“There might have been some mention of selling,” he admitted softly, though his eyes remained fierce. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”
“No one is safe,” he whispered, seeming to forget himself now that he was sure she wouldn’t take what he said and run with it. “If she gets ahold of the hotels, we’re all getting fired.”
“Oh, you don’t believe that, do you?” she asked, genuinely curious. If he was as friendly with everyone as he was with her, she would imagine that he would be someone who was better kept around than let go.
“Just between you and me,” he said conspiratorially, “I don’t know why she wants to take over the hotels anyway. She’s never been particularly happy with them. She just wants to change everything. Make them more exclusive and harder to book. She wants to cater to the stars and the elite of the city.”
Karina thought of the wide variety of people she’d seen walk through the doors as she’d been coming in, of how it had felt welcoming and warm as she had entered.
Then she imagined the sort of establishments where her mother liked to stay. The ones that felt cold with a staff that either had their noses so far in the air it was amazing they could see anyone from their high horses, or those who kept their eyes on the ground at their feet as if they weren’t worthy of looking upon the people they serviced.
Yes, she knew exactly what he meant.
“And if—”
“Excuse me.”
They both turned at the unexpected voice. She could almost feel the terror that engulfed Earl as he stiffened at the sight of the woman standing well across the lobby. While she might not have been able to hear their conversation from where she stood, it didn’t seem to matter.
Claire McDonall looked annoyed either way.
Her blond hair was scraped back into a severe ponytail with not a single strand hanging loose. She wore a body-hugging nude dress and heels that were so tall even Isla would have blinked twice at them.
If Karina were being honest, Claire looked exactly like the sort of woman who would be on a millionaire’s arm, but considering the sort of man Hugh seemed to be, the image in front of her didn’t match what she had been expecting at all.