The gun is potentially good. Richard’s unpredictable temperament even better. But the inflated ego, so quick to bruise, is what I was counting on.
We’re alone again.
“Leira, don’t do this,” I protest once again, just for show, but my insistence is weak, letting everyone in the room think that I secretly want to know.
“Nonsense,” Richard says, leaning back in his seat to grin at me. “She has a point; you have a right to know.”
The fact that he’s savoring this, getting joy out of watching me die inside as I listen to him tell me about her death makes me want to kill him the same way that he killed that man twenty years ago. My eyes fall to the globe once again.
Richard turns his attention back to Leira. “You have a deal. Tell me.”
“You first,” she says.
Richard laughs. “Do you think I’m stupid? You go first.”
“You have all the leverage here.”
“You’re right, I do.”
“You also have the desire to tell.”
“Right again.”
Leira’s mouth tightens and her brow creases with worry. Her eyes dart to mine and I radiate the signal to her: tell him.
I’ve got this covered.
Richard Coleman is not walking out of this room.
She blinks once and snaps her attention back to him. “Okay. My father gave me your name and an address. 147 Pathfinder lane in Lake Tahoe, Nevada.”
Richard’s gaze narrows as he absorbs that. I read him, trying to understand if that means anything to him at all. When he nods to himself, almost imperceptibly, I realize it does.
He settles back in his chair and rakes a hand through his hair. The movement is so similar to my own habit of frustration it sickens me.
“That son of a bitch,” Richard mutters to himself. His eyes snap up to mine, as though remembering I’m there, then a cruel smile forms. “I suppose I now owe you the truth, don’t I?”
“Quid pro quo,” Leira says.
“You should stop talking now that you’re no longer of use to me, girly,” he says, keeping his eyes trained on me.
I can’t wait to kill him.
“Very well,” he says with a heavy exhale, as though he’s just decided on what to have for dinner. He looks at the gun in his hand and then back to me. “There is a certain poetry in killing you with the same gun that I killed your mother with.”
I feel like the bullet has already struck me, right in the gut. Any attempt I’ve had on maintaining a mask of indifference falters.
“It was right here in this room, in fact,” Richard says, looking around. “Well, at my former apartment, at any rate.”
I’m still recovering and force myself to focus. Despite the fact that my mother was also never allowed in his office, I can almost feel her presence spurring me on, bringing back all my determination, and then some.
“She came to me and tried to make a deal.” Richard laughs. “A deal, can you believe that? With me? I’m the king of making deals. That’s how I convinced the first contact in that Luxembourg bank to start laundering money. Find a person’s pain point, and you’ve got them by the balls.”
He grins with cruel contempt and slides his eyes to Leira and back to me as though to make that point.
“It was almost ruined by that idiot David Reinhardt,” he seethes, before collecting his cool once again. “But I dealt with him.”
My eyes inadvertently dart to the globe again, noting in particular the spoke at the top that was once buried in David’s right eye socket after my father slammed his face into it.
Richard laughs as he follows my gaze. “Fortunately, blood washes off it quite easily. Not so much my shirt at the time.”
“I’m guessing the carpet as well,” I say, looking down to note that the oriental rug is the one missing piece from his old office.
“Yes, a far more expensive loss to me than my traitor bitch of a wife and meddling son,” Richard says in a terse voice. “So yes, when she came back, telling me that my son had been in the room at the time and seen everything, I knew I had to kill her. She thought keeping you hidden would keep you safe.”
His jaw tightens with anger as he continues. “I have to admit, it did take me longer to find you than I expected. She never talked much about her family, but I knew there was a father. I started there only to find a dead end. Which meant casting a wider net. I figured she would take you back to Spain, so I had every orphanage searched. By the time I found you in that Catholic orphanage, it had been six months and you were already adopted.”
He chuckles softly to himself. “The Maríns. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect couple to raise my own son, the kind of people who understand the value of money…and constantly want more of it. Lucky for them, you hadn’t told them anything, for some reason.”
I think back to Sister Clara’s warning. Don’t ever say a word. I suppose she has three lives saved thanks to her. She’s most definitely earned her place in heaven.
“Don’t get me wrong, I did seriously consider ridding myself of the headache and doing away with you, all the same. Unfortunately, people tend to pay close attention when a six-year-old dies. Besides, if I killed you, that would have naturally meant killing the Maríns, and that would have really opened the door to an investigation. All for a boy who was supposed to have died over six months earlier?” He grins and shakes his head. “No, no, no. I unfortunately couldn’t be as quickly rid of my problem as I was with your mother. But in the end it worked out…until the past few years at least.”
Any hint of enjoyment at relaying this fascinating history disappears at that topic. “It didn’t occur to me that I was the target of all these little crime sprees of yours until around the fourth one. By then, all my clients were…understandably worried and upset. Kudos to you, son, for managing to get under my skin.”
Once upon a time, such a confession would have given me the satisfaction I crave. Right now, I don’t give a shit.
“Where is my mother’s body?”
