by Dee Davis
"Then why..."
"I told you—" he waved a hand through the air, cutting her off "—I owe Gabriel."
Full circle stop.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. I'm just trying to understand the dynamics of the group. I mean, it's not like I really know any of you."
Payton visibly relaxed, as though whatever demons she'd called forth had settled back into the dark recesses of his mind. "There's not much to tell really. I served under Gabriel for two tours."
"Delta Force."
He nodded. "We were tasked with some of the more unsavory missions. Including the rescue of Pulaski's underling."
"He said it was a rough mission. That people died."
His dark gaze met hers. "It was a hell of a lot more than that—" He cut himself off, his face shuttering again, whatever he'd been about to say firmly locked away. "Look, the reality is that Cullen Pulaski snaps his fingers and people jump to do his bidding, no matter the cost. Just look how fast you came running."
There was an element of truth in what he said, but she felt compelled to defend her godfather. "Whatever he does, he has good reason. You can count on that."
"What seems reasonable from one point of view often seems less so when viewed from the opponent's side."
"And you think that's what's happening here? That Cullen is manipulating this whole thing to his advantage?" It was exactly what Gabriel had said, the thought at once repulsive and cogent.
"The thought has crossed my mind, but I don't have anything concrete to back it up."
"Just a hunch?" Madison shivered, certain that if Payton Reynolds had a hunch, there would be something behind it.
"Something like that." He shrugged, another shadow chasing across his face. "Or maybe it's just that I don't like the man. Anyway, we'll just have to wait until we gather more information. First up, I want to see what Lin Yao finds."
Hopefully, something that cleared Cullen of involvement. Madison shook her head, pushing thoughts of her godfather's innocence from her mind. Payton was right, time would tell.
"In the meantime," she said, forcing a smile, knowing that he could probably see right through her, "maybe Harrison can uncover the identity of the hacker. In my experience, once you attach an IP address to a physical one, it's only a short hop to a suspect."
"It might work that way with domestic crimes, but if this is really the work of Chinese dissidents you can be certain that tracing them won't be as easy as finding the computer used to hack into our system."
This time her smile was genuine. "You've obviously never worked with Harrison."
*****
LEXCO HAD corporate headquarters in three countries, but their chief financial operations remained in New York. Which meant the obligatory high-rise power building, in this case black glass and steel at the southernmost tip of Manhattan. Lex Rymon had run his company with an iron fist for almost fifty years, and his success was evident even in the steel and concrete of the building.
The executive dining room was no exception, the plush bar appointed with crystal and velvet. Gabe and Nigel had already cased the place and found two security cameras and an acoustic panel that no doubt concealed recording devices. Seems Mr. Rymon liked to check in on his execs.
It had been tempting to disable the devices, but until he'd talked to Rymon, Gabe figured there was no sense in raising suspicion. As far as the man was concerned they were here to ask questions about his daughter's murder— nothing more.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting." Lex Rymon walked into the room, his expression clearly contradicting the sentiment. He was a big man, rough around the edges despite the Canali suit. His handshake was firm, and Gabe could feel calluses beneath the hundred-dollar manicure. He might be a billionaire, but he had blue-collar in his pedigree somewhere.
"Thanks for agreeing to see us." Nigel was, as always, the consummate diplomat. Maybe it was something in all that tea. "We've just got a few questions."
"Bertrice called me. But I'm not sure what I can add that you don't already know." He motioned to a glass-topped table, and then walked over to the bar. "Can I get you a drink?"
Gabe waved away the suggestion, taking a seat at the table. Nigel followed suit, although he looked longingly at the bourbon Rymon was pouring.
"Bertrice said you suspect something other than robbery." He didn't sound surprised or particularly concerned, just curious.
"Your daughter was robbed postmortem." Nigel looked over at Gabe, the question in his eyes indicating he too had noticed Rymon's lack of emotional response. Either the old boy was good at hiding his feelings, or Bertrice had been right when she'd said there was little love lost between father and daughter.
"That means someone else is responsible for her death. Do you have any leads?" Rymon picked up his glass and brought it to the table, sitting down across from Gabe.
"That's why we wanted to talk to you. We thought maybe you could shed some light on Candace's last few hours. According to your statement, she was working late that night."
Rymon nodded. "She was here, but it wasn't Lexco business that had her here after hours. She was working on that damned accord. It was all she talked about."
"Isn't Lexco a member of the consortium?" Nigel asked, leaning back slightly as if he were only marginally interested in the question.
"Yes. But we're not all that interested in the accord. In fact, I voted against it initially."
"But your company has had dealings with China for years. I'd have thought the trade agreement was tailor-made for Lexco."
"I already have the alliances with China that I need." The man's smile was slow, and wasn't reflected in his eyes. "Why would I want to help other companies encroach on my business?"
"Then why belong to the consortium at all?" This from Nigel.
"Why not?" Rymon shrugged. "This way I can keep tabs on what they're doing."
"But obviously you changed your mind about participating. I mean, you let your daughter take Bingham Smith's place as a negotiator."