His brow rises as though the answer should be obvious. “Oh that part was no lie. Well, maybe the airplane bit. But it was easy enough for me to get rid of one of my smaller personal propeller planes for the sake of a cover-up. And of course an unfortunate pilot. Your mother is most definitely somewhere at the bottom of the Atlantic. Good luck finding her.”
I want to scream and yell and tear this entire room apart, after ripping the man apart limb to limb.
“Although,” he says, bringing the gun back to face me. “You will soon be lucky enough to join her. Any last words…son?”
A ghost of a smile touches my lips. “Not a one…pater familias.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Leira
I’ve been so wrapped up in Richard’s confession that when the lights go out, I don’t even notice at first. In fact, I’m so mentally startled, I thought for sure it was the sound of the gunshot going off, which I was expecting.
“No!” I scream in the darkness.
The darkness beyond the semi-closed blinds don’t even leave a hint of light, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust.
“Leira!” Enrique calls out in the darkness, which is still blinding. Why the hell is he giving Richard a target to aim at in the dark by speaking?
That’s when a shot does ring out. The sound of Enrique’s grunt of pain has me silently screaming into the nothingness.
No!
The shots continue, going wild, and I fall to the floor to avoid getting hit as well. They ring in my ear, but I’m almost certain I hear the sound of a door locking? As I crawl away from where Richard was behind the desk, the sharp thuds of his men trying to get in confirm it.
Enrique is still alive?
I stop in my tracks to force my ears to listen. The sound of a struggle behind the desk lifts my hopes. I stupidly crawl back, if only to help.
Love makes us do crazy things.
By the time I reach the desk, I have enough vi
sibility to see what’s going on. Enrique and Richard are struggling for the gun in his hands. Enrique manages to slam his hand against the desk hard enough for it to drop to the floor.
Unfortunately, that’s when Enrique seems to sag with pain and exhaustion. He must have been hit with that first shot.
I gasp when Richard takes advantage of his weakness and pushes him up. A sinister laugh escapes his lips as he forces the incapacitated Enrique across the room. I know what’s coming.
I pick up the gun and stand up, coming in close enough to hit the right target. Just as Richard tries to force Enrique’s head down onto the large spoke on top of the globe, I fire.
The sound of it, now that the gun is in my own hands is deafening and I feel the vibration through my arms down to the bone. Or maybe that’s just the numb feeling that follows the shock of actually firing it.
Killing Richard.
Both Enrique and his biological father fall to the floor. At least the former is still breathing. I drop the gun and rush over to him.
“Is it bad? Where are you hit?” I cry out.
“I’m fine. It just fucking hurts,” he hisses, cradling his left arm.
The thuds on the other side of the door are more insistent, and I hear the first cracks, warning us that and intrusion is forthcoming.
“Get the gun. We need to hide behind the couch,” he says.
I don’t waste time before scrambling for the gun and heading back to meet him behind the couch, where he’s slowly managed to drag himself.
“Stay behind me, Leira. I won’t let you get hurt,” he says as I hand him the gun. Before taking it, he reaches his good hand out to cup my face. “Whatever happens, I want to make sure I say this. Te amo.”
He seals those words with a harsh kiss. Suddenly the madness stops and a perfect moment of bliss erupts inside of me, filling every inch of my body with serenity. But like the eye of a storm, it soon passes.
The doors burst open almost instantly. We pull apart, and I wince and curl into a ball, certain that this is how it ends for us.
“Trust me, Leira,” Enrique whispers before pushing me behind him with a hiss of pain.
“Your boss is dead!” He calls out. “Right now, you have a choice. The two of us in here will cover for you when the shit inevitably hits the fan. You didn’t know anything about what was going on here or what your boss was up to. Each of you can also walk away from this five million dollars richer.”
My heart is still pounding in my ears, and my brain is practically mush, but even I can appreciate the wisdom in what Enrique is doing. These men are, at best, a professional security team, at worst, hired goons who simply look the other way. Either way, that carrot and stick has to be a tempting offer.
Which is probably the only thing keeping them from putting bullets in us when they round the couch to find us hiding there. There are four of them, and each looks down at Enrique, as though they aren’t fully sold.
“Dead men don’t pay,” he says through heavy breaths as he holds the gun limply in his lap with his good arm. “I’m still breathing and richer than you can imagine. Play ball, and you have a clean slate and a nice payday.”
The four of them look at one another and seem to come to some decision.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Leira
Enrique has been taken to the hospital with a police escort. They still haven’t made clear if it’s for his protection or to keep him in custody.
I can’t blame them. It is a confusing case, and far too high profile to fuck up. I’m sure the press are already camped out in front of the building like vultures ready to tear apart this juicy corpse that’s been festering for twenty-some odd years.
I suppose I should feel something, having killed a man. That area of my brain is just numb. I have no regrets. Even if it hadn’t been in defense of Enrique, I don’t think I’d feel the need to repent for killing Richard Coleman. Some men just deserve to die. He was one of them. I’ll deal with God’s judgment when that time comes. I suppose He has His own opinions on the matter.
My gaze slides to Lucinda curled in a chair on the other side of Richard’s office, huddled in a blanket. Now that her secret lover is dead, the life seems to have gone out of her. I force a bit of it back with yet another hard stare in her direction, warning her that she had better stick with the script everyone else involved in this devised.
Whatever punishment she has coming to her will be handled internally…by la familia.
That just has me thinking about my father. Enrique told me that they had made contact. No doubt, Dad is already here in New York, reading everyone the riot act in order to gain access to his daughters.
Suddenly, I’m exhausted.
“I’ve told you everything that happened, every damn detail,” I say to the detective. “Even his own guards confirm my version of things.”
“Your version of things?” he asks, giving me a suspicious look. I know he’s trying to trip me up.
I stare at the detective and straighten up, giving him a level gaze. “Perhaps I should call my attorney, and he can repeat my version of things. My father, Pablo Montoya, of Montoya Shipping in California, has probably already called him.”
He stiffens and a brief flash of resentment colors his eyes before they go dull with humility. “You aren’t under arrest Miss Montoya. We just need to get everything down while it’s still fresh in everyone’s head.”
“And I would like to see my boyfriend, who has also done nothing wrong except try and rescue me. Hopefully, in time to catch him when he gets out of surgery.”
He stares at me a moment longer. It’s probably a good interrogation technique under normal circumstances.
I’m far too jaded.
“I suppose you are free to go. However, we may have some follow up questions as the investigation continues.”
“Naturally,” I say in a cynical tone.
Right now, I still have some questions of my own.
* * *
The detective was nice enough to have me escorted down Richard’s private elevator to a patrol car that took me to the hospital where Enrique was.
I sit in the emergency room waiting area, still perfectly incognito since word about the most recent high profile shooting has yet to trickle to this corner of New York City.
After only a few hours, Enrique makes an appearance, his arm in a sling. We managed to get him into a pair of jeans before we called the police. A shirt was too much for him, considering his arm, so he walks out wearing a hospital gown over his jeans, and slippers on his feet.
I smile at him, and lift up the shoes the police allowed me to take from the scene. The grin he returns causes the butterflies in my stomach to stir a little.
“That was quicker than I expected,” I say as he sits down next to me with a weary sigh.
“Through and through, they said. Hit nothing major. It’ll take a while to heal, and I’ll have a badass scar.
“Sexy,” I say with a smile.
“Rawr,” he says with a grin, waggling his eyebrows.
I laugh and kneel on the floor in front of him. “Allow me,” I say as I remove his slippers to help him with his shoes.
“I think I like you like this,” he says suggestively.
“Don’t get used to it. I’m just as feisty as ever.”
He laughs as I tie up the laces of the first shoe.
While I work on the second shoe, it all begins to hit me and my fingers begin to tremble, making it impossible to do the second lace.
Enrique’s free hand comes out to take my chin and lift it so I’m facing him.
“It’s all over, Leira. You’re safe,” he says, his eyes holding onto mine as though they’ll never let go. “I came for you. I’m here. And I meant what I said in there. Te amo.”
That fills me with enough strength to finish. When I do, I rise up on my knees to meet him.
“I’m here too. I’m not leaving. And I meant what I said. Te amo.”
&nbs
p; We kiss, and even in the least romantic place in the world, it still spins around us, tilted on an axis that for once seems to lean in our favor.
I pull away and give him a critical look. “What exactly was your exit plan back there? Did you really steal his files?”
He chuckles and a grin spreads his face. “It was a bluff. Something I learned from Magnus Reinhardt back in Monte Carlo.”
“You set that whole thing up as a bluff?”
“Well, you as usual, dropped in to interfere with my original plans.”
I punch him lightly in the shin.
“Ouch,” he protests. “I’m still a convalescent here.”
“You’ll need to go right back in there if you don’t tell me you had something up your sleeve other than lights out and a surprise attack. Wait a second, how did you manage that part?”
“My crew. I’ve been working on this for a while. I know every part of that building. We had control of the separate breaker box and generator dedicated to that unit. We got past the signal block the old school way, a man with a very good microphone up on the roof. Thank goodness Richard lived in the penthouse. They just waited for the magic words.”
“Pater familias. What is that?”
“A Catholic school girl who doesn’t know her Latin?” he scolds.
I twist my lips and it comes to me. “Family father?”
“Father of the families. It’s an old Roman term. Ironic enough to be appropriate.”
“How did you know he wouldn’t just kill you right away?”
“His pride wouldn’t let him. I knew he’d want to milk me for at least some information, then make me sweat. Time has always been on my side.”
I nod, deciding I’d rather just thank the lucky stars working in our favor for once than try to pick this apart too much.
“So what now?” I ask, not sure what I’m even referring to. What now between us? What now for him and his “career?” What now for dinner? Frankly, it’s no surprise I’m hungry.
Spanish Pirate: A BWWM International Legacies Romance Page 25