"Gentlemen, you've got the wrong impression of my relationship with my daughter if you think I controlled anything she did. Candace has always done exactly what she pleased. And even if she had felt the need to consult someone over a decision, it wouldn't have been me."
"So why have her work here?" Gabe leaned forward, trying to get a bead on the man sitting across from him.
"In a word, she was brilliant. If she didn't work for me, she'd have worked for someone else."
"And you didn't want her working for the competition."
Again the man shrugged. "Would you?"
"What else can you tell us about the night Candace was killed?" Gabe asked. "Were you working late, as well?"
"Yes. In fact, Candace and I had dinner together up here. But she was interrupted by a phone call. Something urgent."
"What time did the call come in?" Nigel asked.
"I can't say exactly. Somewhere around nine-thirty. I know I came up here around nine. And we had a drink before dinner. We were just starting the second course."
"That fits. M.E. puts time of death around ten-forty," Gabe mused, trying to fit the facts into a recognizable whole. "What can you tell us about the call?"
"Not all that much. I admit to listening, but it was still one-sided. From the tone of the conversation, I'd say it was something to do with the accord. She talked maybe two minutes, then rushed out of here like a house on fire. Said something about meeting someone." He stared down at his hands. "That was the last time I saw her."
For a moment Gabe thought he'd misjudged the man, that he had in fact cared for his daughter, but then he looked up, his gaze cold and assessing.
"Will that be all?" He glanced at his watch. "I'm due in a meeting in five minutes. I hate to rush you out, but I've told you everything I know."
They stood to go, walking together toward the door. "Mr. Rymon—" Gabe fought to keep his tone civil."—did Candace use the phone over there?"
"N
o." The older man shook his head. "It was her cell."
They reached the door, and Rymon headed off in the direction of an open conference room. Nigel and Gabe walked toward the elevator in silence, each lost in his own thoughts.
"Not exactly father of the year material," Nigel said as the doors closed. "You think he had anything to do with his daughter's death?"
"I wouldn't put it past him." Gabe stared up at descending floor lights. "But no, I don't think he was involved. There's no motive."
"Well, he's clearly not a fan of the accord. And Candace was obviously a supporter." Nigel trailed off with a shrug.
"Doesn't play out." Gabe shook his head. "If the accord goes south, any American involved with the Chinese is going to be hindered. Maybe even cut off. I don't see Rymon as the kind of man to take that kind of chance. There are other things he could do, which bear a hell of a lot less risk."
"Great," Nigel mumbled as the elevator dinged open. "We're right back where we started."
"Maybe not." The night air was cold as they stepped out into the parking garage. "There's Candace's cell phone. If we pull her call record, we'll know who the hell it was that called her. And I'm betting whoever it was will be a direct link to the killer."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"GOOD MORNING, SUNSHINE. Payton told me he thought you were down here." Harrison plopped down in the overstuffed Starbucks chair. "Latte fix?"
"Something like that." Truth was, it had been a long sleepless night, and she'd spent most of it analyzing and reanalyzing her attraction to Gabriel Roarke. Not that it amounted to anything except a momentary lapse in judgment.
Squaring her shoulders, she met Harrison's questioning gaze with a smile. "I just needed some time to think without everyone watching over my shoulder."
"It's not as bad as you're imagining it is," Harrison said. "The only one who seems to have issues is Gabe, and that's really only about his preference for doing things on his own."
"You sound like you're on his side." It sounded childish and she immediately regretted the words.
Harrison smiled, sipping his chai tea. "I wasn't aware there were sides."
Madison fought the urge to throw something, settling instead for the acid heat of her coffee sliding down her throat. "There aren't. Not really. It's just that..." She stopped, not certain how much she wanted to admit to Harrison.
"He's a bit overbearing?"
Not exactly what she'd been thinking but there was definite truth there. "Among other things."
"Methinks the woman doth protest too much." Harrison's grin faded as he studied her face. "Did something happen between the two of you in Colorado?"
Madison swallowed, searching for words, knowing her hesitation was probably answer enough. "Nothing that mattered."
"It obviously mattered, Madison, or you wouldn't be down here brooding."
"I'm not brooding." She tightened her hand on her cup, letting the warmth soothe her.
"Hey," Harrison held up a hand, "I just call it like I see it. I've seen the sparks between the two of you. And you've definitely been avoiding each other since you got back, so I put two and two together."
"And got five. There's nothing going on between us except mutual dislike. Whatever else you think you saw was in your imagination."
"Or you're lying to yourself." Harrison saw far more than she wanted him to. "Either way, I get the picture. It's none of my business."
Madison opened her mouth to retort, but thought better of it and instead changed the subject. "Any luck with the IP address?"
"Actually that's why I was looking for you." His eyes brightened with excitement. "I think maybe I've got a name. It took a while to narrow it down to an Internet service provider. As I suspected, there were relays, but I finally worked my way back to point of origin—and an owner. Guy named W. Smith."
"No relation to Bingham, right?"
Harrison shook his head. "That'd be too easy. Fact is, I really don't know too much about him. He hasn't got a record and no prints on file. And with a name like Smith, he's not exactly easy to isolate. There was a phone number and a post office box. I got it from the ISP. I tried the phone, a Virginia exchange, but it was disconnected. The box is in Charlottesville. Place called Mail Smart. But according to the manager, the guy who rented it closed his account a couple of days ago."
"The name match?"
"Yup. But the application didn't provide much info. Same disconnected phone, and a physical address that would mean he's living in the middle of Downtown Mall. Bogus all the way."
"The manager remember what the box owner looked like?"
"Nope. Not a thing. Charlottesville is a college town, so it's not unusual for people to come and go."
Madison blew out a slow breath. "Looks like our Mr. Smith covered his tracks. If he exists at all. Any chance it was just another relay point?"
"No. The hacker was definitely working from that IP. But he could have used a computer from anywhere."
"How about a driver's license?"
"Found a couple thousand in the U.S." He grimaced, swallowing some of his tea. "There weren't any in Charlottesville, though. Although I found around fifty in Virginia. We're sorting through them now."
"So we're back to the needle in the haystack." And then some. Madison would bet her life savings that W. Smith didn't even exist. At least not under that name.
"It would seem so. But I'm not ready to throw the towel in yet. Payton's working on aliases. Maybe we'll get a hit there. And I've got a few more things I want to try. If he exists, we'll find him."
Of that Madison had no doubt. Harrison took this sort of thing as a personal challenge and he wouldn't quit until he'd found everything there was to find about Mr. Smith. Trouble was, that kind of searching took time. And quite honestly, she had the distinct feeling that time was running out.
*****
GABRIEL STOOD in the doorway of the operations room, automatically searching for Madison. She was in the corner at the computer. Her ponytail spilled out across the blue of her shirt, and he crushed the urge to taste the soft satin of her neck, instead settling for the simple pleasure of goading her.
"You were gone when I came back last night. You have other plans?" He purposefully kept his voice brusque, waiting for the rise, knowing it was coming from the sudden tension in her shoulders.
She whirled around, anger flashing, and he felt a moment of triumph. If he couldn't arouse her passion the old-fashioned way, this would just have to do. "I waited until almost nine and then gave up. I gather you decided to sleep in?" She shot a pointed look at the clock. "I've been here since six."
It was only 7:30 a.m. but he still felt as if she'd scored a point and the idea didn't sit well. "So what are you doing sitting here? I thought I told you to talk to Cullen."
"I did." She paused for a beat, her smile overly sweet the exact opposite of the expression in her eyes. "Last night. And your suspicions were groundless. He was trying to help Janice Stewart, just like I said. Under the circumstances, he had no reason to believe there'd been foul play. It was only later, after Jacob Dashal's death, that he began to have questions."
"Convenient answer, don't you think?"
"Or maybe, considering what happened in Iraq, you just want Cullen to be guilty of something."
Her words took him by surprise, hitting closer to the truth than he cared to admit. "Who told you about Iraq?"
"Payton." Her eyes darkened with regret. "He really only mentioned it in passing, and I shouldn't have said anything about it. Certainly not like that."
Contrite was an emotion she didn't wear well, and he almost wished he hadn't snapped. Almost. "He shouldn't have talked about it at all."
"I was just trying to understand the bond between the three of you." Her hand fluttered aimlessly through the air. "I didn't know that it was off-limits." Her color rose, a bit of the spark back in her eyes. Madison wasn't the type to stay down for the count.
A part of him was glad.
<
br /> "It's not off-limits per se. It's just ancient history. I don't talk about the past. Frankly, I'm surprised you got Payton to tell you anything."
Her smile was brittle. "It's what I do, remember?"
Maybe he'd underestimated her profession. Payton wasn't an easy mark. If she'd gotten him to open up... He considered the thought, and then dismissed it. The woman was causing enough trouble without him allowing that she might actually have value beyond decoration. "Regardless of what he told you, what happened all those years ago in no way affects my ability to lead this team."
"If your relationship with Cullen is colored by what happened, then I think it does." She was standing now, hands on her hips. "Maybe that's why he wanted me along for the ride."
"To keep me in line?" He took a step toward her, but she held her ground. "Honey, there's not a woman alive who can do that."
"A moot point, surely—" she moved forward, eyes narrowed, her gaze locked with his "—since no one is likely to volunteer for the job."
"Are you sure?" She was so close now he could count the freckles spattered across her nose, feel the warmth of her breath against his skin. "Seems to me you were more than ready the other night."
He felt rather than saw her intake of breath, and saw the slight dilation of her pupils. He'd hit home, but she wasn't about to admit it.
"I think you've got it backward, Mr. Roarke." The whispered name might as well have been a blasphemy. "If I recall correctly, it was you who chose to engage. And you who lost control. And, if I had to call it, you who wouldn't have been able to stop."
"Are you implying I forced you?" The words came out on a rush of anger, the emotion cresting inside him, red-hot.
"Of course not," she snapped. "I never do anything I don't want to." She blanched as she realized what she'd said, taking a step backward in defense.
With a twisted smile, he moved in for the kill. "Checkmate, I believe."
"Hardly." Her lips twisted into the semblance of a smile. "I never said I wasn't involved, Gabriel." This time his name came out sounding like cream for a cat. "Merely that I wasn't the one who lost control."
